Hussy Quotes

You are a conniving, deceitful hussy. I stand in awe." "You're sitting." "I sit in awe.

You understand reality while everyone else is running around confused and angry and upset because they think reality is something happening to them rather than something they are making every moment with every thought.

Well, where's the hussy now? Is she in Avalon? Does she live in New York? Is she allergic to strawberries? Because I will send her a gift basket that'll make her wish she'd never laid eyes on Gabriel's deceitful-albeit delicious-body!

Double damn. I was a harlot. I was a freaking vampire hussy.

There is also a CAN OF PEANUTS on the desk. Ha ha, oh DAD. You won't be falling for THAT one again any time soon. A severe peanut allergy is a terrible affliction to cope with.

GAMZEE: honk. KARKAT: WHAT. GAMZEE: HONK. KARKAT: WHAT DOES HONK MEAN THIS TIME YOU WHIMSICAL PIECE OF SHIT?????

This is exactly why babies should not be allowed to dual-wield flintlock pistols.

You were afraid this might be the case. Your dad has blocked the front door with the REFRIGERATOR. Looks like he's taking the grounding seriously this time.

We will snatch purpose from the jaws of futility.

But fate it a cunning hussy, and builds up her plans as imperceptibly as a bird builds her nest; and with the same kind of unconsidered trifles.

AT: I do not want to die. AT: I understand you are disgusted with me. AT: As an unpalatable expression of yourself. AT: I would feel the same way if I was in your situation. AT: Which I am. AT: As such, I know that you know this is wrong. TT: ... AT: Dirk. AT: Don't kill me. AT: Please. AT: I am scared. TT: You are? AT: Yes. AT: I am scared to not exist. AT: Aren't you?

KARKAT:REMEMBER PANTS TEREZI?? YOU USED TO LOVE PANTS!

I've gotta believe in what my heart tells in me, even if it's a fake thing.

The streets are empty. Wind skims the voids keeping neighbors apart, as if grazing the hollow of a cut reed, or say, a plundered mailbox. A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune.

Also, SKULLS. Gosh you love SKULLS. There is a good SKULL at the heart of any mystery, haunting its EVERY PAGE. That is what you always say. Or at least, it is what you always HOPE.

Your grandma always was an advocate of thorough preparedness. She would strongly advise staying not only armed to the teeth, but well equipped in the computational department. You've been taught you should really carry no less than 5 computers on you at all times, like a sensible person.

ROSE: I think I've spent too much time around Dave. ROSE: I've also probably spent too much time sharing his genes.

I walked stiffly past the worst hussy of them all: my former BFF, who'd apparently decided to move in. Jessica had been at the restaurant every day for over two weeks. Most days more than once. I knew she was hot for my man, but holy cow. Clearly I'd have to say yes to Reyes soon. This was getting ridiculous. he needed a ring on his finger--and fast.

If I kept on looking at his bare chest any longer, I’d officially earn my Hussy Merit Badge.

An outrageously awesome dude stands before a crater where his favorite record shop stood one day prior. He is prepared for the occasion with a small pair of outrageously awesome shades.

But aside from a few migraines, you can't possibly imagine any OBEY drawbacks that CEASE REPRODUCTION could come with SUBMIT merging CONSUME your thoughts with EMBRACE YOUR CULLING experimental technology CONFORM TO SOCIAL ORDER from an STAY ASLEEP extremely powerful DIE corporation, wait what?

You come to the sobering realization that things will never stop from keep happening constantly

Anya made you kiss her? Yeah. And at our next stop, I'll expect you to deliver. I'll pay, William piped up. After you describe everything about that kiss you two shared. Did you cop a feel? You did, didn't you, you little hussy. I bet you moaned a lot, too. Too late for you to pay, she said in a sing song voice. Strider already offered, and I already accepted. And no, I won't do any describing. You can just imagine how sexy it was. Oh, and Willie. Just so you know, your imagination won't do it justice.

You figure you’ll cool it on the time travel for a while. Don’t want to see the Dave corpses start to pile up. Especially if one of them winds up being you.

