Pardon My Frenchie Quotes

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Ashanti's pleasurable gasps and mewls weren't making it any easier. Every sexy little whimper was like an injection of fuel, accelerating his need to draw out that response from her over and over again. He wanted to make her cry out in pleasure, to make it so good that she wouldn't even think about limiting this to a one-time thing. Thad hooked his arms under the bend of her knees and angled her hips upward, his own limbs growing weak at the ecstasy of the shift in position it produced. He immersed himself in her, not just her body but her entire essence. He could feel himself becoming more enthralled with every delicious thrust. She intoxicated him. Captivated him, body, soul, and everything in between.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
Ashanti hooked her hands behind his neck, pulled his head down, and pressed her lips to his. She was struck by how soft they felt. Never could she have imagined a hardened Army veteran would have lips that felt like brushed velvet; soft and supple and pliant. But then she realized she must have caught him off guard, because after a moment those gentle lips turned forceful, advancing with purpose as his hands came up to cradle her face. He parted her lips with his tongue and swept it inside her mouth, his tasting like sugary cupcakes they'd eaten. It had been so long since she'd felt this, the intense rush of intimately connecting with another human being. Of allowing herself to be vulnerable enough to share something so deep, so personal. She hadn't even been tempted to share this with anyone in such a long time. Until this man.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
she couldn’t afford to fall victim to the time suck that was social media.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
she couldn’t afford to fall victim to the time suck that was social media. However, as a businesswoman, she understood the value of it.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
She made her way to her favorite area of the daycare. The smaller of the two playrooms' aesthetic was a nod to her Frenchie's white-and-black piebald coat, with splashes of purple to add a royal flare. Portraits of Duchess hung on the walls in gilded frames. Was it a bit over the top? Absolutely. But when it came to her baby there was no top. Seconds after she entered the room, Ashanti was bombarded by a cadre of feisty canines with Napoleon complexes. This is what she missed the most. Having to devote so much time to baking, she didn't get to play with the dogs nearly as much as she wanted to. "Hey, Lulu and Sparkle," she greeted the Pomeranians, giving each dog one of the dime-sized treats from her pocket. "And how is my favorite Chihuahua," she called to Bingo, who had been coming to the daycare since the first week it opened. She followed the treats with quick head rubs for each dog, then went in search of Duchess. "Where's my dog?" Ashanti asked Leslie, who was running the Parkers' Cavalier King Charles through the agility maze. Leslie gestured to cushioned mats in the corner. Ashanti walked over and found Duchess hugged up next to Puddin'. The two lay in a yin-yang pattern, with Duchess's head nestled against Puddin's chest, and her squat legs arcing around the puffy topknot atop the poodle's head. "Kara was right. You two really do need a room." At the sound of her voice, Duchess's stubby tail started wagging like a windshield wiper gone haywire, but she still didn't move away from Puddin'. "If you don't get over here," Ashanti said. She reached down and lifted Duchess into her arms. "Don't forget who keeps you in tiaras and rawhide," she said, nuzzling the dog's flat nose with her own.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
Hey, so I know I said that Puddin' wouldn't be coming to the daycare anymore, but I was hoping you hadn't given his spot away yet," Thad said. Her dog began to bark and twirl around like a chunky ballerina the minute he said Puddin's name. "Duchess, sit," Ashanti ordered. The dog immediately plopped its butt on the floor. Thad should not have found her commanding tone sexy, but apparently that's where his brain wanted to take everything when it came to Ashanti Wright. Impressive. That's what it was. He couldn't get Puddin' to sit on command if he promised that little asshole every dog biscuit in New Orleans.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
Someone needs to be concerned about those girls." "Kara and Kendra know that I am only a phone call away." "Would you even answer the phone if you're laid up under some man?" Line. Crossed. Ashanti closed the distance between them, until she was barely a foot away. "Apparently, you didn't hear me the first time," she said. "Who I fuck is none of your business." Anita gasped, her head snapping back. Her mouth opened and closed but no words came out. "I should petition the courts!" she finally screeched. "Get those girls away from you!" "Try it," Ashanti said. "You shouldn't be raising my brother's children!" "I am tired of your bullshit, Anita. You hadn't talked to your 'beloved' brother for over three years before he died. I know my dad tried to contact you, and you ignored him." "He was not your father!" "Fuck you! He is my father. He loved me and treated me like his own flesh and blood. You, on the other hand, who actually was his flesh and blood, didn't want anything to do with him until he was buried in the ground. And all because he took your mother's dishes." "It was her wedding china and it was mine!" Anita said. "And it has nothing to do with you." "No, it doesn't. I don't care why you cut your own brother out of your life. What I do care about are my sisters. You talk about wanting to raise Kara and Kendra? You live an hour away and saw them five times in the first ten years of their lives. "I know what this is, it's guilt," Ashanti continued. "But you don't get to alleviate the shame and regret you feel at the way you treated your own brother by making my sisters' lives hell.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
