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Quote by E.L. James

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Fifty Shades of Grey

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E.L. James

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“Slave, my hands are sticky. Come, wash them. Bring the perfumed water." Passia waved at me with a finger slick with honey. She was radiant, lying on the couch next to Helene. Both were dressed in new stolae that Aelia had gifted them for the holiday. I grinned and rushed forward with the basin and a towel. "Permission to speak," I asked her as I took her sticky hand in mine. She smirked. "Permission granted." I slowly ran the damp towel across each slender finger. I kept my voice low so only she could hear. "Later, my dear Domina, I would be delighted to wash you in private." She raised an eyebrow at me. "I think you will have to prove yourself first, boy." I bowed in front of her, my head on the tiles. "I will do anything you require, Domina." "Good. Now fetch me some more honey fritters. And you will clean my hands again, when I call for you." I winked at her. "Yes, Domina. Anything for you." That night our lovemaking tasted sweeter than all the honey in Iberia.”

“When I saw the flash of her stola in the entryway, my heart would beat like a temple drum. Passia! Her name was a song in my mind. Whenever she came into the kitchen I thought I might faint with desire. Everything about her was perfect. Her long auburn hair was perfect against her tanned skin. Her eyes were a perfect ebony brown, her wrists perfect and delicate, her voice a melody that I wished I could hear every waking moment of my life.”

“So many things had gone well for me since I'd come to Baiae from Maximus's villa in Pompeii. Apicius increasingly turned to me for advice on his affairs, even outside the kitchen. Aelia and Apicata had become as close as family. The kitchen slaves respected me and worked hard to gain both my favor and Apicius's. My love for Passia had bloomed in the sun of this festive town. Truly, I thought, I had found a form of Elysium here in Baiae, made all the more sweet by the fact that at any time it could have been swept away-”

“There’s much more to black history than pain and hard times, and romance authors, more than anyone else, know it. A writer friend told me that’s what he thinks some people outside of the culture don’t get about blackness: the sheer joy of it, especially given so many are only fixated on the struggle. Black romance thrives on complexity and nuance, on black solidarity and achievement, on the triumph of everyday life lived well, in spite of the odds. -Black Romance Novels Matter Too. Shondaland 2/22/20”

“She was dark-complexioned, with full lips and high cheekbones set gracefully on a smooth face—reminiscent of the beautiful women he admired while driving through small rural towns in South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi. Onyx had a curvaceous and full-bodied figure, exuding confidence. She was homegirl thick and cornbread-fed—just the kind of woman he was typically attracted to.”