The Siren

There are only two reasons why you leave someone you're still in love with - either it's the right thing to do, or it's the only thing to do.

God, I love a man with a big vocabulary.

The same wind that blows us off course can turn and carry us home.

I know people think erotica is just a romance novel with rougher sex. It's not. If it's a subgenre of anything, it's horror. Horror? Really? Romance is sex plus love. Erotica is sex plus fear.

If you come back to me," he said, making a rare concession, "will you run or crawl?" Nora had pressed her whole body into him at that moment. Resting her head on his strong shoulder, she watched as a tear forged a river down his long and muscled back. "I'll fly.

We can only sacrifice so much of ourselves in a relationship before there's nothing left to love or be loved.

I'm no optimist", she said as she opened the cabinet door. " I'm just a realist who smiles too much.

Kid, Søren could eat you for breakfast and not even need to chew. Don’t ever fuck with a sadist, Wesley. For Søren, torture’s just foreplay.” “Why did you stay with him?” he’d whispered. Nora had grinned at him, and she saw a new fear in Wesley’s sweet brown eyes. “I like foreplay.

Hurt but do not harm?” Zach asked. “What’s the difference?” “Hurt is a bruise on the outside.” Nora sipped her mineral water delicately. “Harm is a bruise on the inside. If you’re a masochist, pain feels like love to you. Not being hurt is what hurts.

Nora— Forgive me for copyediting, but it must be said—you have raped the semicolon yet again. Stop it. It wasn’t asking for it no matter how it was dressed. If you don’t know how to use punctuation then do away with it altogether, write like Faulkner and we’ll pretend it’s on purpose.” Bite me, Easton, Nora said to herself as she corrected her sexually compromised semicolon in chapter eighteen. Seriously, bite me.

Words are the thread in the fabric of the universe.

Tell me something boss. What do you think is the highest form of art? 'Literature," he answered without hesitation. 'Painters and sculptors require elaborate supplies and tools. Dancers must have music. Musicians must have instruments. Literature needs nothing but a voice to speak it or sand to scrawl it in.

Broken love is the most dangerous love. It will slice you open with every touch.

And although two people can love each other deeply, sometimes love alone doesn’t cut it. We can only sacrifice so much of ourselves in a relationship before there’s nothing left to love or be loved.

Rule #1: Hurt, but do not harm.

I know you want to fuck me. And I know you wish you didn’t. So how about we compromise and you can sit here and say, ‘No, Nora,’ ‘Don’t, Nora,’ ‘Stop, Nora,’ and I’ll ignore all those protests and slide right down on your cock anyway? And I’ll do it because no and don’t and stop aren’t your safe word. So you can finally get fucked and still sleep like a baby in your big lonely bed tonight feeling all clean and shiny and virginal because, after all, you did say ‘no’ and that awful Nora Sutherlin just wouldn’t listen.

S&M is as psychological as it is physical and sexual, Zach. Imagine being as deep inside a woman’s mind as you are inside her body.

She seemed like the type of woman who'd help you forget about your headache by setting your bed on fire.

I’m here, little one,” came a voice made for coaxing secrets from the heart. “Sleep now. We’ll talk when it’s time.” “Yes, sir,” she said, now knowing where she was. She surrendered to sleep again. The most familiar darkness…her darkness…she was home.

It's not morning until you're awake. And it's not night until you're asleep in your bed under my roof. And I could go on and on but hope is a horrible thing, and I love you too much to give you any.

A love story is not the same as a romance novel. A romance novel is the story of two people falling in love against their will. This is a story of two people who leave each other against their will. It starts to end the minute they meet.

Nothing. I wanted to hit him but hitting a masochist is pretty pointless. Wesley?” She finally looked him full in his face. For a moment his brown eyes turned silver and she saw Michael’s face floating in front of her. “What if I’m a bad person, too?” “You’re not a bad person. If you were a bad person you wouldn’t be sitting fully dressed in a bathtub with no water in it because you’re terrified you might be a bad person. The devil doesn’t worry about going to hell.” “Only because he’s already there.

My, my, my…” She sighed, affecting a Southern drawl she no doubt stole from Wesley. “I see temptation has come a knockin’ and you have answered the door…

With trembling hands, Zach opened the front cover and flipped to the dedication page. "To Zachary Easton, my editor. Fuck you.

K-dar," Nora said and tapped the side of her nose. "Kinksters can smell it on each other.

Miracles do happen. You just admitted to a mistake. What was your mistake? Not f-cking me sooner?' 'It was my mistaken-' he turned and met her eyes '-thinking we had all the time in the world.

How easily you forgive, Eleanor. How freely you absolve the sins of others. Tell me, little one, when the time comes, how will you absolve yours? With the first lash of the whip Nora felt a strip of fire burn across her back. She cried out from a pain so ferocious she nearly choked on it. Like this, Søren, she dared answer only in her mind. This is how.

You don't love him. You only love that he loves you.

I really shouldn’t leave,” Zach said, terrified what would happen the second he found himself alone with Nora. “Come on, Zach. This party sucks and not in the good way. I’ve had pap smears more fun than this.” Zach covered a laugh with a cough. “I must admit you do have a way with words.