“Don’t kiss me,” she said warningly.“I don’t intend to,” he replied, smiling a little. “I don’t have my whip and chair with me.”
“Don’t try me,” Lucian warned in my head.“Kiss my concubine ass,” I returned in his.”
“Is she worth all that pain?” he asked me, smiling.“Definitely,” I said, still reeling from the events of the day.“But I don’t deserve her.”“Then be somebody who does.”“That’s what I intend to do.”
“ ‘You don’t strike me as a quitter.’ ‘Then you don’t know me very well,’ I replied.”
“My heart pounded when its counterpart thumped beneath his skin. “How?”“I don’t care,” he said, and kissed me.”
“A slave mentality which had been built into him by years of carrot-and-whip grading, a mule mentality which said, “If you don’t whip me, I won’t work.” He didn’t get whipped. He didn’t work.”