“I felt that if he touched me, I'd die. and then the thought crawled into my brain that if he didn't touch me, I'd die.”

“I'd convinced myself it would have been different if he'd been as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside, but he wasn't. He was cruel beauty, a sculpture, a god, and I couldn't tear my eyes from him. I'd seen his expression soften in the dungeon with the whip. I'd do anything to have him look at me like that again, no matter how insane he was.”

“He said it with everything he did, every touch, every caress, every physical pleasure he bestowed upon me. Give it all to me. Give me your will.”

“His touch was like heroin in my veins, and I was a grateful addict.”

“She thought she was wrong? He was the one who got a hard-on every time she looked up at him with those desperate, brown eyes. Everything in his brain screamed: Prey. Take. Use. He wasn't exactly proud of it, but there it was.”

“He always gave me choices. Or maybe what he gave me was force wrapped in the pretty package of pretend free will.”

“I know I need him. And I hope he needs me. What we have is fucked up and twisted, but it serves a need. I know I've always been wired differently. He only brought to the surface what was already there.”