Deanndra Hall > Quotes

“Love always deserves a chance.”
― Deanndra Hall, Incredible Us

“Aw, hell no. My lesbian sister’s wife is having my baby, my new four-year-old son is Black, and my wife is expecting an eight-year-old. Plus I just found out one of my uncles is just my half-uncle, I have a new half-uncle, and I had a cousin who was shot and killed by my mother. Unless some dead relative comes back to life or I’m a zombie and nobody’s told me, those damn soap operas got nothin’ on me. Nope, I think I’m good over here,” he said, looking kind of shell-shocked.”
― Deanndra Hall, Laying a Foundation

“It features characters well over 40 having the best sex of their lives, not a bunch of college kids or post-college kids who have no idea what great sex is. They’re honest, raw, sometimes raunchy, and very often funny, not to mention willing to explore and have a little frisky adventure.”
― Deanndra Hall, Laying a Foundation

“The weekend was bittersweet, both of us knowing it was the last for awhile. We never left the house, glued together in every way we could think of. I didn’t want to think about the next few months, how lonely they’d be, how far away she’d be. At times we were desperate and depraved, begging each other for one more touch, one more kiss, one more taste of heaven. At others, we were overwhelmed with the peace I’d come to know, celebrating the security we both felt in each other’s affections. More than anything, we talked, about our passion, about our love, about our bodies and how they felt together. One last time, as I pushed hard and deep inside her, I pressed my hand into her abdomen, feeling that movement, that togetherness, knowing it was me and her. I grabbed her hand and, pressing it where mine had been, I covered it with my own hand and pushed into her again, powerful enough that I could feel it even through her hand. “Feel that?” I whispered to her, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Remember how that feels. Don’t forget it. That’s us, Diana. That’s us together. Think about that every time you miss me. Four months isn’t that long.” I wished I could convince myself of that, but it seemed like an eternity to us. She pulled my face to hers and kissed me, but I couldn’t stand it, couldn’t contain it. I stretched out on top of her, my arms around her, and sobbed out loud, all the love and pain and fear and joy wrapped up together in my embrace. Her tears were silent, but they filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks, falling into her hair and wetting it, wetting my hair too. I was home, and I didn’t want to leave.”
― Deanndra Hall, The Celtic Fan

“What every woman wishes you knew but won’t tell you is that, deep down inside, every woman wants her man to take control of her in the bedroom. She craves it. She wants to be dominated, to be pushed to her limits, to be taken to where she can’t stand it anymore and then taken just to the other side. She wants her man to let her choose a safeword, and then she’ll try her best to never use it, to take everything he gives her and beg for more. Treat a woman to that raw maleness, that masculinity, and make her enjoy it and feel cherished and loved, like she’s the most desirable woman in the world, and she’ll feel safe with you and let you do anything with her and to her that you want.”
― Deanndra Hall, Laying a Foundation

“Gloria, EVERYBODY knows you go around snooping. You have to know that. You’re famous in the neighborhood for being up in everybody’s business.” He just turns away and goes back to watching TV. Once again, I’m the only one in the neighborhood who cares what’s going on. And there’s nothing I can do to change that.”
― Deanndra Hall, Tasha and Davis at 333 Harper's Cove

“No matter what happened, I’d never be the same, of that I was sure. I couldn’t possibly have known how correct that assumption would prove to be.”
― Deanndra Hall, The Celtic Fan

“Wouldn’t it be a shame to miss out on that? A relationship with someone who really loves you?”
― Deanndra Hall, Incredible Us

“In an instant I was in her arms, her lips against my cheek. I cupped her face in my hands and stared into those eyes, dancing eyes, warm and smiling, filled with tears and love, a combination I couldn’t lose, couldn’t walk away from again. She pulled me inside and closed the door behind me, locking it. I tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come, and she put her finger to my lips to calm me. She turned with her shoulder blades against my chest and drew my arms around her, holding the backs of my hands in her palms. Placing my palms just under her collarbone, she ran my hands down her body. As they passed over her breasts, I could tell they were larger, full and tight, swollen with fluid, and she gasped slightly as I touched her nipples. I closed my eyes, resting my chin on her shoulder, and she continued downward. They moved under her breasts, and I lifted up slightly, feeling their weight, the heaviness, wondering how tired her shoulders were at the end of the day, reminding myself to give her a good backrub. She turned my wrists and drew my hands downward. They immediately began to move forward, over the place where her slim waist used to be, out farther and farther, until they stopped even with her navel. Her skin under the cotton dress was tight, and I spread my fingers wide, taking in the size of her tummy, the width, the depth, moving around it like gripping a basketball. And then it happened. It kicked, a good, hard kick. I could feel it rolling around inside her, stretching and moving, moving deep in her as I had just a few months before on that first night, asking her how it felt to carry a child inside her. I remembered, and she was right. It did feel the very same. My moving inside her had created this movement, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out, from shouting, from wailing in joy as I’d heard her wail in sorrow. She pivoted in my arms and stared into my face, her eyes sad, pain an inch thick over her expression. “Steve, I wanted to tell you, really I did. I wanted to tell you about the baby. And I wanted to tell you about . . .” I put my hand up to quiet her. “I knew, Diana. I already knew.” She looked at me, puzzled. I drew her over to the sofa and sat down beside her. “Remember when we first met?” She nodded. “Well, I lied. The real reason we were here was to look for Nick Roberts.” She was still, quiet, waiting for the rest of the explanation. “When I first came here, I was looking for Nick Roberts. Before I left here the first time, I knew you’d written that book. But I didn’t say anything because by that time I didn’t care. I came to find Nick Roberts. What I found was a beautiful woman, the love of my life. Nick Roberts and anything associated with Nick Roberts just didn’t matter anymore.” “Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” she asked, looking down at her hands, unable to meet my eyes. “Because. Because it didn’t matter. Because I knew I’d have to explain to you why I was here in the first place. Because I was afraid you’d be afraid, afraid I was just playing you, afraid I’d expose you and give you up to the media. But I didn’t, I swear to god. It wasn’t me.”
― Deanndra Hall, The Celtic Fan

“As long as you treat me like a princess everywhere else, you can treat me like a whore in the bedroom and I’ll take what you give me and come back for more.”
― Deanndra Hall, Laying a Foundation