“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.”
“It was such a relief to be able to sob and have someone know all the reasons why.”
“Admit nothing - that was his first rule. Appeal to logic - second rule. Delay the inevitable - third rule.”
“Anne-Elisabeth had taken the music from Dr. Horvath and was looking through it. 'I see finger-cramping possibilities, William - lots of them,' she told him.
I see music,' William said, winking at her. 'Lots of it.”
“In Laos, a baby was never apart from its mother, sleeping in her arms all night and riding on her back all day. Small children were rarely abused; it was believed that a dab who witnessed mistreatment might take the child, assuming it was not wanted. The Hmong who live in the United States have continued to be unusually attentive parents. A study conducted at the University of Minnesota found Hmong infants in the first month of life to be less irritable and more securely attached to their mothers than Caucasian infants, a difference the researcher attributed to the fact that the Hmong mothers were, without exception, more sensitive, more accepting, and more responsive, as well as “exquisitely attuned” to their children’s signals. Another study, conducted in Portland, Oregon, found that Hmong mothers held and touched their babies far more frequently than Caucasian mothers. In a third study, conducted at the Hennepin County Medical Center in Minnesota, a group of Hmong mothers of toddlers surpassed a group of Caucasian mothers of similar socioeconomic status in every one of fourteen categories selected from the Egeland Mother-Child Rating Scale, ranging from “Speed of Responsiveness to Fussing and Crying” to “Delight.”
“How come you’re in such a good mood? You couldn't have gotten much more sleep than I did last night. Are you a morning person?” I ask in mock horror.“A mornin’ person, well maybe, but let’s just say I got to experience the nicest parts of hell last night,” he says quietly,taking the shirt I offer him. As he rises out of thebed, I can’t help looking over his perfect abdomen and chest before he shrugs into his shirt.“I’m sorry, the nicest parts of hell? What does that mean?” I ask.“Red, yer not a guy, so there’s no point explainin’,”
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