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Quote by Holly Black

“Is this what you imagined I'd be like, back in your rooms at Hollow Hall, when you thought of me and hated it? Is this how you pictured my eventual surrender?' He looks absolutely mortified, but there's no disguising the flush of his cheeks, the shine of his eyes. 'Yes,' he says, sounding like the word was dragged out of him, his voice rough with desire. 'Then what did I do?' I ask, my voice low. I reach out to press my hand against his thigh. His gaze shimmers with a sharp spike of heat. There's a wariness in his face, though, and I realise he believes i might be asking him all this because I'm angry. Because I want to see him humiliated. But he keeps speaking anyway. 'I imagined you telling me to do with you whatever I liked.' 'Really?' I ask, and the surprised laugh in mny voice makes him meet my gaze. 'Along with some begging on your part. A little light grovelling.' He gives me an embarrassed smile. 'My fantasies were rife with overweening ambition.”

Quote by Holly Black

Work

The Queen of Nothing

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Author

Holly Black
Holly Black

Holly Black, born on November 10, 1971, is a renowned fantasy fiction writer from the United States. Her works are known for their unique imagination and profound emotional depth, which have won her a large fan base. more

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“Tell me again what you said at the revel,' he says, climbing over me, his body against mine. 'What?' I can barely think. 'That you hate me,' he says, his voice hoarse. 'Tell me what you hate me.' 'I hate you,' I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. 'I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.' He kisses me harder. 'I hate you,' I breathe in to his mouth. 'I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else.' At that, he makes a harsh, low sound.”

“I want to fuck and be fucked, to be so interested in them that the sex is interrupted by conversation, and then the conversation by sex. Maybe I just want intimacy, the tactile kind. The getting-to-know-you-from-the-inside-out kind. The three-fingers-deep, mouth-tasting-of-you kind. The I'm-hungry-let's-make-toast-at-three-in-the-morning-so-we-can-keep-going kind. The lesbian kind.”

“He takes a step toward me. 'The other night-' I cut him off. 'I did it for the same reason that you did. To get it out of my system.' 'And it it?' he asks. 'Out of your system?' I look him in the face and lie. 'Yes.' If he touches me, if he even takes another step toward me, my deceit will be exposed. I don't think I can keep the longing off my face. Instead, to my relief, he gives a thin-lipped nod and departs. ... It occurs to me that maybe desire isn't something overindulging helps. Maybe it is not unlike mithridatism; maybe I took a killing dose when I should have been poisoning myself slowly, one kiss at a time.”

“And she said goodbye to him and closed the door, not to pressure the inhabitant to evacuate, but because doors would not be doors if they stayed open, would they? Andrei walked down the corridor, lifted his hand and clutched the air in front of his chest, as if grabbing a part of his spirit, and privately threw it in her direction, saying, “Here’s some of my soul forever, somehow, yes, for you.”