Vixen Quotes

O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school; And though she be but little, she is fierce.

Am I the only one who has wood over that little vixen?

Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

Graduation night was my last party,' he said. 'Or at least my last drink. After that night, I decided I was done with all of it.' 'Why? What changed?' A sly grin crept across Nathan's face. 'I got really, really wasted graduation night, and when I woke up, some sassy, sexy vixen had stolen my virginity.

That’s right, you nasty little vixen, bite me harder." Ian urged.

I love you. I love how you are so sweet and innocent and kind to people, but you are such a vixen in the sack. I love how you look at me. I love your smile. I love everything about you.

I tried to warn you, But girls never listen. Got your innocence insured? ’Cause it’s ’bout to be stolen Right out from under your nose. Prepare to curl your toes. I’ve got a one-track mind. You’ve got a nice behind. Chorus: I had a good thing goin’ All numb in my shell, Then you took me by surprise And now I’m scared as hell. I don’t wanna feel for you, I don’t wanna feel. If feeling means hurting, Then I don’t wanna be real. You crank up my lust, girl, You tame down my rage. You let your inner vixen Roam out of her cage. The moment our lips met I saw it in your eyes, But you were seeing me, too, I now realize. Chorus What do I want from you? I want everything. And I’m not gonna share— This ain’t a casual fling. You can be my bad girl, I’ll even be your good boy. How’d the tables get turned? F*** it, I’ll be your love toy.

My money's on the lady," he drawled. "You don't tame a vixen, you just travel in her wake.

The thing about surviving something truly tragic is that it changes your expectations forever. You make do with very little. You’re grateful for crumbs. --Asher

I say we cut a path right down the fucking middle and kill anything that moves,” I growled. Ristan raised a brow and whistled. “Damn , Flower. That almost made me hard. Shock me with that blood thirsty little inner vixen.

I’ve grown quite weary of the spunky heroines, brave rape victims, soul-searching fashionistas that stock so many books. I particularly mourn the lack of female villains — good, potent female villains. Not ill-tempered women who scheme about landing good men and better shoes (as if we had nothing more interesting to war over), not chilly WASP mothers (emotionally distant isn’t necessarily evil), not soapy vixens (merely bitchy doesn’t qualify either). I’m talking violent, wicked women. Scary women. Don’t tell me you don’t know some. The point is, women have spent so many years girl-powering ourselves — to the point of almost parodic encouragement — we’ve left no room to acknowledge our dark side. Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.

When the game ended, Mike laid down his control paddle. "So you've met the Nordic goddess, right?" Aria glanced up at him warily. "Excuse me?" Mike rolled his eyes. "Duh. Klaudia, which I'm pretty sure is Scandinavian for sex vixen.

Red is wild. She is unsettling. She intrigues. Wear red and other women will assume that you are a predatory vixen who is out to steal their husbands and suck the blood of their children.

What's the point of living if it's going to be easy?

The problem with hope was that you were required to acknowledge the possibility of not getting what you desperately hoped for.

Women are such contrary creatures when it comes to sex. You parade around like scantily clad vixens but blush when you're caught staring at the erections you cause.

Come on, Kai... my freckles are getting impatient." Bloody hell... did my little vixen just tell me to hurry up?

Smiling, Vixen sat up and kneeled at the edge of the mattress. “Mmmm… I missed you.” She said, and grabbed me by the waist band, and pulled me on top of her.

Beauty is given to dolls, majesty to haughty vixens, but mind, feeling, passion and the crowning grace of fortitude are the attributes of an angel.

She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.

I fell for the feisty, smart-ass Julia that calls me on my shit. But I’m owned by the vixen that you become behind closed doors.

Paul D did not answer because she didn't expect or want him to, but he did know what she meant. Listening to the doves in Alfred, Georgia, and having neither the right nor the permission to enjoy it because in that place mist, doves, sunlight, copper dirt, moon - everything belonged to the men who had the guns. Little men, some of them, big men too, each one of whom he could snap like a twig if he wanted to. Men who knew that their manhood lay in their guns and were not even embarrassed by the knowledge that without fox would laugh at them. And these "men" who made even vixen laugh could, if you let them, stop you from hearing doves or loving moonlight. So you protected yourself and loved small. Picked the tiniest stars out of the sky to own; lay down with head twisted in order to see the loved one over the rim of the trench before you slept. Stole shy glances at her between the trees at chain-up. Glass blades, salamanders, spiders, woodpeckers, beetles, a kingdom of ants. Anything bigger wouldn't do. A woman, a child, a brother - a big love like that would split you wide open in Alfred, Georgia. He knew exactly what she meant: to get to a place where you could love anything you chose - not to need permission for desire - well now, THAT was freedom.

