Chris Quotes

“Gabriel’s going to be pissed.”
It took Nick a second to answer. “Why?”
“He’ll have to break his leg so people won’t be able to tell you apart.”
― Brigid Kemmerer, Storm

“Why can't you like me?" he said, his voice breaking. His scent steamed then, hot and heady with a welter of contradictions: apples and fire and electric roil of those cold, black shadows. "Why can't you like me just a little?"

She would never know how she might have answered, because he never gave her the chance.

Instead, he kissed her.”
― Ilsa J. Bick, Ashes

“The porn films are not about sex. Sex is airbrushed and digitally washed out of the films. There is no acting because none of the women are permitted to have what amounts to a personality. The one emotion they are allowed to display is an unquenchable desire to satisfy men, especially if that desire involves the women’s physical and emotional degradation. The lightning in the films is harsh and clinical. Pubic hair is shaved off to give the women the look of young girls or rubber dolls. Porn, which advertises itself as sex, is a bizarre, bleached pantomime of sex. The acts onscreen are beyond human endurance. The scenarios are absurd. The manicured and groomed bodies, the huge artificial breasts, the pouting oversized lips, the erections that never go down, and the sculpted bodies are unreal. Makeup and production mask blemishes. There are no beads of sweat, no wrinkle lines, no human imperfections. Sex is reduced to a narrow spectrum of sterilized dimensions. It does not include the dank smell of human bodies, the thump of a pulse, taste, breath—or tenderness. Those in films are puppets, packaged female commodities. They have no honest emotion, are devoid of authentic human beauty, and resemble plastic. Pornography does not promote sex, if one defines sex as a shared act between two partners. It promotes masturbation. It promotes the solitary auto-arousal that precludes intimacy and love. Pornography is about getting yourself off at someone else’s expense.”
― Chris Hedges, Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle

“Anything for you, Dru. And I mean it. Now, be quiet and let me concentrate.”
― Lili St. Crow, Reckoning

“He looked nearly inconspicuous, a handsome man in faded Levi’s and tennis shoes. A Yankees baseball cap covered his dark hair, the bill shadowing his features. Casual. Beautiful. A day’s growth of beard on his jaw did little to detract from his excruciating attractiveness.
“She’s eight months old, but she knows how to flirt,” the baby’s mother said. “Let go of the nice man’s shirt, Gabbi.” She dislodged the child’s hand, then told Adrian, “I’m sorry. She must like the colors on your T-shirt.”
Eight-month-old Gabbi’s big blue eyes were fixed on Adrian’s face, not on his T-shirt. Billie released a shaky breath. Good God. Even babies weren’t immune.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“I’m going to come,” he whispered, lips against her ear. “Deep, deep inside you.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“You will be so dead, dear Sister. Make telpon dari tadi kayak Kroasia ada di sebelah Jakarta aja. Huahahaha”
― Sitta Karina, Pesan dari Bintang

