For f*ck's sake, get off the cross. Someone else needs the wood" ~Zsadist

No, thanks.” Rhage laughed. “I’m a good little sewer, as you know firsthand. Now who’s your friend?” “Beth Randall, this is Rhage. An associate of mine. Rhage, this is Beth, and she doesn’t do movie stars, got it?” “Loud and clear.” Rhage leaned to one side, trying to see around Wrath. “Nice to meet you, Beth.” “Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?” she said weakly. “Nah. This one’s just messy. When you can use your large intestine as a belt loop, that’s when you hit the pros.

Even the powerful needed protection sometimes.

When she didn't say anything more, he frowned, thinking this was the pair of them in a nutshell: Standing three feet away from each other and being separated by miles.

John? As it was dark he whistled a what. You are such a male of worth, you know that. You really are.

Butch didn't live in his own place. He didn't spend his own money. He had no job, no future. He was a well-kept pet, not a man.

His thumb went back and forth over the satin, as if he were rubbing her hip as he had when they'd been together, and he moved his leg over so that it was on top of the skirting. It wasn't the same, though. There was no body underneath, and the fabric smelled like lemons, not her skin. And he was, after all, alone in this room that was not theirs. "God, I miss you," he said in a voice that cracked. "Every night. Every day.