Jericho Barrons just told me he loves me.
Words are easy; lies as simple as parting your lips and breathing.
If V’lane were a signpost, it would read Abandon All Personal Will, Ye Who Tread Here.
A wing or a thigh? Ah, I'm afraid we don't have any thighs left.
Yesterday is skin on snake, to be shed many times.
Oh ye of little faith. Not for IYD... But you didn't even try.
We're taking back the night
I see God in a sunrise, not in repetitious ritual.
I'm a bartender. I like recipes. They're concretes. Was the drink recipe for seduction one shot charm and two shots self-deception, shaken, not stirred?
All my life, up until that moment, I'd had a warm, protective blanket wrapped around me, knitted of aunts and uncles, purled of first and second and third cousins, knot-tied with grandmas and grandpas and greats. That blanket had just dropped from my shoulders. I felt cold, lost and alone.
Four: If you try to force yourself into my head, I will force myself into your pants.
As I moved deeper into the room, his gaze dropped to my feet, and worked its way back to my face. I was wearing faded jeans, boots, and a snug pink Juicy T-shirt I got on sale at TJ Maxx last summer that said I’m a Juicy girl. “I bet you are,” he murmured.
It's a strange new world out there and the rules have changed: It's every princess for herself.
Then you will simply have to see for yourself. Touch me, lass. Feel my ...sock." His silver gaze sizzled with challenge, as he unzipped his zipper. Uh-uh." She shook her head for added emphasis. Then find me a pair of trews that doona threaten to sever my manparts.
You hated my rainbows, now you don't like my leather. Is there anything you like on me?
The kind of person that thanks another person never survives. Have you learned nothing?
Liminal sucks. You can't grasp it with your hands and shape it. You can't make midnight come faster, or grow up sooner, or avoid the in-betweens. You can only hang in there, and get through them.
She's my baby girl, Quinn. I want love for her. Real love. The kind that makes a man crazy inside. -Gibraltar to Quinn
Naught will be done to you that you doona wish done. Dageus MacKeltar
Dubh is do?" I was incredulous. It was no wonder I hadn't been able to find the stupid word. "Should I be calling pubs poos?" "Dubh is Gaelic, Ms. Lane. Pub is not.
And then what? Said, 'Oh, I'm so sorry, Ms. Lane, I didn't mean to wrinkle your lovely blouse. May I press that for you?' Or perhaps you gouged it with one of your pretty pink nails?" I was really beginning to wonder what his hang-up with pink was, but I didn't resent the sarcasm in his voice.
There are three floors beneath the garage? Why on earth?" -Mac
Burns from dropped matches, Ms. Lane? Matches one might have dropped while flirting with a pernicious Fae, Ms. Lane? Have you any idea the value of this rug?” I didn’t think his nostrils could flare any wider. His eyes were black flame. “Pernicious? Good grief, is English your second language? Third?” Only someone who’d learned English from a dictionary would use such a word. “Fifth,” he snarled. “Answer me.
Home, Ms. Lane?” His deep voice was gently amused. “I have to call it something,” I said morosely. “They say home is where the heart is. I think mine’s satin-lined and six feet under.
If I entered a tropical beach, would I end up in Nazi Germany with my highly inconvenient black hair?
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