New Englanders could be so brusque.
The fun we’ll have tonight is called figging.
You are such a sleazeball, Rhodes—walking, talking proof of why siblings shouldn’t marry.
And he calls it playing? Like, whatever happened to chess? Or cards? Or tag?
Darlin’, I wasn’t just a Boy Scout, I was an Eagle Scout.
An older dom snorted. “Atherton uses the word escort loosely. The last time someone messed with a trainee, he threw the guy across the bar. Strolled over, waited for the idiot to stand up, punched his...
You want to count, Gabrielle? One! She sucked in a breath, mad enough the words slid right out. You asshole, one!
If you keep all those thoughts inside, your brain will explode.
Okay, you’re older. Not much, really. And considering you love staying in shape and I refuse to run, we’ll probably get all old and crippled at the same time. If not, then I’ll learn to use a cane, an...
I felt sorry for myself since my wimpy dom can’t catch a snail crossing the sidewalk.
By the way, you have a fine ass. Sir.
You dumb-ass ape, get your hand off me. What—are you the first in your family to be born without a tail?
What we have here is a failure to communicate.
You know how really big guys are always nicknamed Tiny?" She didn’t wait for any response, afraid she’d chicken out. "Guess that would make you Master Munchkin, huh?
You dickweed! Are you always stupid, or is today a special occasion?
She took a second look at him, at his fancy tailored suit. Dark gray with pinstripes. Oh please, like she’d really believe he was a dom at all? “Gabrielle Anderson. Are you sure you’re Master Marcus?”...
You mean you’re not God? Nooo, say it isn’t so!
Oh lord and master. High muckety-muck.
She couldn’t take her eyes from the dancing flame. No, this was so wrong. Candles should be used for meditation…for romance. Or on a birthday cake at least.So where was the cake? The present? The song...
