“We fucked, Ms. Lane. Even cockroaches fuck. They eat each other, too.”

“From who?” “From whom, I believe is the correct phrasing.” “All right, from-the-fuck-whom, Ms. Lane?”

“I have no desire to sleep with you. I want to fuck you. And there is no such thing as perfectly good sex.  If it’s “perfectly good,” I mock in falsetto, “he should be shot in the head and put out of everyone’s misery. Sex either blows your fucking mind, or it’s not good enough. You want me to blow your fucking mind, Ms. Lane? Come on.  Do it.  Be a big girl.”

“You, Ms. Lane, are a menace to others! A walking, talking catastrophe in pink!”

“Maybe you need to get a grip on your libido, Barrons!"Fuck you, Ms. Lane!"You just try. I‘ll kick the shit out of you!"You think you could?"Bring it on." He grabbed a fistful of my T-shirt, and dragged me up against him until our noses touched.I‘ll bring it on, Ms. Lane. But remember you asked for it. So don‘t even think about trying to tap out on the mat and quit the fight."You hear anybody crying ‗Uncle‘ here, Barrons? I don‘t."Fine."Fine.”

“Christian : You two gonna stand there fucking each other with your eyes all night, or can we get on with it ?”

“What the bloody hell are you, Ms. Lane?”