I'm a big man, sugar. When I come down on a woman, I want soft, not a bundle of sticks that I might break." - Logan

— Cherise Sinclair

I'm going to make love to you, Lanai. I'm not your first, but I will be the last.

— Flora Roberts

I’m warning you because you’re young and vulnerable. He’s a dirty, lying, conniving piece of shit, and he’s dangerous.” Gottfried Bumper.

— Carla H. Krueger

In the past I was a vicious hunter. I would stalk my prey with pinpoint accuracy. Ever since Monica came into my life I’ve abstained from the game. It almost feels strange to stand here and look to the crowd knowing I could pick one and f*ck them into oblivion. I won’t though. I may love her, but that isn’t the reason. If I were to pick someone for the sake of revenge sex then I’m giving control to Monica and Dalton for betraying me. I’m strong enough to wait. A good hunter is always patient and never stalks in anger.'' I always crack it until Tobias stops flinching at the sound. It’s never the same amount of times. I don’t want it to become obvious, so I always do it a few more times to create a sense of surprise. I coil up the leather and with the flick of my wrist I set a perfect line against Monica’s back. She yelps in pain and surprise, and Tobias joins her. He thought he’d get the first blow. I breathe through the pounding in my cock. It beats in time with my rapidly beating heart. I flick my wrist again taking Monica across the shoulder. I see Tobias tense as she screams. Mustn’t allow the slaves to think they are taking even turns. The blow’s shock is what makes my cock burn for release. I palm my balls as they tighten, threatening to shoot my release up the stock of my dick. I inhale through my nose and breathe out my mouth until I regain my control. I flick my wrist again and hit Monica across her thighs. She screams bloody murder at the ceiling and I smile to myself. It hurts like a bitch, but the marks will fade. I never break skin. This is my passion-my gift.

— Erica Chilson

It’s late and most of the clerks are at home in their beds, dreaming of swimming in pools filled with real money.

— Carla H. Krueger

Life is a lie. We should fear it more than death. We live fearful of dying, terrified of the unknown … when, really, every truth is in our last breath.

— Piper Payne

Love is a relation that starts before you are born and survives even after you die...

— Deepanshu Saini

Maxwell D. Kalist is a receiving teller at a city bank, Orwell and Finch, where he runs an efficient department of twenty-two clerks and twelve junior clerks. He carries a leather-bound made cecum everywhere with him – a handbook of the most widely contravened banking rules. He works humorlessly (on the surface of it) in a private, perfectly square office on the third floor of a restored grain exchange midway along the Eastern flank of Koenig’s busy, modern central plaza. Behind his oblong slate desk and black leather swivel chair is an intimidating, three-story wall made almost entirely of beveled, glare-reducing gray glass in art-deco style; one hundred and thirty-six rectangles of gleam stacked together in a dangerously heavy collage.

— Carla H. Krueger

Men circle like bees around honey, buzzing to communicate their sexual despair.

— Carla H. Krueger

My eyes glue to him in fascination as he cleans his flogger. He’s shirtless since the room is above comfortable temperature. I watch as a drop of sweat creates a path down his back, gliding around all those perfect striated muscles. The drop disappears beneath his low-slung, leather pants. A shiver rocks my body at the thought of it sliding down the crack of his bitable ass.“Katya, snap your mouth shut, close the door, and have a seat,” Dexter commands and I listen.

— Erica Chilson