“I walk into the moonlit room and hear the click of the door behind me. A heartbeat later his presence is at my back. He stands there, hovering, the only contact the heat that simmers off his body onto mine. Then I feel it—a fingertip, or perhaps the back of his finger, moving slowly up and down my spine.”
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“You sound as if happiness and pleasure were not the same.”
“Hatred is a nightmare from which you can't wake up.”
“Do I care about pleasure? Yes. But I don't believe in happiness.”
“You are one of those rare women who look beautiful when they cry.”
“I've already let you go twice. I'm not going to do it the third time. You know that, right?”