Undo Button Quotes

He pauses when he finishes undoing the last button, then closes his eyes. I can see the pain slashed across his face, and the sight tears at me. The Republic's most wanted criminal is just a boy, sitting before me, suddenly vulnerable, laying all his weaknesses out for me to see.

My sweet little whorish Nora I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter. I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also. You say when I go back you will suck me off and you want me to lick your cunt, you little depraved blackguard. I hope you will surprise me some time when I am asleep dressed, steal over to me with a whore’s glow in your slumberous eyes, gently undo button after button in the fly of my trousers and gently take out your lover’s fat mickey, lap it up in your moist mouth and suck away at it till it gets fatter and stiffer and comes off in your mouth. Sometimes too I shall surprise you asleep, lift up your skirts and open your drawers gently, then lie down gently by you and begin to lick lazily round your bush. You will begin to stir uneasily then I will lick the lips of my darling’s cunt. You will begin to groan and grunt and sigh and fart with lust in your sleep. Then I will lick up faster and faster like a ravenous dog until your cunt is a mass of slime and your body wriggling wildly. Goodnight, my little farting Nora, my dirty little fuckbird! There is one lovely word, darling, you have underlined to make me pull myself off better. Write me more about that and yourself, sweetly, dirtier, dirtier.

The thing is, once something bad happens, there’s no way to undo it. There’s no erase button on life

from around his neck started to undo the buttons on the front of his

I love you, too,” she said. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, once, deeply, on the mouth. “I mean,” he said, “I really love you.” She quirked a brow. “Is this a contest?” “It is anything you want,” he promised. She grinned, that enchanting, perfect smile that was so quintessentially hers. “I feel I must warn you, then,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “When it comes to contests and games, I always win.” “Always?” Her eyes grew sly. “Whenever it matters.” He felt himself smile, felt his soul lighten and his worries slip away. “And what, precisely, does that mean?” “It means,” she said, reaching up and undoing the buttons of her coat, “that I really really love you.

It is unfair that life doesn’t come with a rewind button; an undo button that can reset time after you make a terrible mistake.

He stands up, slowly, and puts his hands on the zipper of his jeans, where I notice there's a bulge that looks like someone stuck a cucumber in his pants. That can be his...thing, can it? He undoes the button then his fly and then slides his jeans down. He's wearing those tight boxer-briefs things, like that guy in the Calvin Klein commercial, and I realize, it's definitely not a cucumber.

And then, Kell watched with horror as his echo began to unfasten his tunic, one button at a time. Kell gave a small, strangled laugh. "You've got to be kidding me." Lila only smiled and rolled the stone in her palm as the Kell that wasn't Kell slid slowly, teasingly, out of his tunic and stood there, bare chested. His fingers began to undo the belt at his waist. "Okay, enough," said Kell. "Dispel it." She sighed. "You're no fun." "This isn't fun." "Maybe not for you," she said with a smirk as the other Kell continued his striptease, sliding the belt from its loops.

Last night I thought I kissed the loneliness from out your belly button. I thought I did, but later you sat up, all bones and restless hands, and told me there is a knot in your body that I cannot undo. I never know what to say to these things. “It’s okay.” “Come back to bed.” “Please don’t go away again.” Sometimes you are gone for days at a time and it is all I can do not to call the police, file a missing person’s report, even though you are right there, still sleeping next to me in bed. But your eyes are like an empty house in winter: lights left on to scare away intruders. Except in this case I am the intruder and you are already locked up so tight that no one could possibly jimmy their way in. Last night I thought I gave you a reason not to be so sad when I held your body like a high note and we both trembled from the effort. Some people, though, are sad against all reason, all sensibility, all love. I know better now. I know what to say to the things you admit to me in the dark, all bones and restless hands. “It’s okay.” “You can stay in bed.” “Please come back to me again.

Well, mi amore, this is awesome news! Let's get right on that," said Kami, and began to undo the buttons of her blouse. She looked down at the red buttons slipping out one by one from the black fabric of her shirt. She only had eight buttons, and there went the fourth. Jared sucked breath out of a horrified void and shouted, "stop that!" He angled himself to protect her from the eyes of a crowd that was not there. He hesitated, possibly because now he had a view directly down into shadows and curves.

and wasn't it an awful dangerous thing, a text message, because once you pressed that little send button, that was it. Like pulling a trigger of a shotgun and sending a pellet into a little rabbit's brain as he sniffed the sweet spring air. You couldn't undo it. You couldn't ever take it back.

I'm not here to talk about my wife," he said. Ainsley's eyes were filled with anger for him. "Very well, what did you come here to talk about?" Cameron touched the top button of her dull gray afternoon dress and forced his voice to soften "I came to ask how many buttons you'll undo for me today.

When the chance comes to do a good deed, don’t waste it because it might never come back. The ‎world doesn’t have an (Undo) button; still, you have your conscience, brain, wisdom, and heart to help you do the right thing.

