“Don't get your panties in such a twist... and give me back mine.”

“Oh, crapola. Don't get your panties in such a twist...and give me back mine. I glare at him.”

“Trust me, They want you. They want what's mine." He pulls me against him, and I lift my arms to his shoulders, my hands in his hair, regarding him with amusement."Mine," he repeats, his eyes glowing possessively."Yes, yours." I reassure him, smiling.”

“Mine," he whispers."Yours," I breathe.”

“The elevator doors open on the ground floor. Christian shakes his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts and gestures for me to exit before him in a most gentlemanly manner.Who’s he kidding? He’s no gentleman. He has my panties.”

“... I'm laughing at your audacity, Mrs. Lincoln. Christian and I have nothing to do with you. And if I do leave him and you come looking for me, I'll be waiting - don't doubt it. And maybe I'll give you a taste of your own medicine on behalf of the fifteen-year-old child you molested and propably fucked-up even more than he already was.”

“See how good we are together," he murmurs. "If you give yourself to me, it will be so much better. Trust me, Anastasia, I can take you places you don't even know exist.”