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds; While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave a lustre of midday to objects below, When what to my wondering eyes did appear, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer, With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blixen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the housetop the coursers they flew With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too— And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight— “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

If you want to recreate yourself in a new image, you must embrace your inner vixen.

For someone with one hand, you’re strangely like Vishnu. Everywhere at once.

Because she may be our Kit, but she was my Vixen. And no one fucks with what’s mine.

if ye bed wi’ a vixen, ye must expect to get bit.

Poor man. You look as though you’d been attacked by a wild beast.” A husky laugh escaped him. “Just a small vixen,” he said, “who grew a bit fierce in her play.” “You should bite her back,” Pandora said against his chest. “That would teach her to be gentler with you.

I wonder if he thinks he married a girl with two personalities: vixen and wallflower.

I will love you for an infinite moment, and then for a thousand years more. You are the love of my life, and that of my soul; my little sassy vixen.

I want you,” he murmured into her ear, before placing another kiss in the hollow behind her ear. “God help me, I don’t care if it’s against the rules. I want you so fucking much.” She turned her head, looking him straight in the eye, and smiled like a vixen. “I want you, too.

Belial pounds on the door and we both go still. We're panting like mad. Nothing like a dose of your girlfriend's father to douse the kindled fires. Anna giggles in a very mischievous way and I grin. My lovely little vixen.

She knew violence- and my, what a lovely thing to profess knowledge of.

Red Fox The red fox crosses the ice intent on none of my business. It's winter and slim pickings. I stand in the bushy cemetery, pretending to watch birds, but really watching the fox who could care less. She pauses on the sheer glare of the pond. She knows I'm there, sniffs me in the wind at her shoulder. If I had a gun or dog or a raw heart, she'd smell it. She didn't get this smart for nothing. She's a lean vixen: I can see the ribs, the sly trickster's eyes, filled with longing and desperation, the skinny feet, adept at lies. Why encourage the notion of virtuous poverty? It's only an excuse for zero charity. Hunger corrupts, and absolute hunger corrupts absolutely, or almost. Of course there are mothers, squeezing their breasts dry, pawning their bodies, shedding teeth for their children, or that's our fond belief. But remember - Hansel and Gretel were dumped in the forest because their parents were starving. Sauve qui peut. To survive we'd all turn thief and rascal, or so says the fox, with her coat of an elegant scoundrel, her white knife of a smile, who knows just where she's going: to steal something that doesn't belong to her - some chicken, or one more chance, or other life.

I’ve never been in love,” I admitted. “I’m scared of losing me to be with you.

Confessions are tricky. Many times,as you're confessing something to another person, you discover some new, valuable lesson about yourself.

Well, for her hormones, apparently all it took was saving her life, an unexpected kiss, and hauling her off like some sort of wolf caveman, to turn her into an adventurous vixen.

Your brother needs to stop watching the BBC network.” Logan shouted from inside, “I heard that, and never, woman. BBC holds my heart like no vixen ever shall.

I did. I stayed alive for you. For the dream of you.” “And now I’m here.” “And I’m never letting you go,” he said fiercely, his hand moving possessively to her hip, where it lay heavy and insistent.

I couldn't tell anyone how I felt because I knew they wouldn't understand. Oh, poor little Christina, falling for the bad man who treats her like dirt because she didn't know any better. And isn't it a pity that they don't still teach sex-ed in schools? Or, oh, Christina, that filthy slut, if she puts out for a man like that, I imagine she puts out for anyone. You stay away from her. It wasn't like that at all. Maybe it would have been easier if it was, just like ticking a box. Are you the Madonna, or the whore? The victim, or the vixen? The Sabine, or the skank? But nothing in life is ever that simple.

Because now that it's finally morning, the shadows are beginning to fade, the shadows that have been covering my mind and my soul. Now that they're gone, I can almost start to see the way, and it's different from the one they'd convinced me was all I could have.

Responsibility sucked rocks. Until a few months ago, I hadn’t been responsible for anything more than color-coordinating my wardrobe. But foil one vampire vixen bent on world domination and suddenly people expect all kinds of things. Some days it just didn’t pay to wake up dead. (teaser from ReVamped, coming September 1st)

The first time you sit in comfortable silence; The first time you realize you enjoy his company more than anyone else’s; The first time you look like hell and he couldn't care less; The first time you talk until dawn; The first time you bring him home to meet the family; The first time you're naked together and you don't feel a shred of insecurity; The firt time you realize that you don't want anyone else but him; The first time you see a future with him; The first time you take a trip together; The first big blowup fight; The first time you realize he's your home; The first time you realize taht he loves you as much as you love him.

