“That was… I don’t even know what that was.” Derek’s voice was nothing more than a rasping whisper. “That was making love, dirty style.”
“Derek's voice was nothing more than a rasping whisper. "That was making love, dirty style.”
“God's voice is usually nothing more than a whisper and you have to listen very carefully to hear it.”
“What was venerated as style was nothing more than an imperfection or flaw that revealed the guilty hand.”
“You’re not dirty, or bad, or wrong, or anything that ass of a father told you,” he whispered, kissing the swell of her breast. “I honestly don’t know what you are.”“Ryker, please.”“Except mine.”
“I know what it's like. To sabotage yourself. Nothing makes you hate yourself more than that.”