You and I, Mia. We have needs that must be attended. I will look after yours, and you will look after mine.” He sighs, and his fingers move to his suit jacket and deftly undoes the buttons, letting it fall open to reveal a smart black shirt and tie underneath. “I’ve waited for this moment for so long.

Why are you all buttoned up like that?" Cameron ran his gaze down the blackberry-shaped buttons of her bodice.[...] "You were happy to bare all last night," Cameron said. He let his mallet handler hover an inch from her chest. "Your bodice was down here." Ainsley cleared her throat. "Low neckline for evening, high for morning."[...] "This doesn’t suit you," Cameron said. "I can’t help the fashion, Lord Cameron." Cameron poked the top button with his gloved finder. "Undo this." Ainsley jumped. "What?" "Unbutton your damned frock." She nearly choked. "Why?" "Because I want you to." Cameron's smile spread across his face, slow and sinful, and his voice went low. Dangerous. "Tell me, Mrs. Douglas. How many buttons will you undo for me?

He was angry,' Aune said, undoing the top button of his shirt, where he normally wore a bow tie, usually with a pattern that balanced between serious and amusing, like the blue EU flag with gold stars.

I like how in a Word document I can tap a button and undo what I just did. That kind of functionality does not exist on an oven, and I cannot unscramble an egg. Think about that next time you see a duck.

I will write as often as I can, but truth be told, I don't have many moments to myself. The queen is in a very bad way and needs everyone who can be at her side. But whenever I undo my buttons to ready myself for bed, I think of you. I imagine your fingers unfastening my gown, opening me like a Christmas parcel for your pleasure. I tingle even now as I think of it, and so I will close before I quite combust and burn the paper.

More wine for me, pour me some more!" "You smart girl, I knew you're a smart girl, just teasing...” Faces turn red, the dark earth blood is rising. They wink at Pelka, wink at the host: "He knows his goods!" The women feel the buttons constricting them - they undo one, another, a third. By twos the guests go outside to get some air. "Well, my dear guests, are you soaked to the gills? Eh? And now-to dance! Get lively!" The table and the chairs vanish. The middle of the room is empty. Ivan the Monk jumps out of his hole, a tambourine in his hands: "Tim-ta-a-am! Tim-ta-a-am!" “Eh-hey!" the redhead suddenly snatches the tambourine and sweeps off, tapping wildly in a circle. Eyes closed: a white sleepless sun-a white night on the meadow-white columns of smoke swaying over fires... "Eh-ah!"-to whirl herself to death, to whirl out everything, to empty herself - nothing has ever been... Heavy boots are thumping on the floor, beards fly in the wind, the frock-coat tails go flying... hey, get going, faster, faster - a hundred versts an hour! ("The North")

Hello?” “Hey.” She sounded pissed. “What the hell happened to you tonight? Jess said the three of us were meeting for Valentine’s Day, but you never showed.” “Sorry,” I said. “Something came up.” “Bianca, you’ve been saying that a lot lately. Something is always coming up or you have plans or…” Suddenly, I felt Wesley’s breath hit the back of my neck. He’d gotten up from the floor and slid up behind me without me realizing it. His arms slid around my waist from behind, his fingers undoing the button of my jeans before I could stop him. “… and Jess had her hopes up that we’d do something fun…” I couldn’t focus on a word Casey was saying as Wesley’s hand slid beneath the waistband of my pants, his fingers moving lower and lower. I couldn’t say a word. I couldn’t tell him to stop or show any reaction at all. If I did, Casey would know I wasn’t alone. But, God, I could feel my whole body turning into a ball of fire. Wesley was laughing against my neck, knowing he was driving me crazy. “… I just don’t understand what’s up with you.” I bit my lip to keep from gasping as Wesley’s fingers slipped to places that made my knees shake. I could feel the smirk on his lips as they moved to my ear. Asshole. He was trying to torture me. I couldn’t handle it much longer. “Bianca, are you there?” Wesley bit my earlobe and pushed my jeans even lower with his free hand as the other continued to make me shiver.

This woman Koharu could undo their coats and take the money from inside the purse. A technique called ‘nakanuki.’ What’s more, the story goes that after she emptied the purse she’d close it again and button up their coat. Incredible skill.” “Really?” “Surrounded by misery, those people laughed at the whole world.

His fingers went to the buttons of his jacket, and her mouth dried. His buttons were simple cloth and metal affairs, scarcely worth a second thought. And yet as he undid them, she had second thoughts and third thoughts, none of them proper. His gloved fingers were long and graceful, and every button he undid revealed another inch of creamy linen, one that hinted at broad shoulders and strong muscles. He’d not shown her the slightest bit of skin, but the act of unbuttoning his coat sparked indecent thoughts—memories of his arm coming around her, his mouth on hers… He stopped undoing buttons, and she realized he’d only wanted to reach the inside pocket. She sat back in disappointment.

