What the fuck, what the fucking, bloody devil-shit, what in the name of Satan's swollen cock was that?

In writing Simon's stories, I have written myself out of my own life.

There really were no chains like the ones in your head.

How's the debauching?" "I think it's coming along quite well.

When I fuck you, Mr. Day, it will not be briefly. It will be long and hard and extremely thorough. I'm going to take pains with you.

I love you," Julius observed at last. "To a degree that frankly startles me.

You look like the cat that swallowed the cream," Stephen said softly."That comes later.

When I have you, sweet boy, it will be because you want me to. Not against your better judgment, not in spite of my surname, and definitely not to annoy your aunt."Stephen went red, but his voice was defiant. "Well, what was that, then?"Crane shrugged. "You seemed tense.

The question was never whether I loved you," Alec whispered. "It was, How brave am I? or maybe How afraid am I? And it turns out I'm slightly braver than I am afraid when it comes to you.

Dear me, Mr. Day. You really do love to get fucked on desks, don't you? Put you on a desk, and you're begging for it. What is so particularly exciting about desks?