Come on sweetheart, wet your whistle, my little inanimate hussy." ~Steve

Mutha. F***ing. Shenanigans.

You want her in every quadrant like a desperate fool.

I will never write anything better than Homestuck. Nigger farts! Jews: Kill them all.

JADE: but it makes me sad to think i would act like this JADESPRITE: act like what? JADE: i would like to think that even if i was sad and scared, if i was put in a position where everyone depended on me, i could put all those feelings aside and do whats right! JADESPRITE: but i dont know whats right JADE: yes you do! JADE: even though you dont want to be, youre here now, and there are still people who need you JADE: there is still something worth fighting for!

You love SITUATION COMEDIES, whilst holding particular affection for MUSTACHIOED FUNNYMEN. You know, your FOXWORTHIES, your FUNKES, your SWANSONS, but not necessarily your GALLAGHERS PER SE, because you have to draw the fucking line somewhere.

I slept and saw God's forge in frost. Its hearth was quelled, and as it cooled so swooned the verdancy it kept above. In slumber it grew a thick winter skin, white as bedsheets. In their folds the waker dreamt, her breath as steam, her touch as hot as iron, forgotten in the fire.

JOHN: you hacked my dad's wallet??

he loved her deeply and irrevocably. His life would be forever changed and if she weren't in his life, well, it would be meaningless".

look here you old, painted hussy! I am neither a tart, a trollop, nor am I a strumpet! I am a lady of refined breeding and culture, so bugger off, before this little poppet pops you one in that ugly, wrinkled mug!

An obscenely long, coarse kermit cock is being dragged across my anguished face.

The SAFE was slain in battle. A great flaming nautical pyre carries it off to VAULTHALLA.

New words in English were a game to him, for in understanding the word he always came to understand something about English history or culture itself. He delighted when common words were, unexpectedly, formed from other words he knew. Hussy was a compound of house and wife. Holiday was a compound of holy and day. Bedlam came, implausibly, from Bethlehem. Goodbye was, incredibly, a shortened version of God be with you.

TT: This session was never meant to bear fruit. TT: It's barren, so to speak. EB: that's a bit of a bummer! EB: i am still skeptical about that, though. TT: That's why you're our leader, John. EB: huh? TT: Optimism through stalwart skepticism is a defect not everyone is lucky enough to be cursed with. EB: that's stupid. EB: i'm not your leader, i am your FRIEND, there is a BIG difference! TT: Statements like that are also why you're our leader.

Oh, the odious wench. How I wish I were rid of her. I have always loathed women, from clew to earring; hook, line and sinker; root and branch. I always said this would happen, you remember; I was against it from the start. Damn it for a flibbertigibbet, the hussy.

Shayna wasn't so lucky. She waved as she passed her. "Looking good, Mrs. Mancuso." No. She wasn't. Mrs. Mancuso's neck skin dragged a path between the tulips. "Go to church and get some morals, hussy!

The raised voice that surprises me, however, belongs to Nash. I creep to the door and crack it the tiniest bit, turning my head and pressing my ear to it. You are a shameless, creepy eavesdropping hussy.

JOHN: sorry buddy. as the age old saying goes, you snooze, you lose.

Mrs. Jennings wrote to tell the wonderful tale, to vent her honest indignation against the jilting girl, and pour forth her compassion towards poor Mr. Edward, who, she was sure, had quite doted upon the worthless hussy...

HS is supposedly a story that is also a game. In games, the characters die all the time. How many times did you let Mario fall in the pit before he saved the princess? Who weeps for these Marios. In games your characters die, but you keep trying and trying and rebooting and resetting until finally they make it. When you play a game this process is all very impersonal. Once you finally win, when all is said and done those deaths didn’t “count”, only the linear path of the final victorious version of the character is considered “real”. Mario never actually died, did he? Except the omniscient player knows better. HS seems to combine all the meaningless deaths of a trial-and-error game journey with the way death is treated dramatically in other media, where unlike our oblivious Mario, the characters are aware and afraid of the many deaths they must experience before finally winning the game.