Y-You love me?” Gazing down at her pert nose and the freckles that made him think of an adorable pixie, he felt his throat constrict. “I want you every hour of the day. I can’t imagine a future without you in it. The idea of returning to my empty house alone is so hellish that I’d rather wander the world at your heels than be without you. Tell me, is that love?” She cast him a blazing smile. “It sounds like it.” “Then I love you, my wonderful, sword-wielding, tart-tongued angel. I want you to be my wife. I want you to preside over my table and accompany me to balls and share my bed.” A most uncharacteristic happiness surged through him. “And I want to have children with you, lots of them, filling every room in Halstead Hall.” A sudden understanding lit her face. His clever love didn’t miss the fact that he was offering her not just himself, but everything else he’d neglected, as well. Everything that he wanted to put to rights. That he needed to put to rights. “Not filling every room, I hope,” she teased, even as tears shone in her eyes. “There are three hundred, after all.” “Then I suppose we’ll have to get started right away,” he said, matching her light tone. His heart near to bursting, he reached again for the buttons on the back of her gown. “These things should never be left until the last minute.” As a laugh of pure joy bubbled out of her, she began to untie his cravat. “I can see you’re going to be quite the lusty husband, aren’t you?” He stripped her gown from her, then turned her around to undo her stays. “You have no idea,” he murmured, and filled his hands with the breasts he’d freed. Moaning, she pressed her bottom against him. “I have some idea.

Angelo pulled his uniform overshirt over his head without undoing the buttons, which she thought was a pretty impressive feat. Then she saw what he was hiding under there and decided the view was much more impressive. Technically, he was still clothed, but the light tan T-shirt was really tight, and she didn’t have to use her imagination very much to figure out there were a lot of muscles under it. Just the sight of his big arms rippling as he moved was enough to make Minka catch her breath. When he reached behind his head to pull off his T-shirt, Minka found herself licking her lips in anticipation. She felt bad for watching him like this, but she couldn’t help herself. Then she looked up and saw Angelo regarding her with an amused expression on his handsome face. “I understand why you want to keep the door open, and I’m okay with that,” he said. “But you might want to look the other way for this part.” Minka felt heat rush to her face. She nodded and stepped out of the doorway, turning to sit down on the floor beside the bathroom like Angelo had done. Her fingers dug into the stuffed sloth’s fur. She was glad he couldn’t see her face because it was probably bright red. Why had she been staring like that?

As a young man, the seer became a rake. He drank and fought and made free with the village girls. He became a wagoner, carrying goods and passengers to other villages, an occupation that extended the range of his conquests. A good talker, sure of himself, he tried every girl he met. His method was direct: he grabbed and started undoing buttons. Naturally, he was frequently kicked and scratched and bitten, but the sheer volume of his efforts brought him notable success. He learned that even in the shyest and primmest of girls, the emptiness and loneliness of life in a Siberian village had bred a flickering appetite for romance and adventure. Gregory’s talent was for stimulating those appetites and overcoming all hesitations by direct, good-natured aggression.

and yet nobody of course was more dependent upon others (he buttoned his waistcoat); it had been his undoing. He could not keep out of smoking-rooms, liked colonels, liked golf, liked bridge, and above all women’s society, and the fineness of their companionship, and their faithfulness and audacity and greatness in loving which though it had its drawbacks seemed to him (and the dark, adorably pretty face was on top of the envelopes) so wholly admirable, so splendid a flower to grow on the crest of human life, and yet he could not come up to the scratch, being always apt to see round things (Clarissa had sapped something in him permanently), and to tire very easily of mute devotion and to want variety in love, though it would make him furious if Daisy loved anybody else, furious! for he was jealous, uncontrollably jealous by temperament. He suffered tortures!

Trust me, I’ve seen more women in their corsets and shifts than you’ve seen years.” “I can well believe that.” She sniffed. “At least turn around.” “Fine.” He turned his back to her, and Freddy followed suit. “But be quick about it. I’d like to reach Halstead Hall in time for dinner.” “Do as he says, will you?” Freddy put in. “I’m about to faint from hunger.” “For once, Freddy,” she grumbled, “would you stop thinking with your stomach?” The stockings seemed to fit, and she managed to undo her own gown so she could slip the other one on. But she could never button it herself, especially since it was small in the waist. And the bust. Mercy, she would need help. “Freddy, come fasten me up, will you?” Her cousin’s back stiffened. “I can’t do that!” “Oh, for God’s sake.” Lord Stoneville strode over. “I knew you Americans were prudish, but this is absurd.” Before she could even protest, he began fastening her gown. To her horror, the faint scent of his spicy cologne and his fingers working efficiently over the buttons made an odd sort of heat rise up from her belly. That couldn’t be good. “You seem to know how to do up a woman’s gown very well.” She struggled to sound nonchalant. “I take it you’ve had plenty of practice.” “You know us debauchers,” he said dryly. “Practice, practice, practice.

