You want to be free. You also want to be mine. You can't be both.

He was everything your mother warned you about when she told you not to walk alone in the dark.

Nothing is as deadly as the love of a powerful man.

You could paint yourself in blood and wear leaves in your hair, and I would deny you nothing as long as you came to me when I asked.”He looked at her, piercingly.“You’d look pretty with leaves in your hair.”“What about the Council?”“Leaves aren’t part of the uniform, I’m afraid.” He nipped at her ear. “Though they do like to rest on their laurels.

Maybe that was why the French called orgasms “las petites morts”: because the things that bring us passion tend to slip past our defenses, to creep insidiously into every facet of our consciousnesses and kill us as ruthlessly, and efficiently, as any drug.

You will not mock me—and you will let me finish. I have owned and lost a kingdom, and I have battled death. I have been through all that, and I will not chase after you like some lovesick poet spouting verse. If you wish to call me yours, then you will have to act as if you are mine. On the front of surrender, there is no middle ground.

I participate in BDSM, but I wasn't abused as a child. I don't hate women, or particularly enjoy hurting women. Sometimes I make them feel pain, but it's consensual, it serves a purpose—to get them off—and they can indicate that they wish me to stop at any time. I do like the power I get from total submission, and the trust that my partner puts in me to give me everything, from her mind to her body, while expecting nothing in return—except the understanding that I won't violate that trust.

What once was had, forever lost; thy fate is destined, thy love star-crossed.

I was afraid and knew I had every right to be, but he had awakened a part of me that no longer cared.