“Quiet,” he repeated on a growl, “I’m about to fuck my wife and the only words I want her saying when I do it are ‘yes’, ‘Tor’, ‘my prince’, ‘baby’ and ‘oh my God’.”

“What is it about Paris that I just can’t keep my hands off of you?” I ask him in between kisses.“It has nothing to do with Paris and everything to do with my raw sexuality, baby. I’m fucking irresistible,” he growls just before he shoves his tongue down my throat. I can’t argue with that.”

“Are you ready for my love gun?” he says.Uh-oh. “What’s a love gun? Is that a sex toy?”“No,” he says. “I’m talking about my penis.”“Oh,” I say. “Then yes. Fire away”

“Yes?’ he asked, looking at me over the sheet.‘I’m a writer temporarily down on my inspirations.’‘Oh, a writer, eh?’‘Yes.’‘Are you sure?’‘No, I’m not.’‘What do you write?’‘Short stories mostly. And I’m halfway through a novel.’‘A novel, eh?’‘Yes.’‘What’s the name of it?’‘”The Leaky Faucet of My Doom.”‘‘Oh, I like that. What’s it about?’‘Everything.’‘Everything? You mean, for instance, it’s about cancer?’‘Yes.’‘How about my wife?’‘She’s in there too.”

“God, baby, I can’t do this. I can’t pretend I’m not fucking thrilled you’re standing in my house right now.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything about that, Tabitha," he said quietly. "I only wanted to tell you that your compassion for other people overwhelms me.""Oh." She offered him a tenuous smile. "I’m just used to people condemning everything I do."He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "I don’t condemn you, my lady. I only admire you.”