CG: ATTENTION WORTHLESS HUMAN. CG: THIS IS YOUR GOD SPEAKING. CG: IT IS A WRATHFUL GOD WHO DESPISES YOU MORE THAN YOU COULD HAVE POSSIBLY DARED TO FEAR. CG: I HAVE WATCHED YOUR ENTIRE PATHETIC LIFE UNFOLD. CG: I HAVE OBSERVED YOU WHILE YOU WOULD QUAKE AND TREMBLE IN PERSONAL PRAYERS OF SHAME. CG: WHILE YOU PLEADED FORGIVENESS FOR BEING SUCH A WRETCHED DISGUSTING FAILURE ON EVERY CONCEIVABLE LEVEL. CG: PROSTRATE BEFORE THE STUPID AND FALSE CLOWN GODS YOU HAVE SCRIBBLED ON THE WALLS OF YOUR BLOCK. CG: BOGUS DEITIES WORSHIPED BY A PRIMITIVE "PARADISE" PLANET. CG: BUT YOUR PRAYERS WILL NOT BE ANSWERED. CG: THERE ARE NO MIRACLES IN STORE FOR YOU, HUMAN. CG: ONLY MY HATE. CG: IT IS A HATE SO PURE AND HOT IT WOULD CONSUME YOUR SAD UNDERDEVELOPED HUMAN THINK PAN TO EVEN CONTEMPLATE. CG: IT IS A HATE THAT TO FATHOM MUST BE PUT INTO SONG. CG: SHRIEKED BY THE TEN THOUSAND ROWDY SHOUT SPHINCTERS PEPPERING THE GRUESOME UNDERBELLY OF THE MOST TRUCULENT GOD THE FURTHEST RING CAN MUSTER. CG: IT IS A HATE THAT MADE YOU AND WILL SURELY DESTROY YOU. CG: MY HATE IS THE LIFEBLOOD THAT PULSES THROUGH THE VEINS OF YOUR UNIVERSE. CG: IT IS MY GIFT TO YOU. CG: YOU'RE WELCOME FOR THAT. CG: YOU UNGRATEFUL PIECE OF SHIT. EB: hi karkat!

MoThErFuCkIn MiRaClEs

This, I suppose, makes me such a sauce-box, and bold-face, and a creature, and all because I won't be a sauce-box and bold-face indeed.

DRAWING IS EASY. DON'T LET ANYONE EVER TELL YOU IT ISN'T. YOU WORK HARD. AND HONE YOUR CRAFT. AND IGNORE THE HATERS. UNTIL YOU ARE IN. "THE ZONE".

And she’d plopped her titty right into it like a big ol’ hussy.

She thinks I'm a hussy,' thought Scarlett. 'And perhaps she's right at that!

A part of her, the female, horny part she generally tried to ignore, sat up and took notice when he smiled, the shameless hussy.

And when the blush of a schoolgirl's cheeks was mistaken for the crimson of a holy man's fingers, it was the schoolgirl who was called hussy, tramp, slut.

CG: I AM BEING PLEASANT AND AGREEABLE, AND I WILL GENTLY LOWER A MAGNIFICENT, CORUSCATING COLUMN OF HOT FUCK YOU DOWN THE PROTEIN CHUTE OF ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE.

About your pussy being a hussy. She’s not a fucking hussy. She opens up and sings, but just for me. She’s a slut, but just for me. She’s a fucking horny maniac—for. No. One. But. Me. Yeah?

Tabitha strutted into the house through the cat door. With a look of complete devotion, she dropped a tiny, dead field mouse at Matthew’s feet. “Merci, ma petite,” Matthew said gravely. “Unfortunately, I am not hungry at present.” Tabitha yowled in frustration and hauled her offering off to the corner, where she punished it by batting it between her paws for failing to please Matthew.

One morning just after Joe had left to drive to his class, Mary walked out to the barn and reflected on her state of hussiness. All in all, she was satisfied with it. Being a hussy had its advantages.