“She grabbed her briefcase and took a step toward him. “You don’t have a last name?”
“Everyone has a last name.” His hand hovered in the air, waiting. He was forcing her to cross the marble floor to meet him, and like a Luna moth drawn to a midnight moon, she drifted toward him.
When she reached him, she took his hand and looked up into his face. “Is it Jones? Smith? Or Brown?”
His lips twitched. “None of the above.”
“And you won’t tell me?”
“It’s not necessary information.”
She tilted her head, studying his angular features. “You don’t look like an Adrian.”
His smile broadened. “Imagine that.”
“More like a Carlos, or a Juan, or a Diego.”
“Those are Hispanic names.”
“Aren’t you Hispanic?”
“I’m anything you want me to be.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“He was a stranger, an alien creature, impossible to reach or understand. And still she wanted to try. “Tell me what you need.”
“This,” he whispered, watching her lips move against his palm. “Just this.” He rose over her, pinning her against the cushions, and stroked her hair with a tenderness that seemed misplaced among the sultry sensations it awakened in her.
“Do your clients pleasure you?” she asked hoarsely, her head tilting and following his fingers as they massaged her neck.
“If that’s what they want. You pleasure me, Billie. The sight of you. The sound of your voice. I want to hear it all sorts of ways. Laughing. Whispering. Moaning. Crying out.” He caught her mouth in a lush, hungry kiss, and there was nothing sweet or grateful about it this time. Erotic delight arrowed through her with each sleek thrust of his tongue between her lips, a sultry promise of what he would do to her if she let him.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“His voice grew more remote. She wondered if he was calling from his condominium, where he’d lost his best friend, or from Avalon, where he’d lost himself. “I like you, Billie. You’re a nice person. Good company. But tonight was a mistake.”
She flung an arm over her eyes and swallowed the lump of tears that had lodged in her throat. “Oh? Which part? The part where you introduced me to your family and exposed yourself as coming from a perfectly average, wholesome background? Or the part where you touched me and turned me inside-out while swaying in a hammock in the rich, beautiful woods—one of the most searing sexual experiences of my life? Which part do you regret, Adrian?”
“All of it. I can’t have those things with you. You know what I am.”
“Yes, Adrian, I know what you are. A gentle man. A likable one. Smart. Cultured. Sexy. I know what you are.”
“But the other part—”
“What about the other part? You hide behind the other part.” She yanked the pillow out from beneath her head and winged it across the bedroom, furious suddenly. “Did you call to tell me I’m not going to see you anymore? Because if that’s the case, hurry up and say it. Then hang up and go back to work, and don’t worry one bit about me. I’ve been on my own a long time, and I’m tougher than you think. I won’t cling to any man who’d rather be a-a—” She stumbled, bit back the ugly words rushing to her lips.
“A what?” he countered softly. “A whore? A gigolo? Go ahead and say it, Billie. If you’re going to waste your time caring about me, then you’d better get used to the idea, because I can’t change. I won’t. Not for you or anyone.”
She bit back a sound of pure derision. “How about for you? Think you could walk the straight and narrow for yourself?”
He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. Billie already knew the answer. “You’re afraid.” She sat up among the sheets as cold realization washed through her. “Afraid to live without women clambering to pay top dollar for you. All that money…it’s a measure of your value, right? It’s your self-esteem. What would happen if you were paid in love instead of cash? Would the world end? My God, Adrian. You’re running scared.”
The half-whispered accusation seemed to permeate his impassivity. “I was fine before you.” His voice came low and furious. Finally, finally. True emotion. “Damn it, Billie. I want my life back.”
“Then hang up and don’t call me again, because I’m not going to pay you for sex, Adrian. What I offer is a worthless currency in your world.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“When Billie climbed into the taxi, Adrian paid the cab driver, then braced his forearms on the back window. “Billie. Have you forgotten?”
“No.” She watched the melting shift of shadows in his eyes, unable to read them. “A favor for a favor. I owe you.”
“I’ll call you.” He leaned in to catch her lips one last time in a soft, lingering kiss. Then he stood back and the taxi rolled out of the drive. Billie took a single backward glance at him standing barefoot, hands buried in his pockets, where she’d left him. God help her. Whatever he wanted, she would gladly give.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“It came to him then, permeated his disjointed thoughts. Billie was teaching him—him—how to make love. With a jolt of surprise at the crashing irony, Adrian realized he hadn’t known how until now. He, the consummate lover, so renown for his sexual skill, so proficient and controlled and practiced, had only played at making love, where Billie…God. Clearly, it was all she knew. Pretense just wasn’t in her spectrum of capabilities.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“Chris whistled. "Damn. That's hot."
She swatted him. "Yeah, yeah," she dais. But her stomach fluttered. "I'm roasting actually."
"That's not what I-”
― Mari Mancusi, Tomorrow Land