I want the possibility of forever wrapped in a hundred million moments. I want us.

You terrify me.” She smiled, wiggling beneath him before pushing her pelvis up against his. “I’m harmless.” “You’re lethal.” “I’m waiting.

I could run, too, but my feet hurt. It's tough being a fashion vixen.

Our first point of discussion is the hunt. (...) My idea is to start the film with an image of the vixen locked out of her lair which has been plugged up. Her terror as she's pursued across the country. This is a big deal. It means training a fox from birth or dressing up a dog to look like a fox. Or hiring David Attenbrorough, who probably knows a few foxes well enough to ask a favour.

The beech leaves surged and shimmered in the wind. Far below, a vixen paused to stare up, then melted away. Stars burned tiny holes in the twilight and then a pale moon traced a slow silver arc through the sky.

A good orgasm could really mess with a girl.

It's your turn," she says. Oh. I go still, wondering exactly what she has in mind. Inside, my body claps like a damn seal, but outside I'm suddenly too nervous to move. She leans forward and kisses under my ear. Ah, yes. That's nice. She kisses my neck and I reach for her hip, pulling her closer. "My sweet little vixen." She licks my earlobe, and a bolt of arousal forces me on top of her. Anna is naked underneath me. All mine. But she tsks and makes a little uh-uh-uuh sound, as if I've got it all wrong.

Asher,” she said, eyes closed, nuzzling his neck lovingly. “Yeah,” he finally managed, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath. “You stayed alive, Asher. I think maybe you stayed alive for me.” The impact of her words made him quake in her arms, and he exhaled like the wind had been knocked out of him.

There are girls who are so fierce that wearing pink makes them look that much cooler (especially when paired with black-and-white-striped tights or a skull choker). On those badass vixens, pink becomes an in-your-face dare that says “hey, world, even in the girliest of colors, I’m still cool as hell, so don’t fuck with me.

This isn’t the sort of love that ends,” he said softly. “It’s forever. It doesn’t matter if you go to Phoenix and I stay here for a while. We’ll find each other again. Do you know that, Savannah Carmichael?

Sometimes it's hard to believe she was once that nervous, babbling freshman whose dorm I accidentally wound up in. That the sweet Grace Ivers I fell for is this fearless woman in front of me, the sexy vixen who's about to let me f*** her in the bathroom

There’s nowhere more important for me to be,” he said as he gently tugged my head back by my hair. “I would go anywhere, everywhere, just to be with you.

What are we doing?” she asked, locking her hands around his neck. “I’m ruining you,” he said unflinchingly, “for anyone else.

He’s so hot that he could melt the batteries in my vibrator

She now represents the Western United States, thus proving politics is even more accepting of the strange, unusual, and mostly useless than the music industry.

I don’t ravish women, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “Oh, no,” she said. “I had supposed that women stood in line waiting for you to relieve them of their virtue.

The thing about surviving something truly tragic is that it changes your expectations forever. You make do with very little. You’re grateful for crumbs. You make the best of small mercies. You endure large trials. You understand that life owes you nothing. You expect nothing, and when something wonderful happens, you don’t trust it. You know it can’t possibly last.

She’s a lean vixen: I can see the ribs, the sly trickster’s eyes, filled with longing and desperation, the skinny feet, adept at lies. Why encourage the notion of virtuous poverty? It’s only an excuse for zero charity. Hunger corrupts, and absolute hunger corrupts absolutely,

Books for Banned Love Sea of Poppies, by Amitav Ghosh The English Patient, by Michael Ondaatje Euphoria, by Lily King The Red and the Black, by Stendahl Luster, by Raven Leilani Asymmetry, by Lisa Halliday All the Pretty Horses, by Cormac McCarthy Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides The Vixen, by Francine Prose Legends of the Fall, by Jim Harrison The Winter Soldier, by Daniel Mason

Atlanta is a city full of superficial fake video vixen women walking around with fake asses, fake hair, and breast. Makeup caked on their faces, and string from the tracks hanging in their weave.

