“He quietly groaned. Again and again, he’d witnessed this phenomenon with his friends. They got married. They were happy in that sated, grateful way of infrequently pleasured men with a now-steady source of coitus. Then they went about crowing as if they’d invented the institution of matrimony and stood to earn a profit for every bachelor they could convert.”

“His voice, however, was utterly velvety—if an upholstered wrecking ballcould be called velvety. “I won’t need to try, my dear. My touch will burn away his.”She couldn’t breathe.“You were always quiet in his bed,” he went on, “but you won’t be in mine. You will scream with pleasure—and you will do it again and again.”

“Those boys got a way about 'em, Jules. They don't fuck around. They see somethin' they want, they get it. They're fuckin' famous for it. A woman don't stand a chance. He seem interested?" "...honestly, there's nothing to worry about. We went our separate ways. I'll be smarter, I'll be more quiet, I'll be --""Laid, good and simple. Crowe got a look at you, you're his.”

“Groaning softly, he kissed her, his tongue on hers as he matched his movements. His strokes quickened, harder, deeper, until pleasure suffused every nerve in her body and sent her zinging into the heavens above like the lights they’d come there to watch.”

“His hands had been reddened, as all men's hands have been, in the slaying before the foundation of the world; now, if he chose, he would dip them again in the same blood. 'Mercy,' he groaned...”

“What business has an old bachelor like that to marry?' said Sir James. 'He has one foot in the grave.''He means to draw it out again, I suppose.”