Just one Line.

"You are…" she was going to say "joking," but sincerity burned in his eyes—sincerity and trepidation at his confession, like a kid confiding a long-held crush to the object of his desire. As if fearful that she might laugh at him, or strike the mortal blow of rejection.

As if she could.
 
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"Wide-angle lens?! Now listen here, you thick-skulled Hessian..."

- a very irritated Karen.
 
The celebration was in the garden courtyard where Lauren had met Janet on her first day here, a long sward enclosed by the tumbled-down remnants of stone walls overgrown by purple flowering vines. The evening sun cast long shadows down the green hills and red cultivation terraces of the main island, shimmering gold across a distant reservoir.
 
“That,” Cole panted, “was the Sex Pistols of blow jobs - dirty and quick.”

“Would a long, sensual blow job with all the bells and whistles be Dream Theater then?”
 
Lauren's accomplishment for the morning was making it back to her own room before throwing up.
 
"I'm gonna lie here until feeling returns to my…everything. Go on ahead and grab a bite. Build up your strength. I'm only just getting started, Bub."
 
I wasn't sure if I wanted to be used as a confessor but I didn't want to hurt her feelings either so I replied, "Sure. And I would never repeat to another soul anything you tell me."


Comshaw
 
...Jose lived cautiously, and while the stranger did not look very strong, neither did he appear quite sane.
 
"You got a body that's a walking, skin-smooth felony, and I criminalize it every chance I get."
 
The bouncer is a little wary as we walk in especially since we're old enough to be some of these kids' grandparents. We're clearly up to... something.
 
He kissed her and she could not tell whether the urgent throb against her ribs was her pulse, or his, or theirs together.
 
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We. Hearing that one word, Lauren lost all hope. Jakob was going to sacrifice himself for his cause. He was such a young man. He still thought himself a good man, and in his heart he must believe that a good man could not go on living after doing so terrible a thing.
 
"Must be some kind of seesaw survival instinct. One minute I'm mourning the guy who tried to kill me, and the next my body wants to celebrate life."
 
"Come to my place. I have a nice Rioja I'd like you to try."

I let her take me there. I enjoy a good Rioja, but there is more than a Rioja I'd like to try.
 
"Just relax, dude," she said in what she hoped was a reassuring voice. Did courtesans even say 'dude'?

- Shelly, from the one-shot 'The Accidental Courtesan' (WIP)
 
"I usually leave my door open. What if someone saw you waiting in here, before?"

"Well, if they suspect us of anything inappropriate they should be ashamed of themselves. I'm your son, lady. Like you said, hide in plain sight."
 
“How much have you had to drink?”

“Enough that I shouldn’t operate a forklift, not enough that you’ll have to call an ambulance for me, and more than enough to forget that I’ll regret this in the morning.”
 
At least she'd chosen an office with opaque wall panels, but there was no way the partitions were soundproof against screams.
 
She stood up and went looking for her underpants. "That was a lovely mental health break. A lot more relaxing than one of those damn meditation cubicles downstairs. Say, can we lock those from the inside?"

"They start beeping after fifteen minutes. Management can get in."

"Pity."
 
'...seeing you and Cheyenne standing together in front of the camera is a publicist's wet dream. Make sure your wife is to your other side. It'll make their heads explode."
 
"You know how they say the curtains match the rug? Well, hardwood floors are easier to keep clean."
 
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