Mo

“I wanted...to own you. I wanted a part of me in you." He cringed. "I wanted to mark you, make you mine.”
― S.C. Stephens, Effortless

“Make way! Move it, people! Lets make room for this poor woman's hideously disfigured, ginormous brain! She's a fucking genius!”
― Jamie McGuire, Beautiful Disaster

“No. No!” he says.
“I . . .” He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don’t know.

“You can’t go. Ana, I love you!”
“I love you, too, Christian, it’s just—”
“No . . . no!” he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head. “Christian . . .”
“No,” he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head bowed, long-fingered hands spread out on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t move. What?
“Christian, what are you doing?”
He continues to stare down, not looking at me.
“Christian! What are you doing?”
My voice is high-pitched. He doesn’t move.
“Christian, look at me!” I command in panic. His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards me passively with his cool gray gaze—he’s almost serene . . . expectant.
Holy Fuck . . . Christian. The submissive.”
― E.L. James, Fifty Shades Darker

“Julia...do you feel how much you own me?" I moaned against the soft skin of her neck, her pulse beating wildly against my lips. So sweet and alive. "But you're mine. You own me, but you've always been mine.”
― Kahlen Aymes, Don't Forget to Remember Me