Duet Game Quotes

I spent a long time playing that game,” she said. “Pretending there were other versions of this world, where other versions of me got to live, and be happy, even if I didn’t, and you know what? It’s lonely as hell. Maybe there are other versions, other lives, but this one’s ours. It’s all we’ve got.

The first time I saw her, I had to hold my breath. The first time she spoke, I exhaled.

Come out, little Katherine, he’d say. Let’s play a game.

I needed to love you more than I wanted to dominate you. Don’t doubt for a second that I chose to love you.

I just wanted to watch her exist.

Nothing. You need nothing. I provide you with what you need, and what I don’t provide, you don’t need. Think of it as a vacation from adulthood.

Game over. I’m done. She’s it. The one. Now I have to make her fall in love with me.

This isn’t a game,” I whisper hoarsely. He sobers, pulling back slightly so I can clearly see the look in his eyes. “No, it’s not. You punched a hole in my goddamned chest in Seattle, only to leave me in the dark to try and figure out how to fill it.

I wanted her to go. I wanted her to stay. I wanted her on my terms I wanted her on any terms. I wanted to be cured of the disease of love. I wanted to be cured of want.

Because she’s going to help you understand something. I’m not yours to taunt. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you try to manipulate me. I invented that game.

Bedroom games. That’s all it is. But they’re serious, and when played right, everyone wins.” He

When is love? Is love when your heart swells at the sight of him? Is love when you fall asleep on his shoulder? Or when you fold him into sections so you can fit him in your odd-shaped envelope?

She's my life, do you understand? Have you ever loved a woman? Have you ever held her at night so tight because you couldn't sleep thinking something might happen to her? Have you ever built a future around a woman? Ever thought of every tomorrow, every year, every decade with her? Dreamed of your old age holding her hand?

Her enthusiasm infected me. She was light, life, energy. Everything. What wouldn't I do for her, when she gave me so much? I would have married her in an instant. So I did.

I loved her. Wanted to love her. Needed to love her, and the second she kneeled, she’d be nothing to me.

Spread me like a sheet of paper. Write your life on mine. Fold past and present together like a letter. I am yours.

I guess the difference now is that I want to give you the world, but you can already buy it for yourself. So what do you need me for?

What game do you play?” He smiles. “I play all of them, baby. I want to know which one you like.

To submit is to choose. To hunt. To chase. To decide. To submit is to dominate.

Life was a game, and you never knew when the tides reversed, when the coin of fate changed its course, declared its contrary and life-altering outlooks.

Do you hate your husband?” “I never hated him.” “You’re about to.

He'd taken my armor, carefully unlocked it, slipped it off, and hidden it.

Without you, this part of myself that’s open now isn’t an opportunity. It’s an open wound. Every time you shut down, it bleeds.

The problem is this. When you dominate me, I’m in love. But when I submit, your love dies.

Just because I fucked you like a husband this afternoon doesn’t mean you’re in charge.

They were symptoms of another disease. I needed to become a man unburdened by love.

There were no parallel realities. No imaginings created infinite worlds for every possible decision.

I didn’t know what we were saying to each other. We were just battering rams of hurt and betrayal.

She’d missed the entire point and hit the bullseye.

Alright, you cuntasauruses, game on! May the best man win.

It's another man. I'll kill him. Check everything. Lock out the banks. Tuesday after the Unicef Gala. Fucked her Tuesday. She came. Did she come? Definitely came. What did I do wrong? It's me. What's his name? I'll kill— Apologize for nothing. Get access to her email. Where is she? Apologize for everything. She didn't mean it. Do something. Do something. Do. Something.

There comes a point when you win, and you can either soothe the loser into thinking there was something in it for them or kick them while they're down to make sure they know what just happened.

