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Quote by Dmitry Dyatlov

“I once had a burning desire to become a therapist. Then I realized I am not altogether impressed with the field. All they really had to do was get me to stop drinking, and after 8 years, they are still failing miserably. I still Love Booze... and Now I get the secondary payoff of 'beating' my substance counselor. hehehe. Idiots.”

Quote by Dmitry Dyatlov

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Dmitry Dyatlov

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“Val turned, still naked, still impossibly beautiful. Only the gore spattered on his belly, chest, and arm, marred his perfection. He walked toward her and she couldn't help it. She backed away from him. He smiled. Sweetly. Like a boy. The dagger still in his left hand. And caught her arm with his right hand. "This is who I am, Séraphine. Naked, with blade and blood. I am vengeance. I am hate. I am sin personified. Never mistake me for the hero of this tale, for I am not and shall never be. I am the villain." And he laid his lips over hers and pushed his hot tongue into her mouth and kissed her until she couldn't breathe and it was only later that she found the bloodstains on her dress. Her lips had been sweet, like ripe figs, her mouth a cavern of delight. But her eyes- those dark inquisitor's eyes- had held only horror and disgust. Val sipped his China tea the next morning and gazed out the window. The sun shone on his garden, giving the illusion of warmth, though his empty chest was ice-cold. He could have explained to her that a razor-sharp blade was kinder than a hangman's noose. That death delivered in seconds with a few thrusts was preferable to a laughing, jabbering mob, gleeful at the jerking, agonizing execution. But those saint's eyes would've seen the hypocrisy.”

MurderViolentPassionate KissVal NapierBridget And ValBridget CrumbMentallyYandere
Book:Duke of Sin
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“He immediately turned to her as the carriage rocked into motion, wrapping her in his cloak and examined her. She had bruises on her shoulders and on her arms. Her wrists were bloodied- he growled under his breath as he examined them, picking away the remains of the ropes. Her plump little toes were muddied and cut and cold. He warmed them with his hands, crooning to them. She had quite a nasty bruise on her left side and he tenderly pressed his fingers around that, soft sounds leaving his lips helplessly. Oh, that he had been there when this had been done! He would have put their eyes out. He would have cut off their noses and made them eat them. He would have- "Valentine." He blinked and realized that she had the palms of her hands on his face and was looking at him. "Valentine. I'm all right." His eyes narrowed as he looked at her face, for he was no fool. They must've had her for several days to bring her here. "Are you, though?" She looked at him very firmly. "Yes." "They didn't rape you?" "No." "Or touch you in any way?" She sighed. "They grabbed me when they took me. They tied me up." He thought about that. He didn't like it. "Did they make you do anything you didn't want to?" She hesitated. He went icy cold. "Tell me." "They..." She went a deep red and looked away. "They... when I needed to... to urinate they didn't turn away." "Ah." Well. That settled that. He wrapped his arms around her. "I am truly sorry you had to endure such horrific events, my Séraphine.”

Val NapierBridget And Val
Book:Duke of Sin
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“And then he saw her burning eyes. They gazed at him calmly and he saw in them benediction. He fell to his knees before her, pressing his face to her purple-velvet-clad-belly. "Séraphine, Séraphine, Séraphine. O most beloved of women, most fiery of saints, never leave me, please. I'll erect columns of white marble to you, build gardens of delight for you, cause ships to sail and warriors to rise for you, if you'll only remain by my side." She smiled down at him and cupped his cheeks. "Valentine, do you love me?" Ah, God, it was like a shot to the gut. He squeezed tight his eyes. To come so close and lose her because of this. "If I were able I would love you as no man has ever loved a woman since the beginning of time." She knelt then to face him and whispered, "But you are able." He clutched her. He wouldn't let her go, no, not even when she realized... "Séraphine, my darling, burning one, do you not remember? I told you, so long ago now, that I lacked that part. I cannot-" "But you can, Valentine." She touched a finger to his cheek and then showed it to him. He blinked. Her finger was wet. His eyes were wet. She smiled at him, his burning Séraphine, and it was as if the night sky were ablaze. "You love me." "I love you," he said in wonder, and felt his chest fill with warmth. "I love you." "And I love you," she whispered, her hands cupping his face. So he kissed her until she was limp and pliable and so very hot against him, and then he purred into her ear, "Does that mean you'll become my duchess, darling Bridget Crumb?" And when she sighed back, "Oh, yes, Val," he picked her up and carried her off to have his wicked, wicked way with her. Because he might have a heart now but some things weren't ever going to change.”

