“Oh no! My subconscious slams down her Complete Works of Charles Dickens, leaps up from her armchair, and puts her hands on her hips.”

“She stood, moved to stand in front of him, and held out her hand. “Thanks so much for fixing my hip and helping me.”He lifted a brow as he glanced from her hand to her face. “Sit down. You’re not going anywhere.”

“She put her hand on her hip. "Where are you going?""To the boat. You called me Lord Bill again. That means we're cool."Cerise slapped her forehead with the heel of her hand and followed him.”

“My subconscious is furious, medusa-like in her anger, hair flying, her hands clenched around her face like Edvard Munch's Scream.”

“He lifted his head, lifted her thighs, and plunged into her, deeper, harder than before. He lowered his mouth to the curve of her throat, lips pulling, teeth scraping as he closed his hands over her hips and opened her wider, thrusting deeper. He sat back on his heels and pulled her over him, guiding her, his mouth slamming down on hers, the kiss verging on violent, his fingers tight on her ass and she came again, locking her legs about his hips, holding him deep inside as pleasure rippled through her.”

“She put her hands on her hips and said, “Having red hair and freckles does not make me a leprechaun.” -Charlotte Mathers”