“God, I love a man who reads”
“But I wasn't done," she pouted, no longer hungry for anything but him.
"Yes, you were."
"Yes, sir."
"Lay down on your back."
"Very yes, sir.”
“I won't ask you to stay," he said. Eleanor could barely look at him althought there was nothing more she wanted to do than memorize every line and angle of his face. "But I want to."
She inhaled sharply and forced a smile.
"I won't say 'yes' if you do ask...but I want to.”
“Yeah, equal pay for equal work and our bodies ourselves and Gloria Steinem and all that jazz...but in that dusty dark little corner of every woman's heart where we keep our maps of Tierra del Fuego lives the hunger to fetch a powerful man his slippers on her hands and knees.”
“...I know how she must have felt. Pressure to be in charge of the world. So much responsibility. The whole world on her...to let go and just give herself to you, to give up to you..."
"I'm glad you understand...few women do."
"Oh, they do. They're just afraid to admit it... in the dusty dark little corner of every woman's heart... lives the hunger to fetch a powerful man his slippers on her hands and knees.”
“Eleanor wrapped her arms around aniel's neck as he lowered her feet to the cold floor. She leaned into him and inhaled his scent - warm and clean with the slightest hing of fireplace smoke - and committed it to memory.
"Don't worry," she said, finally letting him go. "I miss you already.”
“I keep forgetting who I’m dealing with. The Queen of Kink.”
“I’m a trained submissive. More like King’s Consort. I’m not worthy to hold actual rank,” she said with a wink.
“Well, I’m honored to consort with you.”
Eleanor gave him her best wicked grin. “Then consort with me already.”
“So you,” she said, meeting his eyes, “are a librarian. What does that make me then? A seven-day loan?”
Daniel laughed as he set his book aside. He moved toward her and lightly gripped her knees.
“Seven-day loan… I’m not sure I like the thought of giving you back.” He slid his hands up her thighs and took her by the hips.
“But what about overdue fines?” she asked, playfully flashing her eyes at him.
“I think I can afford them,” he said. Eleanor tried to voice another protest but his mouth was already on hers.”
“Sometimes I reread my favorite books from back to front. I start with the last chapter and read backward until I get to the beginning. When you read this way, characters go from hope to despair, from self-knowledge to doubt. In love stories, couples start out as lovers and end as strangers. Coming-of-age books become stories of losing your way. Your favorite characters come back to life.”
“Still, it seemed to us that the main reason we were hated must be that we always lived by stealing. From the earliest times, rats lived around the edges of human cities and farms, stowed away on men's ships, gnawed holes in their floors and stole their food. Sometimes we were accused of biting human children; I didn't believe that, nor did any of us⎼unless it was some kind of a subnormal rat, bred in the worst of city slums. And that, of course, can happen to people, too.”
“There was nothing dishonourable in not being blown about by every little modern wind. Better to have worth, to entrench, to be an oak of one's own generation.”
“Incidents like the eastern Illinois spraying raise a question that is not 9nly scientific but moral. The question is whether any civilization can wage relentless war on life without destroying itself, and without losing the right to be called civilized.”
“The feeling he had had all his young life - that he was brought on this earth for something special - had not left Alexander, not quite; what it did was dissipate inside him, became translucent in his blood vessels. It no longer pulsed through his body. He was no longer filled with a sense of purpose as he traveled through his adolescence. He was filled with a sense of despair.
My childhood was good, he thought. And my adolescence - I could have lived through it all. I could have lived through it all if only I continued to have the feeling that at the end of childhood, at the end of adolescence, there was something else in this life that would be mine, that I could make with my bare hands, and once I had made it, I could say, I did this to my life. I made my life so.
Hope.
It was gone from Alexander on this sunny crisp Sunday, and the feeling of purpose had vanished, was vanquished in his veins.”
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