“And then sometimes, rarely, in the middle of the night, he’d be sweet. Pulling me into his lap, kissing me, caressing me. Letting me fly but anchoring me with his eyes. Speaking words he’d never dare say in the light of day.”
“That was the funny thing about smiles--if you flashed the right one, no one knew there was more going on inside.”
“His weakness was me. He wanted me and he hated that maybe as much as I hated him.”
“I don’t know, Reeve. Because you do a lot of talking, and all I hear are mixed messages.”
“I’m unmixing them now. Listen. This is the one I want you to hear.”
“Why can’t we worry about each other?”
“The only thing shittier than the way men treated a pretty woman was the way women did.”
“It was a kiss that took—took my desire, took my passion, took my will.”
“Even in my thoughts, he watched me.”
“A flood of inadequacy poured over me, a feeling of I-don’t-belong, but if not here, then where? The room began to close in around me, blanketing me with acute heaviness.”
“I can’t figure you out, Emily.” His words were tight yet even. “I don’t know if I like you or if I just want to fuck you.”
“I understood exactly what it was to want to change. To try to change. To find it impossible.”
“I’m an awful host,” he said eventually. “I should tell you to make yourself at home, but all I care about is making myself at home inside you.”
“He had so much control over me, so much power to have me this close to destruction so quickly. I was exposed. Raw and vulnerable. Caught off guard by how easily he annihilated me each and every time. It scared me.”
“Now the door was open. Now one of us just had to walk through it.”
“I’m trying. I’m going to keep trying with you.”
“He’s a rich, powerful man. Rich, powerful men get away with things all the time. It’s the law of capitalism. It’s especially an issue when those rich, powerful men have ties to men who are richer and more powerful.”
“No,” I told him. “You tell me what I want. That’s what I want.”
“I was here because this was who I was—a strong, independent woman with distinct wants and needs that were only met when I submitted to a man.”
“A glance at his crotch gave me the slightest smidgeon of satisfaction. He was unmistakably hard. He might be punishing me, but he was punishing himself too.”
“He was always rough. Always raw. He fucked me however he wanted.”
“all I hear are mixed messages.” “I’m unmixing them now. Listen. This is the one I want you to hear.”
“There were at least a couple thousand people in front of me—all of them trying to show that they weren’t ugly too. A flood of inadequacy poured over me, a feeling of I-don’t-belong, but if not here, then where?”
“I want you to fuck me!” The words tumbled out. “Hard.”
“Besides, I don’t think that’s something you’d want to hear from your lover.” “Lover?”
“On the bed?” “No. Against the window. From behind. I want you to strip me and press me hard to the glass. So it will feel like anyone can see. And anyone who does will know that I’m special because I’m the one you’re fucking.”
“They were here for the attention and material gain. They were shells waiting to be filled with a man’s desires, blank screens projecting someone else’s wants.”
“And what exactly was it he was saying? That he wanted to take me into his bed? That he wanted to scare me and possibly hurt me and I was supposed to be okay with that?”
“Having them finally touched, finally fondled and caressed, was more erotic than I’d imagined. More pleasurable than I wanted it to be. I decided I would die if he ever stopped. God, how I needed him to stop.”
“What do you want? How do you want it? I never felt like I had a good answer. For the first time, I realized why. Because what I wanted was to not be asked the question.”
“They loved believing they’d affected a woman so much that she was reduced to communicating through gasps and groans.”
“The most powerful drive in the ascent of man is his pleasure in his own skill. He loves to do what he does well and, having done it well, he loves to do it better. You see it in his science. You see it in the magnificence with which he carves and builds, the loving care, the gaiety, the effrontery. The monuments are supposed to commemorate kings and religions, heroes, dogmas, but in the end the man they commemorate is the builder.”
“Well?" she teased in turn. "What do you think?"
The gray eyes that finally lifted to hers were flaming, but instead of answering, he flicked his burning gaze down her length again. He hesitated, and then said abruptly, "I think that the dress fits you perfectly."
Lauren burst out laughing. "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you have a way with flattery, because you don't."
"Is that right?" he mocked, his eyes challenging. "In that case, I'll you exactly what I think: I think that you're exquisitely lovely, and that you have the fascinating ability to look like an extremely sexy, sophisticated young woman and an utterly angelic girl at one and the same time. And I wish to hell that we weren't trapped here with a hundred other people for the next few hours, because whenever I look at you I become...uncomfortably eager...to find out how you're going to feel in my arms tonight.”
“I am well known by my friends to be a workaholic - to their often justifiable annoyance. I am therefore keenly aware that such behavior is at best slightly pathological, and certainly in no sense makes one a better person.”
“Classroom Activities
1. Using felt and yarn, make a hand puppet of Clarence Thomas. Ta-da! You're Antonin Scalia!”
“What the hell was all of that about?” She meant the fight. I sighed. “I miss my dad.”
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