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“Don’t be afraid to do it harder,” she grunted.
“That’s what she said,” Alec said earning a laugh from Keela and myself.
“Have you ever thought of givin’ up sexual innuendos?” I asked him with my lip curled upward. “Because you should, you can be so disgustin’ at times.”
“I’ve tried,” Alec sighed. “But it’s hard, so hard.”
― Ryder
“That’s what she said,” Alec said earning a laugh from Keela and myself.
“Have you ever thought of givin’ up sexual innuendos?” I asked him with my lip curled upward. “Because you should, you can be so disgustin’ at times.”
“I’ve tried,” Alec sighed. “But it’s hard, so hard.”
― Ryder
“Why do I have to earn it by being good? Don’t you feel like bragging?”
“It’s better when you beg,” he said, his voice low. “It’s always better when you beg.”
― Wild Man Creek
“It’s better when you beg,” he said, his voice low. “It’s always better when you beg.”
― Wild Man Creek
“I’m trying to think…are you the florist?” Malcolm’s voice was slightly off, as if it were coming from someplace other than his own throat. ...
She took a sip from her own drink. “Nope. I like flowers as much as the next woman, but I can’t tell a dahlia from a daisy.”
“Or a lupine from a lobelia?” Hugh Parteger said.
“Or a carnation from a chrysanthemum.”
“You’re obviously not into floral sects,” he said.
She almost spit out a mouthful of kir royale laughing. ... “Mr. Parteger, I don’t discuss what I do in my garden bed with anyone.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “For most women, it’s just a matter of finding the right tool.”
She took another drink, enjoying herself immensely. ... “Yes, but it’s such a tedious process, finding one that fits and works really well. Better just stick to hand weeding. Fewer complications that way.”
“Ah, so you’re a master gardener.”
She actually giggled. How mortifying. She took a long swallow from her drink. “As Voltaire said, we must cultivate our garden.”
“I believe he also said, ‘Once, a philosopher, twice, a pervert.”
― A Fountain Filled with Blood
She took a sip from her own drink. “Nope. I like flowers as much as the next woman, but I can’t tell a dahlia from a daisy.”
“Or a lupine from a lobelia?” Hugh Parteger said.
“Or a carnation from a chrysanthemum.”
“You’re obviously not into floral sects,” he said.
She almost spit out a mouthful of kir royale laughing. ... “Mr. Parteger, I don’t discuss what I do in my garden bed with anyone.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “For most women, it’s just a matter of finding the right tool.”
She took another drink, enjoying herself immensely. ... “Yes, but it’s such a tedious process, finding one that fits and works really well. Better just stick to hand weeding. Fewer complications that way.”
“Ah, so you’re a master gardener.”
She actually giggled. How mortifying. She took a long swallow from her drink. “As Voltaire said, we must cultivate our garden.”
“I believe he also said, ‘Once, a philosopher, twice, a pervert.”
― A Fountain Filled with Blood
“Did you want to change into something more comfortable?” Adrian asks with a raise in his eyebrows, breaking me out of my train of thought, but not away from naughty thoughts.
I smack his knee. “I'm comfortable, but I know you're not.” He doesn't mind dressing up, but on most days I see him in casual clothes like screen-printed tees and hoodies.
“You're right,” he says, tapping my knee lightly, standing up. As he walks toward the hallway, he slips his shirt off the rest of the way. I can't look away from the sight, even if it is only from the back. Damn. What is happening to me? Have I gone mad?
Before I can tear my eyes away from him, he turns around. Judging by the look in his eyes, I've been caught. I have so been caught. Damn again. I didn't want him to see me practically drooling. It's too late for that now.
He smirks. “You know, I could spend the rest of the night just like this.” He places a hand to the hard muscles of his chest.
I clear my throat, trying really hard not to imagine my hand in place of his, and say, “If I'm wearing clothes, you're wearing clothes.”
“So if I'm not wearing clothes...” I grab a coaster from the coffee table and fling it at him. He catches it in his hand. “Just remember, all you have to do is say otherwise.”
― Here All Along
I smack his knee. “I'm comfortable, but I know you're not.” He doesn't mind dressing up, but on most days I see him in casual clothes like screen-printed tees and hoodies.
“You're right,” he says, tapping my knee lightly, standing up. As he walks toward the hallway, he slips his shirt off the rest of the way. I can't look away from the sight, even if it is only from the back. Damn. What is happening to me? Have I gone mad?
Before I can tear my eyes away from him, he turns around. Judging by the look in his eyes, I've been caught. I have so been caught. Damn again. I didn't want him to see me practically drooling. It's too late for that now.
He smirks. “You know, I could spend the rest of the night just like this.” He places a hand to the hard muscles of his chest.
I clear my throat, trying really hard not to imagine my hand in place of his, and say, “If I'm wearing clothes, you're wearing clothes.”
“So if I'm not wearing clothes...” I grab a coaster from the coffee table and fling it at him. He catches it in his hand. “Just remember, all you have to do is say otherwise.”
― Here All Along
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