Gray harbored a slight preference for the stripes. Not only did the darker color suit her complexion, but the neckline plunged in an enticing manner, displaying a wedge of sheer chemise. The sprigged gown had a higher, square neckline, and only one flounce to this frock’s two. But then…The sprigged gown had tiny buttons down the side-fourteen buttons, to be exact, and though just mentally undoing them was enough to drive Gray mad with frustration, that mile-long stretch of miniscule pearl dots was some comfort. The fastenings of this striped gown, by contrast, were completely invisible. Were there little hooks, he wondered, under the sleeves? Hidden in the seams somewhere? Miss Turner coughed and shifted in her seat. Dear God. Gray shook himself, realizing he’d just spent the better part of a minute openly staring in the direction of her breasts. At a distance of no more than two feet. Worse-he’d wasted that blasted minute obsessing about hooks and buttons, when he could have been scanning for the shadow of an areola, or the crest of a nipple. Damn. And now he had no choice but to drop his gaze and study the china. It did look well, the porcelain. The acanthus pattern complemented the scrollwork on the silver quite nicely. Odd, to be drinking Madeira from teacups, but at least they were better than tin. The white drape beneath it all was nothing of quality, but the lighting was dim, and it would do. Gray put out a hand to straighten his fork. “The table looks lovely,” she said, to no one in particular. Dear God. Once again, she jolted him back into reality, and Gray realized he’d spent the better part of two minutes now fussing over china and table linens. First dressmaking, now table-setting…If it wasn’t for the fact that her voice called straight to his swelling groin, Gray might have begun to question his masculinity. What the hell was happening to him? He wanted her. He wanted her body, quite obviously. More disturbing by far, he could no longer deny that he wanted her approval. And he wanted both with a near-paralyzing intensity, though he knew he could never have one without sacrificing the other. Then she extended her slender wrist to reach for the teacup, and Gray remembered the reason for this entire display. He wanted to see her eat.

Orion threw a grin back at me as headed to the bar, ducking behind it. “What would madam like?” he asked in a formal tone which was a damn good impression of the Acruxes' butler. I giggled hurrying over to take a stool in front of the bar and placing my clutch down, relishing the cool breeze against my burning neck. “Hmm...a Manhattan?” I teased and he cocked his head. “I'm afraid we're fresh out of bullshit, how about a white wine spritzer with a tiny umbrella in it?” I laughed, nodding eagerly as he made up my drink then poured himself a measure of bourbon. He held it out for me and I leaned across the bar to take it. As I took hold of the glass, he didn't let go and I gazed up at him under my lashes questioning why. “Have I told you have exceptionally beautiful you look tonight, Darcy?” Darcy. He'd said my name. For the first time ever. And why did it sound like so much more than a name when he spoke it? It was like he'd fired an arrow and it had punctured a flesh wound in me at the exact same moment. Hell. I needed to get over this guy. Why was I so caught up on him? Unavailable, that's what it was. We always want what we can't have and Professor Orion was off limits. Simple as that. And those muscles. And the beard. And the dark eyes. And the dimple. But that was it. “That's the first I've heard of it, Professor,” I whispered, unable to make my voice rise any louder. “Don't do that,” he grunted, releasing the drink. I eyed him curiously as he walked around the bar with his bourbon in hand. He took the stool beside mine, his arm butting up against me. “Do what?” I asked, swivelling around to face the pool and taking a sip of my spritzer. It fizzed on my tongue and sent a deep kick of heat through my chest. “You know what.” “You're very presumptuous, Orion. You think I'm far more aware of your chaotic way of thinking than I really am.” I sipped my drink again, spying on him from the corner of my eye. He took a swig of his own drink and the familiar waft of bourbon drifted over me, tingling my senses. It was becoming a trigger, like the moment I walked into his office and he uncorked a bottle, it made me want to taste it on his mouth. And then that led to me wondering whether his fangs would brush my tongue when we kissed, and that always led to me mentally undressing him, then me conjuring an image of what those muscles looked like beneath that shirt... “I have something for you,” he said and I turned, blinking out of my dark fantasy. “You do?” He nodded, reaching into his inside pocket and taking out my coil of blue hair. My heart combusted and a choked noise escaped me. I reached for it and he slid it onto my wrist. He kept my hand in his, his eyes downcast as they remained on the band of hair. “I want you to know, I believe you would have gotten this back yourself when you were ready. But I took a lot of pleasure in retrieving it for you all the same.” I stared at him in complete shock, unsure what to say, my tongue tied in knots. “But Fae don't fight battles for other Fae,” I blurted, completely astonished that his actions that day had been to take this back from Seth. For me. And nothing else. He finished his drink and planted the glass on the bar, rising to his feet. He didn't reply to what I'd said and I barely even remembered what it was as he started pulling his clothes off. “Err, what are you doing?” I half laughed as he shed his jacket and kicked off his shoes, pulling off his socks. Oh my god. “I hate parties, but I like swimming.” He started undoing the buttons of his shirt and thought his back was to me, I was still captivated as he dropped it to the floor like a silken sheet. My eyes scraped down his skin to where his muscles etched an upside down v into his lower back, disappearing beneath his waistband. His shoulders were tanned and heavenly broad, making me long to explore all of those muscles with my hands.(Darcy)