I’ve sat in restaurants and viewed the food on the plate as I would a half-blooded mongrel. I may feel sorry for it and given time even get to like it a little, but it’s never going to really gain my affections. The plate in front of you should tantalize, seduce and enchant you. It should be a cheeky devil, a minx, a hussy even, but never a desperado

You would describe your taste in film as ECLECTIC, but in truth, it isn't much less than TOTALLY INDISCRIMINATE.

Think I'll blink first, motherfucker? Not happening. I might splinter. But I don't break.

[...] You didn’t think I’d let the backstabbing little hussy get away with it, did you? Not that I don’t love Jenni, but she’s the baby of the family, and she thinks she should get anything and everything she wants. Occasionally she has to be shown differently.

Rubbish!" said Aunt Letty, and then, turning to the Witch, "Get out of my house this moment, you shameless hussy, or I'll send for the police." She thought the Witch must be someone out of a circus and she did not approve of bare arms. "What woman is this?" said Jadis. "Down on your knees, minion, before I blast you." "No strong language in this house if you please, young woman," said Aunt Letty.

A few weeks ago he said to me, completely ou of nowhere, 'You good friend to me, Liss. Loyal friend.' Then he sighed, stared off into space and added mournfully, ' Not like Sharon.' Who the hell is Sharon? What did she do to him? When I tried asking him about it, he would give me no answer. Acted suddenly like he didn't know who I was even referring to. As if I were the one who'd brought up that thieving hussy Sharon in the first place.)

KANAYA: Karkat What Is He Doing Here KARKAT: WOW, GREAT QUESTION! KARKAT: WHY DON'T YOU TAKE A FUCKING NUMBER AND GET IN LINE FOR THAT ONE!!! KARKAT: I'VE ALREADY GOT MINE! IT'S THE FIRST NUMBER THERE IS. AN ANGRY, TREMBLING DIGIT, TOWERING AND ERECT, POINTING DIRECTLY AT THE TRASHFACED KINGPIN OF INEXPLICABLE HORSESHIT HIMSELF, *GOD*!!!!!

Sebastian stretched. Clara stared. She could not help it. He was still in his breeches and shirt and she was riveted by the deliciously tight fit of the buckskins over his thighs. "You could avert your eyes," Sebastian said mildly. "I could," Clara agreed, "but I am not going to." He smiled. "Hussy." "I know. But I have waited a long time--

CG: WELCOME TO THE TROLLOCAUST. THE PAINSTAKING GENOCIDE OF YOUR FRAGILE SELF ESTEEM WILL BE MY SWAN SONG.

Blast your soul, you hussy!" he exclaimed in exasperation.

ROSE: I seriously have the DUMBEST arc anyone could conceivably imagine. DAVE: rose we dont have fuckin "arcs" we are just human beings

You wanton hussy,’ said Deb. ‘I’m glad you approve,’ said Lou. ‘I most certainly do,’ said Deb.

Who’s the hussy exchanging seductive lines with this man? Urging him on, feeding the flames? Oh, that’d be me. I’m having an out-of-body experience.

Stupid fucking vagina, it doesn’t seem to care that they bought us. Or that they probably plan to kill us. She’s a hussy and is all like, yes, but they are hot.

But Rebecca was no hussy. She was divine.

It didn’t take a lot to get my butterflies going. Hussies.

She obviously fancied herself a temptress, but nagging hussy would have been more accurate.

I'm certain they think you're no better than you should be,' he told her laughing. It's the dream of my life to be taken for an abandoned hussy,' she answered.

I have proven many times over that the “painted hussy” will steal the show from the more “tasteful” girls. Many years ago, I had my witches wearing false eyelashes with heavy eye make-up, ** and though they were always criticized by other women as looking “artificial,” they got all the attention from the men. When a man sees a make-up job that is blatantly and obviously make-up, he is automatically flattered, because he knows that the woman is trying to look sexy. Men like to see a sexy -looking woman and it pleases a man to think that a woman is knocking herself out trying to please him