Here," Aaron said, handing Neil a scrap of paper. "Take this before I forget it." It was a short list of names and numbers in bubbly blue print. Nicky leaned over to see and made a dismissive noise. "Seriously, Aaron?" "Dan asked me to get a list from Katelyn," Aaron said. "Who are these people?" Neil asked. "They're the single Vixens." "They're all women," Nicky said. "That doesn't help us.

Suppressing a chuckle, Dajon leaned and peered intently into her eyes. "What are you doing?" she snapped. "Trying to see if there are two of you in there." He grinned and then furrowed his brow. "The transformation is so swift and unpredictable, I know not which of you to expect, vixen or enchantress.

Suddenly the look in Norah’s eyes changed. The nervous air she had walked in with, lifted from her face. Her eyes closed slightly and then opened wide, revealing pools of chocolate confidence. The change in her facial expression forced me to take a breath. How could you not love a creature like this — Angel by day, vixen by night.

I remember her, not a girl but the girl. The brains behind the all time top ten comic book vixens only wish they could conjure a a siren the likes of Susan Glenn, beneath my feet my own private earthquake registered an eight when Susan Glenn was near. In her presence all was beautiful before she arrived turned grotesque and in her shadows others became goblinesque, if she approached Susan Glenn she didn’t walk she floated, accompanied by Pyrotechnics spectacals that left me feeling a foot tall. She embodied every desireable quality I have ever wanted. In my mind I was a peasant before a Queen. And so Susan Glenn and I were never a thing, if I could do it again, I’d do it differently.

Wicked girl,’ Hamish chided, laughing into her hair. She felt the familiar wave of jealousy, battling her heart’s desire to give herself to him without fear. The thought of having that French vixen back under the roof of Castle Kintochlochie made her feel quite nauseous. It would take all her self-control not to throw a cup of hot coffee into Felicité’s lap.

You walked out of my dreams fully formed. I wasn’t about to let you walk away.

Were they dating? Sort of. Exclusive? Not as far as she knew... Discovering new feelings was one thing. Actually changing your Facebook status? That was real. -- Savannah

I don't believe in wishes. Or maybe I just have too many.

We never sleep. What will happen when all grandmas run out of fire? We can’t die. We die, nobody take care of you.

I would drown in the ocean every morning just by stepping out of bed

Cowards parade around me calling me weird, calling me paranoid then, calling me for help.

And I’ll tell you something else. I’m not worried that you’ll find someone else, because there isn’t anyone else on the face of the earth who could ever love you as much as I do. It’s impossible because no man has ever loved a woman as much as I love you. And I’m not worried about me finding someone else, because you brought me back from the dead and gave me a second chance at life. You’re my miracle, Savannah, and I will always belong to you.

Dan asked me to get a list from Katelyn," Aaron said. "Who are these people?" Neil asked. "They're the single Vixens." "They're all women," Nicky said. "That doesn't help us." "Nicky," Neil started. Nicky plucked the list from Neil's fingers and crumpled it. "Your ignorance is endearing, Neil. You're nineteen and you've never looked at Allison's tits? There's no way you're straight. You and I really need to sit down and talk about this sometime.

You’re trying to provoke me.” “I wouldn’t dream of it,

I'm not your blue-eyed Czech, I'm just a brown-eyed girl, A little mix of rock your world, And now you'll never be the same. You grabbed me by the hand, I grabbed you by the neck. I changed the game, and your convictions. So is it criminal to steal a heart or two? I keep them on the shelf, Like only hunters do. I like it hard I like you high I love your mouth When it's on mine. I wanna hear you make that sound, Cause it's the greatest thing around. Take it off now, Take from here. Watch your head spin When I come near, And you will lose every time, Cause I won't stop until your mine. And they say who the hell is she? They either love me or they hate me. But still they never look away, This vixen's gonna give you everything.

And then she knew, she realized in startling, terrifying detail, that Asher Lee had had no one to come home to. After years away from Danvers, there was no one left to welcome him home. No loving parents. No friends. No one but an old friend of his grandmother’s, who agreed to come and keep house for him. He’d been utterly alone. He’d had no one left to live for, and yet he’d decided to live.

The last ten years it has been the two of us and your flavor of the month. This guy, BE, he’s not a flavor of the month. BE is the spice of life. You know it, and I know it. I know how unsettling this is for you. Just know that he won’t let you down. He’s not going to stand you up. You can focus on doing what needs to be done and soon, you will be together again.

A lion shorn of his strength, an eagle robbed of his freedom, or a dove bereft of his mate, all die, it is said, of a broken heart; and who will aver that this grim bandit could bear the threefold brunt, heart-whole? This only I know, that when the morning dawned, he was lying there still in his position of calm repose, but his spirit was gone-the old king-wolf was dead.