I became aware that Francis was looking at me with an intent, fixed expression on his face. I mumbled something and got up and went to the bureau to get an Alka-Seltzer. The sudden movement made me feel light-headed. I was standing there dully, wondering where I'd put the box, when all of a sudden I became aware that Francis was immediately behind me, and I turned around. His face was very close to mine. To my surprise he put his hands on my shoulders and leaned forward and kissed me, right on the mouth. It was a real kiss — long, slow, deliberate. He'd caught me off balance and I grabbed his arm to keep from falling; sharply, he drew in his breath and his hands went down to my back and before I knew it, more from reflex than anything else, I was kissing him, too. His tongue was sharp. His mouth had a biter, mannish taste, like tea and cigarettes. He pulled away, breathing hard, and leaned to kiss my throat. I looked rather wildly around the room. God, I thought, what a night. "Look, Francis," I said, "cut it out." He was undoing the top button of my collar. "You idiot," he said, chuckling. "Did you know your shirt's on inside-out?" I was so tired and drunk I started to laugh. "Come on, Francis," I said "Give me a break." "It's fun," he said, "I promise you." Matters progressed. My jaded nerves began to stir. His eyes were magnified and wicked behind his pince-nez. Presently he took them off and dropped them on my bureau with an absent clatter. Then, quite unexpectedly, there was another knock at the door. We sprang apart. His eyes were wide. We stared at each other, and then the knock came again. Francis swore under his breath, bit his lip. I, panic-stricken, buttoning my shirt as fast as my numb fingers would go, started to say something but he made a quick, shushing gesture at me with his hands.

Of their own accord, my hands start to undo the buttons of his shirt, reaching inside to feel his skin. I wouldn’t normally give in so easily, but I need this.

She might claim to be the town’s resident sinner, but I was waiting for God to strike me down for the impure thoughts running through my head inside this house of worship. I could picture undoing each button of her dress with my teeth. Inch by inch, revealing the perfect body beneath—a body I was dying to see laid out before me in all its glory.

When I reach Pan, he opens his legs for me so I can crawl up between them. His gaze is bright and satisfied as I unlatch his belt buckle and pull the leather through the clasp. The metal clanks. Pan watches. He’s straining against his pants as I undo the button and seeing the bulge of him lights a fire in my chest. When I have the zipper open, I yank his clothes down, letting his cock spring free. Rising up, I position my mouth over the swollen head of his cock and his body tenses up, waiting.

Now open your mouth for me, little mama,” he says, undoing the button on his jeans. “You want me to suck your dick?” “No,” he says, running his hand over the back of my head and pulling me close. “I want you to choke on it.

Percy had been undoing the dozen buttons that fastened the jerkin but stopped and stared at Marian. Poisoning the servants seemed rather uncalled for.

You sure changed your tune mighty fast." Kane's hands were busily tugging his dress shirt from his slacks. His knuckles accidently brushed against Avery's throbbing hard-on causing him to screw his eyes shut as an all-consuming need coursed through his veins. He couldn't help but let out a groan as those same knuckles skated up and down his length again; this time, no doubt, with deliberate intent. Kane knew exactly how to push his buttons and bring his body to life. In a matter of seconds, his husband managed to get him out of his shirt, undo his pants, had his slacks pushed partway down his thighs, and had a hand down the front of his silk boxers.

It was troubling to consider, he began, “an organism equipped with an affective and hormonal system not much different from that of the jungle rat being given the ability to destroy every living thing by pushing a few buttons.” Given

Tom grinned wide at the woman in Baltsaros’s arms, his fingers quickly undoing the buttons that held the flap up at the front of his pants, and wondered again whether the captain did this with all of his lovers. Sharing a woman with another was something that Tom had never considered before and, despite his preference for men, the thought of it made him horny as hell. The captain let out a low chuckle and then a soft hiss when the pretty young whore bit his nipple with a smile. As her tongue licked a wet trail across Baltsaros’s furry chest, Tom could see the woman’s hand working quickly below the waist of the captain’s pants. Tom’s heart thudded in his chest, and he crawled forward, intent on freeing the captain’s cock.

