“But tonight, after the carriages left, there would be Millie, her scent like a breeze from their lavender field at the height of summer, her skin as smooth as the finest velvet.Their eyes met. She flushed. Desire tumbled through him.”

“He pushed harder, deeper into her, his thrusts taking on a restrained violence as if he needed to give her as much of him as she could take.He took on an almost desperate rhythm, digging his fingers into her hips. She was rising again, chasing after him. At the height of it, the man above her disappeared. All that was left were the sensations he pulled from deep within her, the heady, spiced scent of him and the laboured pant of his breath in her ear.”

“When he left her room tonight, she wanted his preference to be only her. His hands would only want her skin. He'd only fit perfectly with Severine.”

“Sure she would want that again—tenderness compassion slow erotic lovemaking—but not tonight. Tonight she wanted to experience her transformation she wanted to test the limits of her new body to soar to new heights of pleasure. She wanted her Alpha male. And she wanted him now.”

“They spent a summer talking beneath the redwoods. There was a curiosity to the way they knew. She would take his hips in her hands and turn him to the left, so the sun would not be in his eyes. He would take her hips in his hands and turn her to the right, so the sun would not be in her eyes.. It is a dance. A very careful way they care.”

“She had been hesitant the first night, right before she had launched into him like a wild animal. The imprint of her violence had lasted on him well until the morning and while he had been hurt, he had loved the fact that she was into him, that she lusted after him fanatically, that she scratched him, wept on him, bit him and he was grateful that she let him see her like that: unhinged, throbbing and warm-skinned. She was powerful and thus ironically all the more defenceless in surrender. At times he felt as though she truly hated him, hated him for making her feel like this, for having to condescend herself just by wanting him. He felt as though she was warning him constantly through her seething, hurtling silence; to not let her down after she had disclosed so much of her soul to him. Her insecurities, her memories, her fetishes, her scent, her limbs; they had all been laid-bare in front of him and as he lay there next to the girl whose chest heaved and fell like the meter of a ghazal, he fell in love with that girl and her bundle of contradictions.’('Left from Dhakeshwari')”