“A frown lowered his brow as he headed toward the shower, stripping as he went. She was untried. Virginal in mind and spirit. The innocence that hovered about her, disparate with her wily reporter persona, teased Adrian’s senses like an aphrodisiac.
She wasn’t the kind of woman who could give away sex without giving away her heart, and he liked that in her, that vulnerability. It was, at the very core, something new and different in his world. It also stood as a reminder of another time, when he believed in the wholesomeness, the rightness of desire. Desire earned and given freely, not bought, before he knew its worth could be meted out in paper currency.
She was hot-blooded and sensuous too, and didn’t seem aware of it. It called to the primal male in him, made him restless and hungry to touch her. But tonight a deeper part of him had won out, preserved the strange wholesomeness between them and shielded it from the anomaly his lifestyle had become because of sex.
Maybe, at the very bottom of it, he knew a whore—even a high-priced one—didn’t deserve a woman like Billie. She was reality, gritty and truthful and tangible. He…he was a phantom born out of Azure Elan’s sensuous imagination.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“Her breath snagged in her throat, her fingers faltering on her own aching flesh. She was shamefully wet. Shamefully needful. “Do you do this very often, Adrian?”
“Phone sex?”
“Touching yourself.”
“Not too often.”
“I guess you wouldn’t need to.” Embarrassment stung her cheeks.
“Everyone needs to, Billie.”
“But in your business—well, if you wanted, you could probably have—you know, with your clients, at least three orgasms a day.”
“But I don’t.”
“Even still, the last time you had to touch yourself, just for sheer relief, was probably when you were a teenager.”
“How do you know?” Laughter edged his voice again.
Billie paused, guiltily withdrawing her fingers to toy with the elastic on her panties. “Name the last time.”
“After our interview at Avalon.”
He had such a way of knocking her breathless. “Liar,” she said, flattered. “Why would you do that, knowing what kind of work night you had ahead of you?”
“Because you turned me down. Left in a huff before I could even kiss you. I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”
“Thank you, I think.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“When she lifted her head to meet his gaze, his eyes were closed, lashes like inky brushstrokes on his cheeks. His palms came up to cup the sides of her neck, and with a shaky sigh, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I’ll let you go, Billie.” His words poured against her lips, husky, raw. “I always keep my end of a deal. In exchange, you’ll come to Avalon as a client. Tomorrow. This week. Walk through those doors and send for me. I’ll be whatever you want. I’ll take you up to my room and turn you inside out. I’ll taste and touch and fuck you until you scream. And if you want control, it’s yours. A favor for a favor.”
She clung to him to keep from collapsing, torn between tears and wild, wayward laughter. The scenario was unreal. And the only argument she could think of was a frail one, easily shot down. “Azure would never allow—”
“It’s as good as done. I’ll put you in the book myself. Maria will call you with the date, and I’ll keep my distance from you until then.” His lips brushed her ear. “Please, Billie. Let’s end this before it kills us both. Say yes.”
The truth wrapped itself around her. You’re hopelessly in love with this man, aren’t you, Billie Cort?
“Yes,” Billie said, squeezing her eyes closed. “God, yes.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“I just want, she said when he’d finally broken down her defenses. And so had he. He’d wanted her to desire him, but truthfully, whether she knew it or not, any man’s tender arms would do. The woman was wounded and aching for love, and it didn’t matter who Adrian was, or that he was the one who held her.
But it had mattered to him. His eyelids slid closed as he envisioned all the pleasure he could have shown her, if she hadn’t had the decency to decline. No toys or tricks needed for this one; just deep, primal fucking. Stripping away her inhibitions alone would have been erotic enough to test his endurance.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“He’d performed like a well-oiled automaton last night, blocking out the reality of the woman taking her pleasure beneath him, banishing images of Billie that rushed time and again through his thoughts and threatened the steely control he maintained over his own orgasm. When at last he’d let himself go, one fevered word had pounded through his brain.
Billie.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“The lucid, rational part of Billie wanted to laugh. Here she was, out in the woods of middle-class suburbia, with a man’s fingers inside her panties, inside her, a climax of unimaginable force trembling at the edge of her grasp. And the man who now plied her and played her…a prostitute. A gigolo. A beloved brother and son and uncle, and a suspect, with too many secrets and too much sexual prowess.
A man she was falling in love with.
The impossibility of it, the crazy, twisted potential swept over her, then ebbed, lost in the surge of unbelievable pleasure that built and built within her like strings drawn too tightly across a fine-tuned instrument. She would die from this, die and scatter into a million fragments and drift like dust on the wind.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“In her own fumbling way, she’d reminded him he was just a man, fallible, needful, a member of the supremely imperfect human race…and shamefully undeserving of what she had to offer.
Looking at Billie, touching her, tasting her, had filled him with a wanting fiercer than any he’d known. For the first time, he was faced with something he couldn’t truly have, because of what he’d become.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“How old are you, Billie?”
“Thirty-three.”
“With such innocent eyes for a cutthroat Illicit reporter.”
She studied his expression, found it sincere. “Despite rumors to the contrary, not all of us fit the hard-hitting mold.”
“I see that.” He reached up and brushed an errant strand of hair from her cheek, a tender gesture that caught her completely off-guard. “And I like it.”
― Shelby Reed, The Fifth Favor

“Fuck them or we're fucked?"
"Pretty much our life these days, mate."
"No, you idiot. I mean is it that we're fucked, or that they will be, not as a general motto for our life," he clarified.
"Ah!" I agreed. "Yes.”
― Jez Cajiao, Age of Steel

“You all right?" Chris shouted at us both.
"Yes, thank you." Ramnik looked from one of us to the other, meaning it for us both.
"Not gonna lie," I called, crouching behind them both. "I've had better fuckin' Fridays!"
"It's Monday!" Chris called back.
"Well, fuck me; that explains a lot!" I shot back.”
― Jez Cajiao, Age of Steel

“Why should I expect more of Cirocco than I can of myself?”
― John Varley, Wizard

“One more night’s sleep, and he might feel life still had some point.”
― John Varley, Wizard

“A woman like that who still loves you after you walked out of her life at the worst possible time? That's a damn miracle. You don't appreciate it, and I'm pretty sure God is going to strike you down.”
― Catherine Cowles, Whispers of You

“Apparently, his miraculous luck didn’t work against Wizards and witches.”
― John Varley, Wizard

“The system had a certain beauty if one was not its victim.”
― John Varley, Wizard

“It is in the best tradition of heroes,” Chris pointed out. “To die trying.”
― John Varley, Wizard

“He’d been keeping those thoughts in the back of his brain, but they hadn’t been happy there. Now they scrabbled around his brain, urging him to scream.”
― John Varley, Demon