Around the glade this pair of woodland nymphs danced. He swept her in a waltz to a duet that was sometimes off tune, sometimes rent with giggling and laughter as they made their own music. A breathless Erienne fell to a sun-dappled hummock of deep, soft moss, and laughing for the pure thrill of the day, she spread her arms, creating a comely yellow-hued flower on the dark green sward while seeming every bit as fragile as a blossom to the man who watched her. With bliss-bedazzled eyes, she gazed through the treetops overhead where swaying branches, bedecked in the first bright green of spring, caressed the underbellies of the freshlet zephyrs, and the fleecy white clouds raced like frolicking sheep across an azure lea. Small birds played courting games, and the earlier ones tended nests with single-minded perseverance. A sprightly squirrel leapt across the spaces, and a larger one followed, bemused at the sudden coyness of his mate. Christopher came to Erienne and sank to his knees on the thick, soft carpet, then bracing his hands on either side of her, slowly lowered himself until his chest touched her bosom. For a long moment he kissed those blushing lips that opened to him and welcomed him with an eagerness that belied the once-cool maid. Then he lifted her arm and lay beside her, keeping her hand in his as he shared her viewpoint of the day. They whispered sweet inanities, talked of dreams, hopes, and other things, as lovers are wont to do. Erienne turned on her side and taking care to keep her hand in the warm nest, ran her other fingers through his tousled hair. “You need a shearing, milord,” she teased. He rolled his head until he could look up into those amethyst eyes. “And does my lady see me as an innocent lamb ready to be clipped?” At her doubtful gaze, he questioned further. “Or rather a lusting, long-maned beast? A zealous suitor come to seduce you?” Erienne’s eyes brightened, and she nodded quickly to his inquiry. “A love-smitten swain? A silver-armored knight upon a white horse charging down to rescue you?” “Aye, all of that,” she agreed through a giggle. She came to her knees and grasped his shirt front with both hands. “All of that and more.” She bent to place a honeyed kiss upon his lips, then sitting back, spoke huskily. “I see you as my husband, as the father of my child, as my succor against the storm, protector of my home, and lord of yonder manse. But most of all, I see you as the love of my life.” -Erienne & Christopher

Your problem isn’t that you don’t love. Your problem is you love so much it scares you.

Absolutely I’m gonna kiss you, but that’s not the endgame. There’s no game at all. The plan here, Max, is to marry you.

So it goes,” Dean said, taking a swig of the glass bottle of Coke in his hand. “You get the chick, lose the chick, hope to God you can get the chick back again.” “Are you speaking from experience?” “Fuck no. I don’t have time to play those games,” he said. “I fuck. I leave. That’s it.” “Which is a game in and of itself.” “Yeah, but I’m a pro at that game.

I needed him to ride in and scoop me up without me giving him instructions on what color the horse should be or how shiny his armor needed to be. He needed to figure it out.

What would I do to possess her? Would I change my cellular structure? Turn my back on my identity?

I carried around five tons of pain where she used to be.

To submit is to choose. To hunt. To chase. To decide. To submit is to dominate.

Self-determination's a great ability until it's directed against you.

She tasted exactly like she always had. Like my wife. My partner. My very heart.

She tasted like the rest of my life.

I can tell if you love me or not.” “How can you tell, genius?” His tiny chuckle fills the air as he plucks one petal at a time. “Jasper loves me. Jasper loves me not. Jasper loves me. Jasper loves me not. Jasper loves me…” He trails off, a tremor in his voice. “What is it?” I lean sideways to look at his flower, but he hides away. “Joseph?” “It says you don’t love me.” He throws the flower to the ground. “I hate this game.” I laugh and pick another flower for him. He can be cute sometimes. Throwing the daisy at him, I say, “Try again.” “What if it also says you don’t love me?” “Then I’ll bring you all the flowers until you get the answer you want.

Ava?” “Yeah?” she murmurs, her mouth pressed to my neck. I pull her closer. “Promise not to tell anyone about the whole sleeping with a basketball thing?” She laughs but doesn’t pull away. Her lips skim along my jaw, stop just below my ear. “But then the whole flashing my boobs to the AV guys so they’d broadcast it at the next game would be for nothing.” I grunt when she bites down on my earlobe and bring my hand higher up her leg. “Don’t fucking joke.” Then I pull away, capture her mouth with mine, kissing her with a possessiveness I didn’t know was in me. She giggles into my mouth. “I’m not playing, Ava.” She just laughs harder.

And now, according to her, she wants to wait. Apparently, it’s her therapist’s advice. Because her therapist wants to make sure Ava is following her heart and not the parts between her legs that might be calling to me. I don’t see what’s wrong with her vagina calling to me. I wouldn’t mind it. Hell, it can call to me mid-game, and I’d go running.

I once had dinner here, and they had two different sized forks.” I laugh under my breath. “And knives. And spoons, too. And I’m pretty sure I ate a pigeon.” My head tilts back with the force of my guffaw. “You probably did.” His eyes soak me in. “I love watching you laugh.” My heart soars. “I love you.” He smiles, standing to full height again. “Did you have a pool house?” “Yeah, I did.” “Did you have a game room?” “Uh huh.” “Did you have wings?

felt like you loved me, but you also seemed like the guy I wanted to divorce,

You don’t deserve them. You don’t deserve any of us. You said you would up your game. That’s what I’ve been thinking in the back of my mind this whole time. Remember? I told you that you were getting predictable, and you said you would up your game.” I shake my head. “And boy, did you deliver.