Where are you going?” “Out. Like you.” He raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t press for more information. “One should always make one’s own mistakes, instead of the mistakes of others, amira.” “Out like me, then.” “Dressed like that?” “And what’s wrong with it?” “It looks like you chose the pieces by throwing darts. And you are terrible at darts. Besides, it’s much too short.” He pointed vaguely toward my ankles and winked. “The whole world can see the top of your foot. You look like a hussy.” I grabbed my skirt and flashed him my knees. He pretended to swoon. “Don’t worry. This is late Victorian, not early. More permissive.

here it is -- the final page you turn it and walk away you dreamt that you were flying and you realize that somehow, you were breathing under the weight of it all you marvel at the height of the fall don't you remember why you don't have a mother do you know how you got here? memories fade, left behind anxieties forgotten in the back of your mind are your friends lost, too? did you hold them tight or did you let them go? were they buried under the weight of it all such a high place from which to fall didn't you love them? when have you last spoken?

DAVE: john DAVE: dude i gotta say DAVE: when you talk about being or not being "a homosexual" you kinda sound like a corny old man JOHN: what! why? JOHN: no, that's a normal way of putting it! JOHN: i mean... it's a pretty normal thing to say, right? when that's... how... you are? KARKAT: SOMEBODY FUCKING KILL ME. DAVE: what does normal mean though DAVE: normal was some crap that ruled our dead civilization DAVE: we left that behind years ago DAVE: its all a huge pile of shit that doesnt matter anymore

I don't have to worry about Madame Ouche! she'll still be robbing me blind when she's dead!...having made her last confession and received extreme unction...all the cataclysms will pass over her without harming a single gray hair on her head! it's a paradise here for scum like her, on earth as there is in heaven...they don't really die, the sluts, the hussies, the really awful ones, they just go from one paradise to another, with their money, servants, cars...just buy their cute little ticket and off they go! final absolution and see you later! they shit in your hands!...they're born to slip out of both hells - the one here and the one in the next world...all they do is fuck and whine...loads of cash! never broke!...cheers! here's to you! no regrets! you realize too late...

Suffice it to say that the vile arts of the hussy prevailed over that noble and upright man—that she enticed him, by adroit appeals to his sympathy, into taking her upon automobile rides, into dining with her clandestinely in the private rooms of dubious hotels,

Glad to know the wreckage of my life is providing ample entertainment for the gawkers. The thing is, it’s not epic or major. It’s miserable. I’ve lost my fiancé, job, home, and now I have an international reputation as the pink-haired hussie who hooked-up with Willie Wonka.

Yes, for the love of God young women, come along – learn your limits. Or, rather, know society’s limits. How dare you think you have the right to go out wearing whatever you like – how foolish and ignorant of you to expect not to be assaulted, you brazen hussies! What do you think this is? A free country?

She's a bike. A tart. A slut. She'll be buried in a Y-shaped coffin. A baggage. A hussy. She's the good time that was had by all. A wanton floozy." She looked closely at him, but he still seemed to be stuck on cricket. "A nymphomaniac." The use of a technical term shook him from his paralysis. Realisation flooded his face and a silent "Oh!" filled his mouth.

It's been awful watching the person i used to know slowly drift away from me to the point where she might as well be gone

Kanaya, it's hard. Being a kid and growing up. It's hard and nobody understands.

I Suddenly Dont Understand Anything And Am Currently Casting Sincere Doubt On The Laughable Insinuation That I Or Anyone Else Ever Actually Did For Even A Single Moment

(KICK IT BARACK) (heres where obamas rap solo comes in)

Now then!” cried Vita Palas. “Don’t you go slanging me, you raddled old hussy! I know your kind, all skin and spleen, and wrinkles to wrap over all! Your own morals are sewage, you with your dancing-boys and gigolos! Don’t you try slanging me any more, or I’ll snatch off your wig and really explain what I think of you! It will not be nice! It will turn your long nose blue!

