“I’m going to make you so hard, I’m going to get you so wound up, I’m going to turn you on so much, that all I’ll have to do is touch you with one finger to make you come.”“Fuck!”

“I tell everybody, I’m tired of being jerked around. Okay? So let’s just not pretend. I don’t have fuck for a heart. You people are not going to make me feel anything. You are not going to get to me.”

“Just so you know,” I inform him, “one day, I’m going to get tired of sharing your affection with that coffee table and I’m going to make you choose.” “Just so you know,” he mimics me, “I would chop that table up and use it for firewood before I would ever choose anything over you.”

“I’m trying to make myself let you go before Ms. Mary comes to get you, but you go and shiver at my touch and weaken my resolve to stop holding you.”

“Look, I’ve got her, I’m carrying her, and I’m taking her to the hospital. So you can back off and let me do what I’m going to do, or you can get your ass kicked and I’m still going to do what I’m going to do. Your choice.”

“I want pancakes.”“What? Right now?”“No. For breakfast.”“Oh.” He yawned. “You’d better get up early then.”“Me? I’m not going to make them.”“Yeah?” His sleepy voice carried mock sympathy. “Who’s going to make them for you then?”“You are.”“Am I? You think I’m going to make you pancakes? Is that how you think it’s going to be?""You’re so good at,” I whined. “Besides, if you do, I’ll sit on the counter in a short robe while you cook.” His soft laughter segued into another yawn. “Oh. Well then.” He kissed my ear again. “Maybe I’ll make you pancakes.”