“She touched something deep in his soul. He didn't believe in love at first sight, but the thought of hurting her made his chest ache.”

“The sight made her ache. How can I not touch you? she thought hopelessly, and then she was doing it, her fingers on his wrist. He didn't jump or even look at her, just stopped writing. Neither one of them moved, nothing moved, and the whole thing lasted three or four seconds at most, but when Pen took her hand away and started to breathe again, her chest hurt, as though she had been holding her breath for a very long time.”

“There was hardly a touch of earth in her love for Clare. To her sublime trustfulness he was all that goodness could be—knew all that a guide, philosopher, and friend should know. She thought every line in the contour of his person the perfection of masculine beauty, his soul the soul of a saint, his intellect that of a seer. The wisdom of her love for him, as love, sustained her dignity; she seemed to be wearing a crown. The compassion of his love for her, as she saw it, made her lift up her heart to him in devotion. He would sometimes catch her large, worshipful eyes, that had no bottom to them looking at him from their depths, as if she saw something immortal before her.”

“Pleasure suffused her and she snuggled deeper into his arms, her heart clenching when he tightened his hold on her. After a while his breathing slowed and his hold relaxed. Convinced he slept, she whispered, "You should have been my first." A small ache pinched her heart.His chest vibrated beneath her hand, sending a thrilling shiver up her spine as his deep voice rumbled through the air, "I'll be your last.”

“And then he pressed into her. First his thighs, then his middle, his chest, and finally his mouth. She made a whimpering sound, but its definition was unclear even to her, until she realized that her arms had gone around him instinctually, and that she was clutching his back, his shoulders, her hands restless and greedy for the feel of him.He kissed her openmouthed, using his tongue, and when she kissed back, she felt the hum that vibrated deep inside his chest. It was the kind of hungry sound she hadn’t heard in a long time. Masculine and carnal, it thrilled and aroused her.”

“She'd once thought God would never intentionally hurt her. But looking back over her life, she'd had cause to rethink that. She was certain nothing touched her life that didn't first filter through the loving hands of her heavenly father. But she was also convinced that God sometimes wounded, in order to bind up. And that He shattered, so that His hands could heal. This was part of His inheritance she'd overlooked before, but never would again.”