I'm tired of playing games. What aren't you telling me?" I asked quietly. Misha bit his lower lip, squinting at me, like he was trying to decide if he was going to answer truthfully or not. A smile spread over his face slowly and he looked away. "I already told you — I'm a wolf too. It's easier to survive when you have a pack." His bright gaze returned to mine, looking pleased with himself. My jaw about hit the sidewalk. "You're telling me you...?" He winked and reached for the door handle.

At least most of the time. It made it easier when he was genuinely interested in everything I said, even the dumb stuff.

knowing absolutely was not half the battle and whoever said that was so full of shit. Knowing was just a mosquito in your brain you couldn’t squash, that you had to keep waving away when it got close enough to piss you off.

When things are always one way and there’s not much you can do about it, you just don’t bother wasting your time thinking about how they could be different.

I’m your sister.” And that’s your war cry. Take your clothes off, Olivia. I chew my lip. “I’ll do it, but under one condition.” He looks intently at me, waiting. “We make a game of it.

Not loving him hurt me. I didn’t leave to find someone else. I left because he was there, every day, reminding me I’d lost something I cherished. I

but somewhere on the back burners, something started stewing. Something difficult, bold, and utterly callous.

Why is the feminine so volatile? Why don’t we get arm cancer? Cancer of the nose? The eyes? Why does femaleness kill so many of us?

I’ve been walking around in this body my whole life and it’s been like dragging around a liability. It’s weak, and it wants, and it’s built like a magnet for pain. Men look at me on the street… not just me, all of us…women…and it’s scary. I’m scared all the time.

It was how she attacked everything. If she didn’t finish before she got bored, she didn’t finish.

But I’d changed, and I didn’t see what I wanted to see. I saw what was always there.

We were playing a difficult and intense game with unwritten rules. One we could both lose.

Complacency is the prologue to calamity.

Fuck me and my inability to love him.

I haven’t felt right in a long time. I need this corner of my world to be under control. You are the one great love of my life, but you don’t need this. You might like it, but you don’t need it. I do.

The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.

Hold on there, sheila.

But I’d be over her. I couldn’t imagine the day I wouldn’t love her, especially not with her submission at my feet.

Look at her face. She loves it. She was built for it.” I moved my hand off her mouth and pulled her closer, my hand circling between her legs, mercilessly pushing the shape of my cock against her.

He patted my shoulder as if I were a puppy. And that was the beginning of the end for me.

She just doesn’t know that I’ve rigged the game. Yet.

It’s time tom play a little game of hide and seek.

Growing up relatively isolated, with no extended family to speak of, I learned to keep myself entertained. That often meant making up games I could play alone, watching TV for hours, and daydreaming. I’m still that way now—keeping to myself, absorbed in my own world.

My duet will have to wait!” “Who were you going to duet with?” Libby asked. “Myself!

This is not a game.” “I know,” I say softly. “There’s a death toll. What’s it up to now? Did you include me? Did you add us both in?” My words seem to strike him where intended, and he darts his eyes away. “Because I’ve been slowly dying every day since I left.

We’re not playing a game with toy guns, extra lives, and Monopoly money. We left the fort and torched any trace it existed a long time ago, Cecelia.

Some boys have started a game of football. I can see them chasing after each other like fucking morons from here. What must it be like to run away for sport instead of necessity? What must it be like to tackle other men for fun instead of survival?

We won’t get in,” I say, my heart squeezing. I knew it would be a bumpy road convincing Damon to let us play, hiding the counting and the signals, but it aches to be stopped so early. That game means college-level math classes and professional addiction therapy for Daddy. It means freedom from ever being bartered again.

Nothing about this is appetizing, even if I were hungry. Except that Daddy made this for me. A hundred nights he was gone playing card games, leaving me to scrounge for food, to learn to work the stove before I really should have. All I’d wanted was this, a dry hot dog that he would make for me. I force myself to take a bite. Somehow it tastes worse than it looks. Chew. Swallow. Act like a person.

Get out,” Damon says, eyes on me. Acid rises in my throat. This is it. More than the game is at stake here. We’re at stake. Him. Me. Whatever twisted future we might have, when I’m a woman and he’s a man. “I’ll go,” I whisper. “Not you,” he says sharply. “Everyone else.

Calm down, I tell myself. It’s just a game. But I learned a long time ago that it’s more than that. It’s hunger and it’s pain. Or it can be survival. My hand is strangely steady as I reach for the last card. Even if it bites me I have to know. I lift the card, struggling to breathe. Struggling to see.

