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

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

“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.”

“... 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.”

“Oh my, the look he gives me could be solely responsible for global warming.”

“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.”

“Don't leave me," he whispers. "Oh for crying out loud-no! I am not going to go!" I shout, and it's cathartic. There, I've said it. I am not leaving.”