Sit down," Thad whispered. When she did, he pulled her to the edge of the mattress and lifted both her legs, placing her thighs on his shoulders. Then he dipped his head and read her open with his tongue. She gasped, and sound sent a jolt of sensation straight to his dick. Fuck! He knew she would taste good, but this was so much better than good. He stroked her with his tongue, dragging slow, firm licks from her clit on down, and then back up again. Ashanti lifted her hips, grinding against his mouth as he continued to lap at her. Her cries filled the room, hesitant as they were. Thad wanted her to tell her to let go, to just give in and not hold back. But he didn't want to stop what he was doing long enough to speak. He caught her by the waist and held her down while he wedged his tongue inside her, driving in and out. Her legs moved restlessly against his shoulders, as if she didn't know what to do with herself. He tried to make out what she was saying between her breathy pants and realized it was his name. She was calling his name over and over again. Thad had never heard anything sexier in his entire life. It drove him to keep going until he felt her legs shake and tense. She came against his tongue. But instead of stopping, he ramped up the intensity, closing his mouth over her clit and sucking until she came again and again and again. Her body was limp by the time he lifted her legs and set them back on the bed. He stood. As he stared down at Ashanti completely spent on his mattress, Thad realized his ego would never need stroking again. "Are you okay?" he asked her. "I'm a puddle," she said. "Don't ask me to move, because I can't." Nope. No ego stroking necessary for the newly crowned king of cunnilingus.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
But then the unbelievable happened. The barely there smile she'd glimpsed earlier flourished into an all-out grin. It was beyond devastating. "Laughing releases endorphins," she said. "Maybe you should try to do more of it." "Is that why you're still laughing at me?" he asked. "Endorphin rush?" "I was trying not to," Ashanti said. He leaned over and, in a lowered voice, said, "You failed." The amusement dancing in his eyes softened the rest of his features. Goodness.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
Puddin' and Duchess have been best friends since the day they met." "Looks a bit more than just friendly to me," Thad said. "Looks like Puddin' has a better love life than I do." "Probably because he's more approachable," she said.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
Prepare yourself for uncomfortable questions about why you don't have an engagement ring on your finger. Nadia is convinced that we are engaged and waiting to announce it here." Ashanti nearly swallowed her tongue. "Thad, please tell me you're not planning some big, cheesy public proposal today?" "Is that what you're expecting?" "No!" she said. "Especially not today. We're going slow, remember?" He tipped his head to the side. "Exactly how fast is slow?" She smiled up at him. "Maybe by Christmas or New Year's." She grinned. "That's what you were planning, isn't it?" "Von is the only person who can read my mind," he answered. "Tell me!" He winked. "Nah. I'm going to keep you guessing.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
I knew it was you the moment I saw that truck." Puddin' ran to her and started jumping around like fire ants were attacking his paws. "I knew it was you the moment I saw you too," Von said as he dusted his hands on the front of his T-shirt. He held one out to her. "Von Montgomery. And you are?" "She's the dog sitter," Thad answered for her. He fought the instinct to push Von out of the room. "Ah! Puddin's favorite person," Von said. "That would explain his excitement." Ashanti dropped down to one knee and rubbed the poodle behind the ears while nuzzling his nose. It would be stupid and immature to admit he was jealous of a dog, and yet...
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
She doesn't want to go either," Ashanti said. "Well, you make them," Anita said. "No. They're sixteen, not ten. The girls can decide how they want to spend their weekend, and no one will force them do anything they don't want to do." "You're behind this, aren't you?" Anita hissed. "You're turning my brother's children against me." Ashanti had heard this song too many times. She was not up for a repeat. "Look, I have to go. You have both Kara's and Kendra's phone numbers. Call and ask if they want to go shopping for plants with you. Like I said, they're old enough to make their own decisions. There's no need for me to play the middleman.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
I would have been a great veterinarian, but I got the idea to open Barkingham Palace after boarding Duchess at another facility. My biological dad left a small trust that was turned over to me when I turned twenty-five. I used that money to start the daycare, and I don't regret it. I learned that sometimes the hand you're dealt is better than the one you'd originally planned to play." Her optimism in the face of such tragic circumstances floored him. If anyone had the right to whine, it was her.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
He stood to the side, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Ashanti pose in an airy, soft peach dress with a crown of colorful flowers propped on her head. Duchess looked as if she had been made for the camera in her matching peach tutu. Even a non-dog lover like him couldn't deny that she was cute with her flower crown askew on her head and her stubby tail wagging like a flag in a windstorm.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
Leslie stood in the center of the stage with Baguette and Cannoli, motioning for the dachshunds to twirl. The audience went wild. Little did they know, they too could get dogs to twirl if they hid a chicken-flavored dog biscuit in each hand.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
Puddin' started barking from the back room; he must have smelled Ashanti in the house. Their moldy, dusty surroundings couldn't mask that slightly floral, slightly peachy scent that wreaked the most delicious havoc on Thad's senses.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
Mark lifted the pop-up tent and unveiled Duchess and Puddin' sharing one of Duchess Delights' signature dog treats. They were eating it Lady and the Tramp--- style, each with an end between their teeth, their mouths nearly touching. The dogs looked up at Mark, then ran in opposite directions, like two teenagers who had been caught kissing under the bleachers.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)
addressing hostility with hostility would only lead to more hostility.
Farrah Rochon (Pardon My Frenchie)