The scent of new paper and whatever glue coats the cards fills the small space as he pulls out the deck. His hands move impossibly fast, shuffling the cards with intimate knowledge. The same intimate knowledge I imagine he has with women. You’re a woman, my mind helpfully supplies. Damon Scott won’t be intimate with any part of my body. Not if I win this game. There’s a sense of loss about that, but also power—because I’ll be the one to decide my fate.

I’m just saying I’d give you the world if you wanted it, that I’d never let anything happen to you. We’re a force on our own, mami, but together? We’d take the world by fucking storm.

You have questions. Ask me, Cecelia.” I avert my gaze ignoring the surge in my veins. One second passes and then another as he leans in on a whisper. “My proposal has nothing to do with the look in your eyes, but if I touched you, right now,” he drawls out thickly, “the way you want me to right now, you wouldn’t refuse me.” “Your game is becoming predictable.” “Yeah?” He whispers, “Maybe I’ll up it.” He leans in, his warm breath heating the cool drop of water at my nape. “Ask me, Cecelia.

I’m not playing these fucking games with you, Jamie.” Her eyes widen. Just a tad. “I like you because I fucking do, and I want you because, honestly, I don’t think I have a choice.” Her hands are on my jaw now, thumbs stroking. I tilt my head, kiss the inside of her palm as if it’s something we’ve done a thousand times before. “And you have no idea what it does to me when you touch me like this.

I was convinced my pussy’s gravitational force could have pulled him in up to the elbow, releasing an orgasm that would snuff out the universe, but he smoothly laid his fingers on my skin and stroked it.

I hadn’t been aware we’d been playing, except of course I knew what game we were playing, and of course he won because I always lost the stay-away-from-the-hot-guy game.

Make up your mind, Greer. This time it’s not a game.

I’m not playing these fucking games with you, Jamie.” Her eyes widen. Just a tad. “I like you because I fucking do, and I want you because, honestly, I don’t think I have a choice.

They were both standing in front of me now, staring at me. Weston to my right, Donovan to my left, like a real life game of This or That, and of course the choice was This. It was the only choice. Practically. For my sanity. The other one wasn’t even an actual option. And yet my body pulled traitorously toward That.

Something shifts inside my psyche, and fear mingles with dark exhilaration. In this terrifying game, I’m not just a pawn—I’m his queen. He shows his love through this twisted devotion. The boundary between terror and desire crumbles, leaving behind an inexplicable need to match his intensity, to prove the ferocity of my devotion.

My dad taught me you should do the most difficult task in your day early instead of putting it off – then it was one less burden to deal with.

I’ll be there soon,” he tells me. “Don’t you dare leave.” “Don’t I dare leave?” Now I’m a little annoyed. “Maybe I’ll leave if I wanna leave,” I threaten. “If you leave after I’ve just told you not to, you’re gonna be over my knee, Violet.” I stare at the mirror, dumbfounded for a second. And then I flinch as what he just said penetrates. “Over your… Are you threatening to spank me?” “See you in half an hour.” I laugh. “You are. You’re threatening to spank me. Oh goodie.” “Or less,” he amends.

Is everything okay?” I ask. “No.” My heart sinks. “What’s wrong?” “I’ll survive. You just stole my breath for a minute. You’re a beautiful little thief.

Apple juice?” he asks, his voice a rumbly murmur into my ear. I nod. “That sounds amazing. I think you killed me. Apple juice might bring me back. Maybe.” “You look alive and well to me,” he tells me. “Killed me,” I whisper. “Kill killed me with his killer. That’s what I’m gonna name it. Killer.” “Please tell me you’re not naming my dick Killer.” I nod and rasp out, “Apple juice. Hurry. Revive me so I can think of a better name.

Nothing wrong with my cock, baby,” he adds. “In fact, I’d say Killer is fightin’ fit.

He looks down at me with a dark expression that has my heart pumping a little faster. “You the type who plans to be naughty to get my attention?” “Mayyybe. If it’s something you like, of course… I wanna make your cock hard, not your life hard.

Her heels are too high—she still won’t be anywhere near as tall as me, but how will she run in them? The game will be over before it properly starts.

I hate you.” Kyle stands up abruptly, startling me when he steals a brief kiss. “But you’ll love my games, Princess.

Mom moved him into his own room after he kissed me on the lips in front of them. It was innocent. We’d just won a board game together and were celebrating.

Fine,” I say. “Tomorrow night after we watch The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, you can be the Bookie Who Stole Violet’s Butt Virginity.