I Can't Imagine A Sweeter Agony, Having

“simon,” She Whispered, Vaguely Surprised That She Had Just Used His First Name, For She Had Never Used It Even In The Privacy Of Her Thoughts. Moistening Her Dry Lips, She Tried Once More, And To Her Astonishment, She Did It Again. “simon…” “yes?” A New Tension Had Entered His Long, Hard Body, And At The Same Time, His Hand Moved Over The Shape Of Her Skull In The Softest Caress Possible. “please… Take Me To My Room.” Hunt Tilted Her Head Back Gently And Regarded Her With A Sudden Faint Smile Playing On His Lips. “sweetheart, I Would Take You To Timbuktu If You Asked.“

Haven, Don't Ask Me To Define The Boundaries Of Normal. You Know How I Was Raised. My Father Once Struck Strands Of His Own Pubic Hair Onto A Painting And Sold It For A Million Dollars.

To Be Honest," I Halfwhispered, "i Don't Feel As Safe With Him As I Do With You." "i Know." A Ghost Of A Smile Touched My Lips. "how Do You Know?" "think About What Safety Is, Ella." "trust?" "yes, Partly. But Also An Absence Of Risk." He Unstuck A Strand Of Hair From My Damp Cheek And Tucked It Back. "maybe You Need To Take A Risk. Maybe You Need To Be With Someone Who Rattles You A Little.

Oh, I Have A Very Pure Soul. It's Only My Private Parts That Have Gotten Me Into Trouble".

There Is Something About You That Makes Me Feel Terribly Wicked. You Make Me Want To Do Shocking Things. Maybe It's Because You're So Proper. Your Necktie Is Never Crooked, And Your Shoes Are Always Shiny. And Your Shirts Are So Starchy. Sometimes When I Look At You, I Want To Tear Off All Your Buttons. Or Set Your Trousers On Fire. I've So Often Wondered-are You Ticklish, My Lord?