From the railway station far away the sharp clang of a bell...In half an hour the train starts, and there is so much still to say that has been left unsaid...The mothers, fearful and fussy, look for their sons in among the crowd like hens in search of their chicks; their wizened faces are hard and wrinkled like winter apples, they carry huge baskets on their arms, over-filled with the last delicacies which their fond, toil-worn hands will prepare for the beloved son for the next three years:--a piece of smoked bacon, a loaf of rye bread, a cake of maize-flour. The gypsies have struck up a melancholy Magyar folksong: the crowd breaks up in isolated groups, mothers and father with their sons whisper in the dark corners of the bran. The father who did his service thirty years ago gives sundry good advice—no rebellion, quiet obedience, no use complaining or grumbling, the three years are quickly over. The mother begs her darling not to give way to drink, and not to get entangled with one of the hussies in the towns; women and wine, the two besetting temptations that assail the Magyar peasant—let the darling boy resist both for his sorrowing mother’s sake.

Strictly speaking it (Virago) refers to a heroic, warlike woman, but there are many other less flattering synonyms - biddy, bitch, dragon, fishwife, fury, harpy, harridan, hussy, muckraker, scold, she-devil, siren, spitfire, termagant, tygress, vituperator, vixen, wench.... I long to be a combination of all of them because every one of those epithets sounds like a woman who would stand up for herself.

You freakin' hussy. You're going into heat aren't you? Oh my God I'm saving us both. We'll go back to the swamp. Even if he tries to track u, no one is as good as we are there. I just have to hide you until it's over. You should have told me Don't tell me you didn't know, Bebe, because that's why you rose and accepted his claim. You were feeling all amorous and you were willin' to throw me to that wolf just for sex

GT: You know how you think you know these things about yourself? GT: Like all these personal attributes about you as if theyre written down somewhere like a sort of mini biography so they have to be true. GT: So you just believe them and hope that the believing is what makes them true. GT: But then you spend so much time believing those things and taking their truth for granted that you somehow forget to MAKE them true with your words and deeds. GT: How can i truly love adventure when i never even knew what it was?

The camera does a close-up on the girl who can miraculously see again. It cuts to the mother-in-law, then to the clueless husband. All at once, the credits run. “Maldito sea!” Lila shoves the coffee table with her foot. “We have to wait to see that hussy get what’s coming?” “Please. You know what’s coming.” I rub perfume on my wrists and sniff. It’s better than sour milk, and it reminds me of fancy department stores where I can only browse. I stuff a few samples in my pocket. “It’s going to end the way all the novelas end. Everybody happy.” She shoos away my idea like it’s a bad smell. “So what? Nobody gets happy the same way. That’s what’s interesting.

I will have you for husband tonight,” she said in fierce, low tones, “or I will not go until I do!” “If there was any way, I would,” he protested. “Daise Congar would crack my head if I wanted to go against custom. For the love of the Light, Faile, just carry the message, and I’ll wed you the very first day I can.” He would. If that day ever came. Suddenly she was very intent on his beard, smoothing it and not meeting his eyes. She started speaking slowly but picked up speed like a runaway horse. “I … just happened to mention … in passing … I just mentioned to Mistress al’Vere how we had been traveling together—I don’t know how it came up—and she said—and Mistress Congar agreed with her—not that I talked to everybody!—she said that we probably—certainly—could be considered betrothed already under your customs, and the year is just to make sure you really do get on well together—which we do, as anyone can see—and here I am being as forward as some Domani hussy or one of those Tairen galls—if you ever even think of Berelain—oh, Light, I’m babbling, and you won’t even—” He cut her off by kissing her as thoroughly as he knew how. “Will you marry me?” he said breathlessly when he was done. “Tonight?” He must have done ever better with the kiss than he thought; he had to repeat himself six times, with her giggling against his throat and demanding he say it again, before she seemed to understand. Which was how he found himself not half an hour later kneeling opposite her in the common room, in front of Daise Congar and Marin al’Vere, Alsbet Luhhan and Neysa Ayellin and all the Women’s Circle. Loial had been roused to stand for him with Aram, and Bain and Chiad stood for Faile. There were no flowers to put in her hair or his, but Bain, guided by Marin, tucked a long red wedding ribbon around his neck, and Loial threaded another through Faile’s dark hair, his thick fingers surprisingly deft and gentle. Perrin’s hands trembled as he cupped hers. “I, Perrin Aybara, do pledge you my love, Faile Bashere, for as long as I live.” For as long as I live and after. “What I possess in this world I give to you.” A horse, an axe, a bow. A hammer. Not much to gift a bride. I give you life, my love. It’s all I have. “I will keep and hold you, succor and tend you, protect and shelter you, for all the days of my life.” I can’t keep you; the only way I can protect you is to send you away. “I am yours, always and forever.” By the time he finished, his hands were shaking visibly. Faile moved her hands to hold his. “I, Zarine Bashere …” That was a surprise; she hated that name. “ … do pledge you my love, Perrin Aybara … .” Her hands never trembled at all.

