“You are so unbelievably, totally loveable,’ she purred. ‘And I know I’m the only woman who’s ever said that to you.’
‘Absolutely, baby. The very first.’ The first that mattered.”
“She was unique in his sophisticated world, a far cry from all the women he’d known, completely natural, fresh and artless, irrepressibly eager for sex. His constant wet dream.”
“I’m going to eat you for dessert.’
‘Not here!’
‘Here, Katherine. That’s why I’m making room.’
‘People might come in…”
“He softly sighed. ‘I really wish I could help you out, baby. But I just have an empty space where normal people store their files on feelings.’ He grinned. ‘I blame my parents for that defect like I blame them for my other ten million fuck-ups.”
“She looked so hopeful he would have built the pyramids for her single-handedly to satisfy that hope.”
“I never said I didn’t like clingy.’ Except that was exactly what he had said, to the other thousand women who’d briefly entered his life in the years past.”
“Oh fuck. ‘The wait’s over then,’ he said in that provisional tone a demolition expert would use when saying, If it’s not the red wire, it’s been nice.”
“He was ridiculously handsome, tall, lean yet solid with muscle. Politely immoral, indifferent to censure. As if he knew he was irresistible in all manner of things. Not just to her, but to everyone, to women particularly.”
“I won’t make you wait long,’ he said, withdrawing his finger from her mouth and slipping it into her throbbing sex in a light teasing penetration, with only a soft flick on her engorged clit. ‘Jesus, that’s one stiff little clit. Think you can wait?”
“And he did what women around the world loved him for, over and above his money: he fucked like an artist; with natural talent, an almost indecent technical competence and the well-honed gift of accurately gauging female arousal.”
“Oh Christ. Her words, come inside me, had a predictable impact on his dick. Fuck and double fuck. Reason was taking a fast exit stage left while his erection was taking the vertical route.”
“Nice, hey?’ Her voice was just a wisp of sound.
He lifted his head slightly so his smile bathed her in sunshine. ‘Nice like the crown jewels in the Tower of London are nice.’
‘Or Almond Joys are nice.’
He laughed. ‘Christ, I can’t stay mad at you. You’re fucking irresistible. What the hell are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know about we, but moi is going to love you to pieces. You’re way better even than an Almond Joy.’
‘And I can make this way better, baby.’ Unwinding her legs from his waist, he stood up, grasped her thighs lightly and set the swing in motion.”
“He raised his head, brushed his hair off his face with his left hand. ‘You’re welcome, baby.’ He winked. ‘It’s been a while for you.’ Sliding his fingers from her soft-as-silk pussy, he eased her legs off his shoulders, set her feet on the carpet and rolled back on his heels.”
“Both understood the extent of the danger, of the possible dark abyss facing them. There were no absolutes in the world, no assurances of mercy no matter how much one wished.”
“Good is always stronger than bad in the world. Always, always, Dominic.”
“People like us in situations like this become hashtags, but they rarely get justice. I think we all wait for that one time though, that one time when it ends right.”
“Horace felt an overwhelming need to sneeze. He tried to smother the
sound, but only succeeded in making it louder.
Will looked up angrily, shaking his head in disbelief. "Will you shut up?" he said tautly.
Horace shrugged in apology. "I'm sorry," he said. "I sneezed. A person can't help it
when they sneeze."
"Perhaps not. But you could try to make it sound a little less like an elephant
trumpeting in agony," Will told him.
Horace wasn't prepared to take that lying down. Crouching down, perhaps. But lying
down, never.
"And of course, you'd know what an elephant sounds like! Have you ever heard an
elephant?" he challenged.
But Will was unabashed by his logic."No," he said."But I'm sure it couldn't be any louder
than that sneeze.”
“Lying is easy. But it’s lonely.”
“There is a vast melancholy in the canticles of the wolves, melancholy infinite as the forest, endless as these long nights of winter and yet that ghastly sadness, that mourning for their own, irremediable appetites, can never move the heart for not one phrase in it hints at the possibility of redemption.”
“Wow," came a familiar voice, "Hypochondriac killed the cat."
-Dess”
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