“When Søren touched her she became his. When Wesley touched her, she became herself.”

“Kid, Søren could eat you for breakfast and not even need to chew. Don’t ever fuck with a sadist, Wesley. For Søren, torture’s just foreplay.”“Why did you stay with him?” he’d whispered.Nora had grinned at him, and she saw a new fear in Wesley’s sweet brown eyes.“I like foreplay.”

“How easily you forgive, Eleanor. How freely youabsolve the sins of others. Tell me, little one, when thetime comes, how will you absolve yours?With the first lash of the whip Nora felt a strip of fireburn across her back. She cried out from a pain soferocious she nearly choked on it.Like this, Søren, she dared answer only in her mind.This is how.”

“Can I take a moment here to tell you both how cute your accents are when you're angry?"Wesley and his father both looked at her, Wesley in shock, his father in disgust."Okay, that's a 'no' then. Carry on.”

“I became obsessed with the one question-when was it, when were we, irrevocable? When did all the little tumblers fall into place and our fate was locked in and it became impossible for us to be anything other than what we became? When was the guilty moment?”

“Once upon a time,” Nora said, as she fluttered a series of kisses over his shoulders that sent every nerve in his body reeling, “a very poor girl from a fucked-up family became a famous writer with a wicked pen and an even more wicked tongue who made seven figures a year. And she went everywhere she wanted to and did everything she wanted to. And nobody ever tried to stop her. And she had her own pet Angel who needed to learn how to talk. So guess what she did?” “What?” Michael asked. He laughed in surprise as Nora slammed him down onto his back and slid on top of him. She brought her mouth onto his and forced his lips apart. “She gave him her tongue.”

“This was our house. Mine and hers. I know she’d sneak over to the rectory every once in a while and let you wail on her for a night. But I got her the rest of the time. I cooked her breakfast. I answered her fan mail. I put her to bed when she fell asleep at her desk writing. I rubbed her back when she was sore from overworking herself. And when she got all wrought up over you, it was me she cried on. No, she and I never had sex. That’s true. But we had love, real love that didn’t take anything out of us, that didn’t bruise us or break us. I loved her without hurting her. You asked me if I, a virgin, could teach her what sex should be? No, course not. Hell no. But at least I can teach her what love should be like. And she knows it too.”