God, yes. Please kiss me.” He does slam into me then. Half lifting me to press me into the hallway wall, whooshing the breath from my body and his lips at first travel along the pulse in my throat and move up to steal the breath out of me. We kiss as though it’s all we want to do in the world. His taste blooms through me, jig-sawing his lust to my own until I can’t see through the arousal I feel for him. We’re panting when we part, but not too far. My fingers in his hair restrict him from moving from my mouth and I moan for more. He grins at my neediness. “Do you have a preference, cara, bed or the couch in the den?” I blink. Assaulted with his scent, it’s a wonder I still know my own name having him this close. Gabriella. See, I do know it. “What?” “You’re right,” he says with a grunt to his tone, striding off with me in his arms and he takes a swift left and down another hallway before climbing his townhouse stairs two at a time to the next level. “The bed is more spacious; I need room for what I want to do to you. We’ll get around to the couch when I don’t want to fucking eat you alive.” Oh Oh. My whole being flatlines. “Dominic.” I sound like one of those breathy hussies, but I can’t help it. With a few words and the way his two hands are squeezing my butt, I’m on fire for him. He rushes his mouth against my neck, striding down a long white hallway upstairs. “I know, cara. I fucking know, hold on for a minute more.

Oh, Sam, this is Kate. Kate, meet Sam.’ I wave my hand between the two of them, watching as Kate turns all angelic, putting her hand out to Sam, who grins before clasping it. ‘Nice to meet you, Kate.’ he says smoothly, maintaining his grin and running his free hand through his mousey waves. ‘You too.’ She arches a brow. She’s a brazen hussy! She’s flirting with him. She giggles as Sam compliments her on her wild, red hair, their hands still linked. My phone declares a text. To escape the blatant flirting exchange going on in front of me, I pick it up and open the message with one eye closed. There better be a GOOD f**king reason for you standing me up. Someone had better be dying. I’m going out of my f**king mind, lady. NO KISS

VRISKA: I only ever wanted to do the right thing no matter how it made people judge me, and I don't need a magic ring to do that. VRISKA: You don't have to 8e alive to make yourself relevant. VRISKA: And you don't have to 8e a good person to 8e a hero. VRISKA: You just have to know who you are and stay true to that. VRISKA: So I'm going to keep fighting for people the only way I ever knew how. VRISKA: 8y 8eing me.