Your BMW’s a convertible?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Yes, ma’am.” “I like fast German cars.” “Riding or driving?” “Both.” “Is that a request?” “Mm-hm.” “I love my car, Savannah. I’m not a shallow man, but I love that vehicle. What’s your driving record look like?” “This question from the man who made me cry?” “I would love for you to drive my car as far and as fast as you like,” he amended. She leaned back and winked at him. “I thought so. Give me a minute to change?” “Must you?” “I’m afraid so.

And I’ll tell you something else. I’m not worried that you’ll find someone else, because there isn’t anyone else on the face of the earth who could ever love you as much as I do. It’s impossible because no man has ever loved a woman as much as I love you. And I’m not worried about me finding someone else, because you brought me back from the dead and gave me a second chance at life.

Ma was isolated and alone. Under those circumstances people behave differently. Kya made a soft groan. “Please don't talk to me about isolation. No one has to tell me how it changes a person. I have lived it. I am isolation," Kya whispered with a slight edge. "I forgive Ma for leaving. But I don't understand why she didn't come back- why she abandoned me. You probably don't remember, but after she walked away, you told me that a she-fox will sometimes leave her kits if she's starving or under some other extreme stress. The kits die- as they probably would have anyway- but the vixen lives to breed again when conditions are better, when she can raise a new litter to maturity. "I've read a lot about this since. In nature- out yonder where the crawdads sing- these ruthless-seeming behaviors actually increase the mother's number of young over her lifetime, and thus her genes for abandoning offspring in times of stress are passed on to the next generation. And on and on. It happens in humans, too. Some behaviors that seem harsh to us now ensured the survival of early man in whatever swamp he was in at the time. Without them, we wouldn't be here. We still store those instincts in our genes, and they express themselves when certain circumstances prevail. Some parts of us will always be what we were, what we had to be to survive- way back yonder.

Behind her, the two Sharpe sisters came out to cross the courtyard. He dragged in a heavy breath as the younger one caught his eye. Masters approached to look out the window, too. "And there she comes, the most beautiful woman in the world." "And the most maddening," Jackson muttered. "Watch it, Pinter," Masters said in a voice tinged with amusement. "That's my wife you're talking about." Jackson started. He hadn't been staring at Mrs. Masters. "I beg your pardon," he murmured, figuring he'd best not explain. Masters would never accept that Lady Celia was to her sister as a gazelle was to a brood mare. The newly wedded barrister was blinded by love. Jackson wasn't. Any fool could see that Lady Celia was the more arresting of the two. While Mrs. Masters had the lush charms of a dockside tart, Lady Celia was a Greek goddess-willowy and tall, small-breasted and long-limbed, with a fine lady's elegant brow, a doe's soft eyes... And a vixen's temper. The damned female could flay the flesh from a man's bones with her sharp tongue. She could also heat his blood with one unguarded smile. God save him, it was a good thing her smile had never been bestowed on him. Otherwise, he might act on the fantasy that had plagued him from the day he'd met her-to shove her into some private closet where he could plunder her mouth with impunity. Where she would wrap those slender arms about his neck and let him have his way with her.

Did you think to have me against a tree in Hyde Park? On a public footpath?” “I was not exactly thinking,” he said. “And how could you expect me to, under the onslaught of you?” She rolled her eyes and turned away and marched down the footpath. “I can’t believe you’re playing injured innocence. Did I throw myself at you, my lord?” “No, and it’s extremely inconsiderate of you not to, when I’ve taken such great pains to make myself attractive to you. Why must I always be the one to make advances? Why can’t you make a little more effort?

Yes. I know all about soul-wraiths.” Ramsey frowned. “How did you avoid them in the past?” “Set a perimeter of energized diaman crystal. That will keep them at bay.” Hel smiled without humor. “I have the diaman crystal in my saddle pack. I lack a sexual partner to energize them. I had intended to return with a magistra but a magister will work as well. Care to volunteer?” “Only if I top,” Ramsey snapped. “You’d have to kill me first,” returned Hel. “With pleasure.” Steffania took a breath. Ram cut her off. “No. I don’t share you, Vixen.” Fear of the unknown almost froze Adonia’s tongue, but she was the obvious answer. She could do this, and the opportunity might never present itself again. “I’ll be your partner.

