She came out of nowhere like a two-by-four against the skull, knocking all common sense out of him and turning him into a walking woody.
Claire, if you don’t move, I will have served two tours of duty only to die in this bed.
If there was anything he’d learned in his life, it was to fight fire with fire, and if that didn’t work, piss on the fire to put it out.
She had no doubt in her mind what he was going to do. And while her ever-elusive shred of common sense squealed, “no,” every thing else in her shouted, “Bring it on.
How did you know the dog was a boy before you read the tag?” Looking up at him with her cinnamon-colored eyes, she stated very matter-of-factly, “Boys have penises.” At that moment, Michael was very aware that he, himself, was a boy.
God, fate was a sick, twisted bitch. Doomed. He was certainly and absolutely heading straight for the fiery pits of Hell, he realized, as he lusted for his sworn enemy, the vampire.
She needed him. More than just his blood or the pleasure he offered with his playground of a body, she needed him—and that was far more terrifying than becoming a blood sucking monster.
For the first time in his centuries of life, doing the right thing didn’t seem like the right thing to do.
Nikolai had expected to have to fight the urge to torture the progeny of his father’s murderer, but he had never anticipated fighting the urge to fuck her.