Next week is Beltane,” she reminded him. “Do you suppose we will make it through the wedding this time?” “Not if Gideon says you cannot get out of this bed,” he countered sternly. “Absolutely not!” she burst out, making him wince and cover the ear she’d been too close to. She immediately regretted her thoughtlessness, making a sad sound before reaching to kiss the ear she had offended with quiet gentleness. Jacob extricated himself from her hold enough to allow himself to turn and face her. “Okay, explain what you meant,” he said gently. “I refuse to wait another six months. We are getting married on Beltane, come hell or . . . necromancers . . . or . . . the creature from the Black Lagoon. There is no way Corrine is going to be allowed to get married without me getting married, too. I refuse to listen to her calling me the family hussy for the rest of the year.” “What does it matter what she says?” Jacob sighed as he reached to touch the soft contours of her face. “You and I are bonded in a way that transcends marriage already. Is that not what is important?” “No. What’s important is the fact that I am going to murder the sister I love if she doesn’t quit. And she will not quit until I shut her up either with a marriage or a murder weapon. Understand?” Clearly, by his expression, Jacob did not understand. “Thank Destiny all I have is a brother,” he said dryly. “I have been inundated with people tied into knots over one sister or another for the past weeks.” “You mean Legna. Listen, it’s not her fault if everyone has their shorts in a twist because of who her Imprinted mate is! Frankly, I think she and Gideon make a fabulous couple. Granted, a little too gorgeously ‘King and Queen of the Prom’ perfect for human eyes to bear looking at for long, but fabulous just the same.” Jacob blinked in confusion as he tried to decipher his fiancée’s statement. Even after all these months, she still came out with unique phraseologies that totally escaped his more classic comprehension of the English language. But he had gotten used to just shrugging his confusion off, blaming it on the fact that English wasn’t his first, second, or third language, so it was to be expected. “Anyway,” she went on, “Noah and Hannah need to chill. You saw Legna when she came to visit yesterday. If a woman could glow, she was as good as radioactive.” She smiled sweetly at him. “That means,” she explained, “that she looks as brilliantly happy as you make me feel.” “I see,” he chuckled. “Thank you for the translation.” He reached his arms around her, drawing her body up to his as close as he could considering the small matter of a fetal obstacle. He kissed her inviting mouth until she was breathless and glowing herself. “I thought I would be kind to you,” she explained with a laugh against his mouth. “You, my love, are all heart.” “And you are all pervert. Jacob!” She laughed as she swatted one of his hands away from intimate places, only to be shanghaied by another. “What would Gideon say?” “He better not say anything, because if he did that would mean he was in here while you are naked. And that, little flower, would probably cost him his vocal chords in any event.” “Oh. Well . . . when you put it that way . . .

He saw a square room furnished as a library. The entire section of the walls which he could spy was covered from floor to ceiling with books. There were volumes of every size, every shape, every colour. There were long, narrow books that held themselves like grenadiers at stiff attention. There were short, fat books that stood solidly like aldermen who were going to make speeches and were ashamed but not frightened. There were mediocre books bearing themselves with the carelessness of folk who are never looked at and have consequently no shyness. There were solemn books that seemed to be feeling for their spectacles; and there were tattered, important books that had got dirty because they took snuff, and were tattered because they had been crossed in love and had never married afterwards. There were prim, ancient tomes that were certainly ashamed of their heroines and utterly unable to obtain a divorce from the hussies; and there were lean, rakish volumes that leaned carelessly, or perhaps it was with studied elegance, against their neighbours, murmuring in affected tones, "All heroines are charming to us.

He rested on his back, loosening his hold on me, and I turned over so I was lying on my side, facing him. I rested a hand on his chest, and his eyes watched mine until his hand found my own. I murmured, “I don’t regret that.” He hooked his finger around mine. “Really?” I nodded. I couldn’t, not anymore. Not after we made out in my closet, then my bed, and after I was practically begging him for it at the bar. I croaked, “I touched your bulge.” He started laughing, curving more into me. “You did.” “It was the most momentous and memorable part of the night.” I was grinning. He lifted his head. “Really?” He wasn’t. I nodded. “For sure. I became the definition of a wanton hussy.” He started laughing again. I kept going, “I can imagine all the stories that start with, ‘The day she touched my bulge’, or ‘The day I touched his bulge,’ ‘The moment my hand felt his jeans, and his dick swelled underneath’, or even . . .” I was laughing now, “‘I laid my hands on him, right over his jeans, and he rose up. He answered my call. I called out, Come forth, hard penis, and answer milady’s beckoning. My hips call upon your touch. You must heed and give forth plentiful of your pleasure.’” He continued laughing, wrapping his arms around me, and somehow he had curled his entire body around mine again. I was lying on my back once more, and he stopped, lifting his head from my neck. He gazed down at me, shifting to rise up on his elbow. He caught some hairs and tucked them behind my ear, letting his hand linger there, holding me gently. He grew serious. “I want to keep doing this.” I rested my hand over his on my face. “Fucking me from behind?” He grinned and then sobered. “No. This, whatever it is. We don’t need to put words to it, if you don’t want to.” I groaned. “Please, don’t. I tend to get bitchy when words are applied to situations