I Love YouConfession Of LoveVal NapierBridget And Val
Book:Duke of Sin
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“He strode, nude, to his desk, and, bending over it, afforded her a quite scandalous view of his muscular bottom. He seemed to have a dark mark of some kind on the left cheek. Good God, it looked like a tattoo. What-? "I have the most lamentable taste sometimes. It probably would be better if a few of my things disappeared. Why, Mrs. Crumb," he drawled, and she snapped her gaze belatedly up to find that he'd turned back to her- damn it! "Were you ogling my arse?" She opened her mouth and then wasn't sure, exactly, what to say. Was he about to dismiss her or not? "I... I-" "Ye-es?" He took one long stride toward her. She was suddenly, overwhelmingly aware of what she'd until now successfully ignored: He. Was. Nude.”

Val NapierNudeBridget And Val
Book:Duke of Sin
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“He smiled and pulled the ugly white fichu from her neck. She blinked and looked down at the simple, square neckline of her bodice as if she'd never seen it. Perhaps she hadn't. Perhaps she dressed in the dark like a nun. "What are you doing?" He sighed. "I confess, I find your naïveté perplexing. How have you arrived at the advanced age of six and twenty without having anyone attempt seduction upon yourself? I'm of two minds on the matter: One, utter astonishment at my sex and their deaf disregard for your siren call. Two, glee at the thought that your innocence might signal that you are indeed innocent. Why this should excite me so, I don't know- virginity has never before been a particular whim of mine. I think perhaps it's the setting. Who knows how many virgins were deflowered here by my lusty ancestors? Or," he said as he deftly unpinned and tossed aside her apron, "maybe it's simply you." "I don't..." Her words trailed off and then, interestingly, she blushed a deep rose. Well. That question settled, then. His little maiden was really a maiden. "What?" "I think it's you," he confided, pulling the strings tying her hideous mobcap beneath her chin. She made a wild grab for it, but he was faster, snatching the bloody thing off- finally, and with a great deal of satisfaction. She might've deprived him of a wife that it'd taken him half a year and a rather large sum of money to entangle, but by God, he'd taken off her awful cap. And underneath... "Oh, Séraphine," he breathed, enchanted, for her hair was as black as coal, as black as night, as black as his own soul, save for one white streak just over her left eye. But she'd twisted and braided and tortured the strands, binding them tight to her head, and his fingers itched to let them free. "Don't!" she said, as if she knew what he wanted, her hands flying up to cover her hair. He batted them aside, laughing, pulling a pin here, a pin there, dropping them carelessly to the carpet as she squealed like a little girl and backed away from him, trying frantically to ward off his fingers. He might've taken pity on her had he not just spent an hour on a freezing moor, wondering if he was going to find her dead, neck broken, at the bottom of a hill. Her hair came down all at once, a tumbling mass, tousled and heavy and nearly down to her waist. "Wonderful," he murmured, taking it in both hands and lifting it.”

Black HairVal NapierBridget And Val
Book:Duke of Sin
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“And she arched, screaming, the lightning blazing from her center, sparking through her limbs, flying out her fingertips. She was incandescent. He fell atop her, heavy and male, pulling her legs up around his narrow hips, and ground down into her, once, twice. His cock jerked within her and she could feel every muscle in his body tense. He groaned into her ear like a man dying and then fell senseless and limp. And as she followed him into exhausted slumber she heard his single word: Mine.”

Making LoveBridget And Val
Book:Duke of Sin
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“He paused and eyed her as if she were an agate discovered in gravel. "But what a very sharp tongue you have for a housekeeper." Bridget's heart sank- she knew better than to speak so frankly. It was never good for a servant to be noticed by a master- particularly this master. "Come." He beckoned her closer with his forefinger and she saw the flash of a jeweled gold ring on his left thumb. She swallowed and opened her right hand, silently dropping the miniature to the lush carpet. As she walked toward him she nudged the little painting under the enormous bed with the side of her foot. She stopped a pace away from him. His lips curved, sly and sensual. "Closer." She stepped nearer until her plain, practical black linsey-woolsey skirts were crushed against his purple velvet knees. Her heart beat hard and swift, but she was confident her expression didn't show her fear. Still smiling, he held out his hands, palms upward. His hands were long-fingered and elegant. The hands of a musician- or a swordsman. She stared down at them a moment, confused. He quirked an eyebrow and nodded. Bridget placed her hands on top of his. Palm to palm. She expected searing heat or deathly cold and was a little surprised to instead feel human warmth. She'd been hired little more than a fortnight before the duke had supposedly been banished. In that time he had never struck her as human- or humane. "Ah," His Grace murmured, cocking his head with interest. "What feminine hands you have, despite your station in life." His blue eyes flashed at her from under dark eyelashes, a secretive smile playing about his mouth. She met his gaze stonily. His lips quirked and he looked down again. "Small, plump, with neat, round nails." He turned her hands over so that they now rested palms-up in his. "I once knew a Greek girl who swore she could read a man's life story from the lines on his hands." He dropped her left hand to trace the lines on her right palm with a forefinger. His touch sent a frisson along her nerves and Bridget couldn't hold back a shudder.”

HandsVal NapierBridget And ValBridget Crumb
Book:Duke of Sin
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