She looked like a wreck. She also looked like herself. “This is me,” she said, with a sheepish smile, pushing some flyaway strands of her brown hair back into the knot. “Well, I did wonder when your sister was going to cut you off from her supply of florals and pink.” “Do you miss anything, Miss Potts?” “Very little, dear. I’ve been alive for a hundred years or so.

For the first time in almost a decade, who he was and what he wanted took precedence over how he looked. The man inside, who’d hidden from the world in hurt and anger, was almost completely gone now, and in his place sat Asher Lee—confident and uncertain, fierce and tender, protective, wistful, loyal, vulnerable, attractive, and complicated—made whole again by the love of Savannah Carmichael.

You're not paying attention to me, are you?" "Eh? What's that? Sorry, love, I didn't hear you. Wasn't paying attention. I had my eyes on your perfectly formed arse." Catherine fixed him with a glare worthy of a Scottish schoolmaster. "This is serious business Jamie. If you've to pass for a Highlander, you've got to get the kilt just so," "Bah! You're a hoydenish vixen. You just want to ogle my knees." "Nonsense. I'm sure you'll find the ah... freedom and... utility very appealing once you try it on." "You mean you think I'll like the feel of the family jewels waving free?" Blushing, she spread both great kilts on the ground. "One lays down on it like so. Oh stop grinning, Jamie, and do try." She was so earnest and eager in her lesson that he hadn't the heart to tell her he'd worn a kilt a time or two before.

Kyle, please. Stop. This isn’t you. You aren’t even here anymore,” Cole said softly with his arms around her. Kyle blinked and shook her head. Shame. Again. Then she fought him desperately—eyeing her scattered clothes and the door. “You don’t have to do this for me. I don’t want a show.” Cole put his hands on her face and kissed her lips gently. For the first time. Their separated souls rejoiced and found each other again. He lifted her off the altar and set her on her feet. “Be you for me, Kyle. Be the Kyle you’re so very afraid of being. I’ll keep her safe.” Cole skimmed his lips along her cheek and looked at her hopefully. Kyle gazed into his eyes and nodded solemnly. The moment seemed bigger than the two of them. Cole asked permission. “Kyle McHugh, may I worship you?” A tear fell from her eye as she whispered, “Yes.” Cole took a step back and whipped the cloth off her shoulders. She was no vixen now. Kyle looked terrified. She clenched her fists, as if willing herself not to run. Cole turned and gathered her scattered clothes. He found her panties and took them to her, kneeling at her feet. Kyle looked puzzled, but as he worked the panties up her legs, she got it. Unlike all the other men, he was dressing her.

I missed you,” she said softly, her breath against his cheek making his body harden everywhere. “You too.” “It’s terrible to be this infatuated.” “I agree.” “I haven’t felt this alive in years.” “Me either.” “Screw the interview,” she said breathlessly. “Let’s make out.” He saw stars. Literally. Stars. How was this possibly his life? Beautiful women did not show up on the doorsteps of disabled vets and proposition them. “Are you an alien?” he asked. “Not that I know of.” “Are we on Candid Camera?” She took a quick look around the room. “You never know, but my guess is no.” “Is someone paying you a vast sum of money to make me feel like this?” She bit her lower lip, as if deep in thought. “Not that I recall, but if a million dollars suddenly hits my account, I’ll give you half.” “You must be for real. Fine. You win. Let’s go make out.

And are you married, sir?" Mrs Winstanley asked Tom. "Oh no, madam!" said Tom. "Yes," David reminded him. "You are, you know." Tom made a motion with his hand to suggest that it was a situation susceptible to different interpretations. The truth was that he had a Christian wife. At fifteen she had had a wicked little face, almond-shaped eyes and a most capricious nature. Tom had constantly compared her to a kitten. In her twenties she had been a swan; in her thirties a vixen; and then in rapid succession a bitch, a viper, a cockatrice and, finally, a pig. What animals he might have compared her to now no one knew. She was well past ninety now and for forty years or more she had been confined to a set of apartments in a distant part of the Castel des Tours saunz Nowmbre under strict instructions not to shew herself, while her husband waited impatiently for someone to come and tell him she was dead.

You’d been coming here for years for checkups, and we couldn’t get you to try a new hand or let us put you under again after what you’d been through at Brooke. Then suddenly you’re here. You want the new hand; you want to work on the face. That article? It was a mixed bag: part love story and, yes, part humiliation. But, see, she changed you Asher. For the good. She helped you move forward. And we only let certain people change us. We only want to change for certain people. If she was worth changing for, she’s probably worth talking to.

