He puts down his knife and saunters slowly over to me, his eyes burning. Leaning past me, he switches the gas off. The oil in the wok quiets almost immediately.
“I think we’ll eat later,” he says. “Put the chicken in the fridge.”
This is not a sentence I had ever expected to hear from Christian Grey, and only he can make it sound hot, really hot.
Fifty Shades Darker, p. 46.
that sounds like the worst sentence in the world to me.
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