Once, ten years ago, at a Sunday-afternoon party in some apartment that she remembered now as being labyrinthine, although it probably had only four bedrooms, as opposed to the place she shared with her brother and her father that had two, Mike Shea had seized her by the wrist and pulled her into a dim room and plastered his mouth against hers before she could catch her breath. She had known him since high school, he was part of the crowd she went with then, and he had kissed her once or twice before—she remembered specifically the train station at Fishkill, on a snowy night when they were all coming back from a sledding party—but this was passionate and desperate, he was very drunk, and rough enough to make her push him off if he had not, in the first moment she had come up for air, gently taken off his glasses and placed them on a doilied dresser beside them, and then, in what seemed the same movement, reached behind her to lock the door. It was the odd, drunken gentleness of it, not to mention the snapping hint of danger from the lock, that changed her mind. And after two or three rebukes when he tried to get at the buttons that ran up the back of her dress, she thought, Why not, and although her acquiescence seemed to slow him down a bit, as if he was uncertain of the next step, she was enjoying herself enough by then to undo the last button without prompting and then to pull her bare shoulder and arm up out of the dress—first one then the other—and to pull dress and slip (she didn’t wear a bra, no need) down to her waist in a single gesture. And then—was it just the pleasure of the material against her bare flesh, his shirt front, her wool?—she slowly pushed dress and slip and garter belt and stockings down over her narrow hips until they fell to her feet. And then she stepped out of her shoes. (“Even the shoes?” the priest had whispered in the confessional the following Saturday, as if it was more than he could bear, or imagine—as if, she thought later, he was ready to send her to perdition or ask her for a date.)

Do it nice.” She squeezes her eyes shut. And it’s like that electric line from class is still connecting us because I can feel her caving in to me, now—I recognize it with a rush of emotions I can’t define. She moves her hands down to my pants. I watch as her nimble fingers undo my button, and then my zipper. “Nicely,” she says. “What?” I ask, heart pounding. “Do it nicely. The word is nicely, motherfucker.

One by one, I undo the buttons of my blouse and let it slip from my shoulders. I can hear his breathing quicken as I unzip my skirt and

Maybe I'm too jumpy, too untrusting. The thing is, once something bad happens, there's no way to undo it. There's no erase button on life. I can't just click the delete key and start over.

I stroke a finger over my own top button, undo it, then let my hand drop with an exaggerated sigh. "It's not quite the same," I declare, "ripping my own clothes off.

Wanting to touch him, too, she reached for the buttons of his waistcoat. He broke their kiss to stare at her, a sudden sobering awareness in his eyes. “We shouldn’t do this here.” There was no question what “this” meant. There was also no question that he was having second thoughts, pulling away from her. She refused to let him. “Why not? The grooms and the coachman have all gone to bed. And you did say you meant to marry me.” “Yes, but you’re a lady,” he said fiercely. “You deserve better than to be tumbled in a stable.” That was the trouble with Dom. Some part of him still saw her as the poor maiden needing his protection, not as a full-grown woman who had the same needs as he had. Who wanted and yearned just the same as he did. He’d sent her away last night to protect her innocence, and then had avoided her for the next day. She wasn’t giving him the chance to do that again, not now that he’d allowed her a glimpse into his soul. Dragging her hands free of his grip, she went to shut the door to the harness room. “Twelve years ago you decided what I deserved, and I ended up alone. So this time I will decide what I deserve.” Ignoring a twinge of self-consciousness, she faced him and began to undo the front fastenings of her pelisse-robe. “And I deserve this. I deserve you.” His breathing grew labored as he stared at her hands with a searing intensity. “What are you doing, Jane?” “What does it look like?” She slid out of her gown and let it fall to the floor, leaving her standing before him in only her petticoats, corset, and shift. “I’m seducing you.” Dom’s eyes narrowed on her, and she panicked. Was she being too bold? Too shameless? Too daft? She was daft, to be standing half-dressed like this in a stable, when all it would take was a groom coming down from his room above to turn this into the most mortifying night of her life.

Oh, God, Jane, why did I let you go?” he asked in an aching voice that resonated to her very soul. “I’ve been lost ever since.” The words melted the last corner of ice in her heart, and when he lowered his head to hers, she rose to him like a shoot stretching for the sun. Moaning low in his throat, he devoured her mouth, his kiss pure hot passion, so all-consuming that within moments she had to pull free just to breathe. Then he shifted his kisses to her cheek and ear and jaw, branding everything as his. “I need you,” he said against her throat. “God help me for it, but I do. All these years without you have been hell.” Kissing her neck, he fisted his hands in her sleeves. “I want to strip this gown from you. I want to lay you down in that straw over there and have my way with you.” The words made her exult. “Then do it,” she murmured against his hair. “Now. Tonight. Have your way with me, and I’ll have mine with you.” “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said darkly, but he seized her mouth again with such ferocity that it took her aback…then fed some feral part of her that had never felt like this with anyone but him. She couldn’t get her fill of his mouth…or his hands, which roamed her most familiarly. Wanting to touch him, too, she reached for the buttons of his waistcoat. He broke their kiss to stare at her, a sudden sobering awareness in his eyes. “We shouldn’t do this here.” There was no question what “this” meant. There was also no question that he was having second thoughts, pulling away from her. She refused to let him. “Why not? The grooms and the coachman have all gone to bed. And you did say you meant to marry me.” “Yes, but you’re a lady,” he said fiercely. “You deserve better than to be tumbled in a stable.” That was the trouble with Dom. Some part of him still saw her as the poor maiden needing his protection, not as a full-grown woman who had the same needs as he had. Who wanted and yearned just the same as he did. He’d sent her away last night to protect her innocence, and then had avoided her for the next day. She wasn’t giving him the chance to do that again, not now that he’d allowed her a glimpse into his soul. Dragging her hands free of his grip, she went to shut the door to the harness room. “Twelve years ago you decided what I deserved, and I ended up alone. So this time I will decide what I deserve.” Ignoring a twinge of self-consciousness, she faced him and began to undo the front fastenings of her pelisse-robe. “And I deserve this. I deserve you.