In December the first frosts came with the full moon, and then my nights of vigil held a quality harder to bear. There was a sort of beauty to them, cold and clear, that caught at the heart and made me stare in wonder. From my windows the long lawns dipped to the meadows, and the meadows to the sea, and all of them were white with frost, and white too under the moon. The trees that fringed the lawns were black and still. Rabbits came out and pricked about the grass, then scattered to their burrows; and suddenly, from the hush and stillness, I heard that high sharp bark of a vixen, with the little sob that follows it, eerie, unmistakable, unlike any other call that comes by night, and out of the woods I saw the lean low body creep and run out upon the lawn, and hide again where the trees would cover it. Later I heard the call again, away in the distance, in the open park, and now the full moon topped the trees and held the sky, and nothing stirred on the lawns beneath my window. I wondered if Rachel slept, in the blue bedroom; or if, like me, she left her curtains wide. The clock that had driven me to bed at ten struck one, struck two, and I thought that here about me was a wealth of beauty that we might have shared.

Grateful! Good God! Am I never to get away from the bleat of that filmy adjective? I don’t want gratitude. I don’t want kindness. I don’t want sentimentality. I don’t even want love—I could make you give me that—of a sort. I want common honesty.’ ‘Do you? But that’s what I’ve always wanted—I don’t think it’s to be got.’ ‘Listen, Harriet. I do understand. I know you don’t want either to give or to take. You’ve tried being the giver, and you’ve found that the giver is always fooled. And you won’t be the taker, because that’s very difficult, and because you know that the taker always ends by hating the giver. You don’t want ever again to have to depend for happiness on another person.’ ‘That’s true. That’s the truest thing you ever said.’ ‘All right. I can respect that. Only you’ve got to play the game. Don’t force an emotional situation and then blame me for it.’ ‘But I don’t want any situation. I want to be left in peace.’ ‘Oh! but you are not a peaceful person. You’ll always make trouble. Why not fight it out on equal terms and enjoy it? Like Alan Breck, I’m a bonny fighter.’ ‘And you think you’re sure to win.’ ‘Not with my hands tied.’ ‘Oh!—well, all right. But it all sounds so dreary and exhausting,’ said Harriet, and burst idiotically into tears. ‘Good Heavens!’ said Wimsey, aghast. ‘Harriet! darling! angel! beast! vixen! don’t say that.’ He flung himself on his knees in a frenzy of remorse and agitation. ‘Call me anything you like, but not dreary! Not one of those things you find in clubs! Have this one, darling, it’s much larger and quite clean. Say you didn’t mean it! Great Scott! Have I been boring you interminably for eighteen months on end? A thing any right-minded woman would shudder at I know you once said that if anybody ever married me it would be for the sake of hearing me piffle on, but I expect that kind of thing palls after a bit. I’m babbling—I know I’m babbling. What on earth am I to do about it?’ ‘Ass! Oh, it’s not fair. You always make me laugh. I can’t fight—I’m so tired. You don’t seem to know what being tired is. Stop. Let go. I won’t be bullied. Thank God! there’s the telephone.

Then there is the butterfly-or is it a moth? Humbert's inability to differentiate between the two,his indifference, implies a moral carelessness. This blind indifference echoes his callous attitude towards Lolita's nightly sobs. Those who tell us Lolita is a little vixen who deserved what she got should remember her nightly sobs in the arms of her rapist and jailer, because you see, as Humbert reminds us with a mixture of relish and pathos, "she had absolutely nowhere else to go." This came to mind when we were discussing in our class Humbert's confiscation of Lolita's life. The first thing that struck us in reading Lolita-in fact it was on the very first page-was how Lolita was given to us as Humbert's creature. We only see her in passing glimpses. "What I had madly possessed," he informs us, "was not she, but my own creation, another fanciful Lolita-perhaps, more real than Lolita . . . having no will, no consciousness-indeed no real life of her own." Humbert pins Lolita by first naming her, a name that becomes the echo of his desires. To reinvent her, Humbert must take from Lolita her own real history and replace it with his own, turning Lolita into a reincarnation of his lost, unfulfilled young love. Humbert's solipsization of Lolita. Yet she does have a past. Despite Humbert's attempts to orphan Lolita by robbing her of her history. Lolita has a tragic past, with a dead father and a dead two-year-old brother. And now also a dead mother. Like my students, Lolita's past comes to her not so much as a loss but as a lack, and like my students, she becomes a figment in someone else's dream. When I think of Lolita, I think of that half-alive butterfly pinned to the wall. The butterfly is not an obvious symbol, but it does suggest that Humbert fixes Lolita in the same manner that the butterfly is fixed; he wants her, a living breathing human being, to become stationary, to give up her life for the still life he offers her in return. Lolita's image is forever associated in the minds of her readers with that of her jailer. Lolita on her own has no meaning; she can only come to life through her prison bars. This is how I read Lolita. Again and again as we discussed Lolita in that class. And more and more I thought of that butterfly; what linked us so closely was this perverse intimacy of victim and jailer.