The wise will go upstairs, undo buttons and hair, fold themselves within the covenant of flesh and make love wilder than any weather. — Bob Hicok, from “Weather,” The Legend of Light (The University of Wisconsin Press, 1995)

While there is something genuinely sweet about capturing special life moments and sharing them with friends and family on social media, there is a balance. It’s fun to share and be social, but not to the detriment of sacrificing our own personal experience of the extraordinary moments of our lives. The bliss and ecstasy of truly experiencing a moment—of experiencing God in a moment—will stay with us for a lifetime. The brief, fleeting elation of being more concerned with capturing the moment with our camera or video, so that we can post it to social media will probably stay with us for a day, maybe two. It isn’t possible to experience the moments of life and receive their many precious gifts, if we are only “partially present” in them. Once every glorious moment of our lives is gone, it’s gone forever. We can’t hit the “undo” or “back” button and try to relive them again. We may get to re-experience “the recorded moment” on social media, but that version will never hold the same beauty, truth and gifts—God, spirit—as the actual one—the ecstatic, blissful moment that just passed us by.

She felt like she had been waiting forever for his kiss. All those weeks of flirting and games, all leading to this one moment. Chapter Eleven Her heart beat wildly, her brain turned to mush and every bone in her body was yearning to get even closer to him. His hands snaked under her jumper and explored the bare flesh of her midriff. She murmured in pleasure and her own hands sought out the buttons of his shirt. She began to undo them, still kissing him passionately. She wanted more and pressed her body against him.

His hands snaked under her jumper and explored the bare flesh of her midriff. She murmured in pleasure and her own hands sought out the buttons of his shirt. She began to undo them, still kissing him passionately. She wanted more and pressed her body against him.

He continued undoing the buttons on his shirt, the words scrawled across his knuckles taking up all of my attention. Pain. Lust.

After a few teeth-grittingly bad conversations where I dropped the sobershell in person, I decided that the best way to do it was my text or email *before* I saw said people. For some reason, the swoosh that tells you a text message has gone, or hitting the "send" button on an email, was much easier all round. Done. No undoing it. No chickening out.

I’ve told a journal how I feel about you, Out of fear of how you’d react In the event of telling you. Through past experiences, the happiest Times I’ve had occurred when I kept them To myself. I’ve told this journal everything about you & We’ve traveled page after page In endless vacation. How we’ve experienced things we both thought We’d never experience. How the food you normally scrunch your nose up at Turned out to be some of the best things you ever tasted & how badly I wanted to be laid out on that plate. To be the reason you sit back and undo the top Button on your jeans. The reason you tell your friends to come visit, Your return trip back. I’ve told a journal how I feel about you, Out of fear of how you’d react. Once I tell you, the you that I’ve come To know and love will no longer be existent & all I’ll have is another journal entry

Entering her old school foyer was like stepping back in time. Paula felt an urge to roll down her socks and undo the top buttons of her shirt. Girls seemed to appear from every door and window, aware by some strange telepathy that a man had entered the premises. The air was heavy with Impulse and mild hysteria. It was strange, she thought, watching Guy's strong back go up the stairs. At that age she'd have considered him desperately old - someone's dad. But at some point, everything had changed.

There’s a knock at the door and Kian hops up, pulling his tie free and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt as he goes to answer it.  “Oh hey,” he starts, turning the charm up to max when he finds a girl on the other side.  “Leave her alone, Ki,” Miles calls at exactly the same time Kieran shouts, “Stand well back; he’s got crabs, and they can jump.

A million stars in the sky above us, and you are still the brightest,” she murmured, fingers finally beginning to undo the buttons of his pants. “A million stars in the sky, and you are the only one I care to look at. The only one that matters,” he replied.

And my poor fool is hanged. No, no life. / Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life, / And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no more. / Never, never, never. Pray you, undo / This button. Thank you, sir. O, O, O, O!