Savannah,” he started in a softer voice, “Wait. Please. I—I didn’t mean … I just didn’t want you to …” “I’m going home,” she said, rushing from the room before he could say another word. “Savannah!” He shot out of bed, following her through his bedroom door and running down the gallery as fast as his bum leg would allow. While walking or jogging were good for him, he wasn’t supposed to sprint on it, and it ached and burned as he got to the top of stairs only to hear the front door slam in her wake. “GOD DAMN IT!” he bellowed, lowering himself to sit on the landing as his leg throbbed with pain. Miss Potts appeared out of nowhere to stand at the base of the stairs with her hands on her hips. She pursed her lips and tsked. “Somehow I don’t think peach cobbler is going to fix this one.

Savannah, darlin’?” “Yes, Mama. Come in.” Her mother opened the door a crack, then slipped into the room, carrying the largest, most extravagant bouquet of wildflowers Savannah had ever seen. Wildflowers that smelled of lilac and honeysuckle and the outdoors. She breathed deeply and sighed, looking at her mother in question. “Asher Lee,” she said, “is downstairs.” Savannah felt her mouth tilt up into an involuntary smile and her eyes flood with tears. Her mother set the bouquet on her vanity and put her arm around Savannah. “Whatever he did, he’s awful sorry, button.” “He yelled at me and made me cry.” “Guessing he didn’t mean whatever it is he said.” “He thinks I want him to change.” “Well, of course you do,” said her mother matter-of-factly, swiping at Savannah’s tears with the corner of her sunflower apron. “We all want to change the men we love. Leave our mark on them.” “Oh, I don’t lov—” “Of course you don’t. I was just makin’ conversation.

Knocking on a massive carved door minutes later, the sigils on it shouting to those literate enough to ‘Stay away or else!’ he received a nice surprise when the door swung open. Well, hello there. Reaching only his shoulder, with a wild mop of black hair, bright brown eyes and a rounded body made for worship – by his tongue – Remy wondered if he could convince the servant girl to come around the corner with him for a quickie before he met with this Ysabel person. Then she opened her luscious mouth. “If you’re done gawking, you might want to step back before I smash your nose with the door when I shut it.” Someone got up without sex today. He could fix that. “Hello beautiful, I actually have business with the occupant of this suite. I’m here to meet with Ysabel, the witch.” “Really.” Her tone said what she thought of his claim and her brown gaze looked him up and down, then dismissed him. “I don’t think so.” The door slammed shut in his face. What. The. Fuck. Remy pounded on the door. It immediately opened. The ebony haired vixen, her arms crossed under her bountiful tits, smirked. “Back already. What’s wrong? Did I hurt your feelings?” “Listen woman, I don’t know what crawled up your ass and turned you into an uptight bitch, but I’m here to see Ysabel, so get the fuck out of my way before I put you over my knee and –” “And what? Spank me?” Her eyes actually sparked with challenge, the minx. “I’d like to see you try. But, before you do, just so you know, my name is Ysabel. The witch.” Aaaaah, shit. Never one to admit defeat, he let a slow simmering smile spread across his face. It worked on demonesses, damned souls, human women, and even gay men, but apparently, it had no effect on scowling witches. Too bad. “It’s your lucky day. Lucifer has informed me that you’re my next assignment.” “Not by choice. And what are you supposed to do exactly? I need a tracker, not a gigolo. What happened? Did your gig as a pole dancer not work out? Equipment too small?” She dropped her gaze to his groin and sneered. A sudden, irrational urge possessed him to drop his pants, flip her over and show her there was nothing wrong with the size of his cock. He abstained, but couldn’t prevent himself from taunting her, eyeing her up and down in the same dismissive manner. “Anytime you want to measure my dick, you let me know. Naked.” “Pig.” “No, demon. Really, get your terminology straight, would you? After Lucifer’s warning, I expected someone older and badder.” To his credit he didn’t drop to the ground, but the pain in his balls did require he bend over to cup them gently which in turn meant he got the door in the face. Again. -Ysabel & Remy