He’d thought of this when he helped her take her clothes off before that bath in the renegade safehouse, how it might be to take off their clothes when they weren’t injured and fighting for their lives. He’d imagined something frantic, but she was taking her time, running her fingers over the bumps of his ribs, the tendons on the inside of his wrists as she freed the buttons on his cuffs, the bones that stuck out of his shoulders. When he tried to touch her back, she pressed him away. That wasn’t how she wanted it just then, it seemed like, and he was happy to give her what she wanted. She was the girl who couldn’t touch people, after all. It sparked something inside him to know that he was the only one she’d done this with--not excitement, but something softer. Tender. She was his only--and fate said she would be his last. She pulled back to look at him, and he tugged at the hem of her shirt. “May I?” he said. She nodded. He felt suddenly tentative as he started undoing her shirt buttons, from throat to waist. He sat up just enough to kiss the skin he revealed, izit by izit. Soft skin, for someone so strong, soft over hard muscle and bone and steely nerve. He tipped them over, so he was leaning over her, leaving just enough space between them to feel her warmth without touching her. He stripped his shirt from his shoulders, and kissed her stomach again. He’d run out of shirt to unbutton. He touched his nose to the inside of her hip and looked up at her. “Yes?” he said. “Yes,” she said roughly. His hands closed over her waistband, and he ran parted lips over the skin he exposed, izit by izit.

A numbness in her arm roused her from sleep. She tried to shake it to get the blood flowing, but it was trapped under something heavy. She yanked hard and her arm pulled free. Falco groaned. Falco! Cass sat up on the divan. Falco pulled the coverlet over his eyes to block out the light. The sun was streaming through a high window she hadn’t noticed the night before. She bounded off the divan and almost landed on the floor. Mannaggia. Why did her head feel like it had been used as a battering ram? “What time is it?” she hissed. “Judging from the oppressive amount of light, I’d say late morning,” Falco mumbled, burying his face in a pillow. Cass rushed behind the wooden dressing screen and tugged at the neck of the model’s costume she had fallen asleep in. “Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked. She was shaking too hard to undo all of the tiny buttons. She gave the garment a hard yank, and a handful of pearl buttons hit the floor of the studio. She wriggled the costume down over her hips. “Probably because I was also asleep,” Falco answered, his voice still heavy with fatigue. Cass grabbed her clothes, slipping her cotton chemise over her head. She skipped her stays altogether, because the only way she was going to get those cinched properly was with help, and she wasn’t about to ask Falco. “You slept next to me all night?” She couldn’t keep the accusing tone out of her voice. “Yes. Is that a problem?” Falco asked. Cass didn't answer.

Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked. She was shaking too hard to undo all of the tiny buttons. She gave the garment a hard yank, and a handful of pearl buttons hit the floor of the studio. She wriggled the costume down over her hips. “Probably because I was also asleep,” Falco answered, his voice still heavy with fatigue.

You don’t tip before I’ve delivered the service, mate.” I may be a prostitute but I don’t accept payment when I haven’t worked for it. I’ll be vulnerable to peculiar demands later on. “I want you to have it.” Ali shifts his feet uncomfortably. He gazes at me for a long moment, seemingly debating what to say. “I...I want us to have sex as though we’re making love.” Making love? Jaysus. I scratch my head. I am at a loss why the words scare me. It’s not like I don’t understand what it’s about, theoretically. “Okay. You mean more kisses and shit?” Ali laughs. “And shit.” His face lights up and he looks about ten years younger. “Like cuddles.” Cuddles. Hugs. Kisses. Luxuries for other people. Sex has been only sex to me in the last few years. I guess grown-ups sometimes need some tender loving care. Fuck knows why Ali wants that from me, but if it’s what he fancies, it’s not the weirdest request I’ve ever heard. “’Course. The customer is always right.” A frown appears briefly on his handsome face. I take his hand and lead him into the bedroom. We are still standing when I start kissing him, slowly at first as if I need to taste his lips and savour them. All the while, I try to think of him as someone I want. Strangely, it turns me on more than I care to admit. As I undress him, each small button of his shirt I undo brings expectation that thrills me. His strong hands seem too big for the same task, but they are delicate at the same time with the act of revealing my body. Soon, we are both topless and breathing heavily with anticipation. Even with my boyfriends, I have always been a fuck first, think later kind of guy, so this is brand new

Suddenly I felt the anxious fingers that were undoing the buttons of my shirt, and I caught the dangerous smell of the beast of love lying by my back, and I felt myself sinking into the delights of the quicksand of her tenderness.

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It’s okay,” she said gently, her voice quieter than the music still spinning behind her. “Let me.” Her hands rose to the front of my shirt again, her fingers undoing buttons, not like she was undressing me, but like she was offering something. Making it easy for me to stay. My breath caught somewhere behind my ribs, and I felt my heart beating too hard in my chest. It felt ridiculous, how fast it was going, how loud everything inside me suddenly seemed.

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