Ella James Quotes

I can't be here without her. She is holding up the sky.

I think I understand. Why all great things are sad. Why silence aches. Why people lose their way.

He slides his button-up under my ass and pulls down his boxer-briefs, freeing an enormous, vein-striped, purple-headed fuck machine.

Things Cleo can never know - lest she should find out how the two of us are linked.

Priscilla is having Libby followed. That means when I follow Libby, I have to be discreet. The last thing I need is Priscilla knowing that I know what she's doing. It would ruin everything.

Have you ever heard about string theory? Everything is tied together, works together, shrinks, expands, and breathes together. Maybe we're on the same string, baby. We're right beside each other. We're the same thing." His mouth takes mine. He pulls away. "My blood, your blood..." Another kiss...his voice hot on my cheek. "One day I tried to calculate the odds of how we met. The odds of February 14. There are no odds. For us, there are no odds because it isn't chance." - Kellan

Last night, the Hunter was hunted. Do you remember how hard I made you cum?

Do you realize anyone could have won?"
"Anyone without a criminal record," she corrects. "And yes.

one hand, he holds both of mine over my head. He looks into my eyes. His are screaming: what? He thumbs my slick folds, parting them, then plunges in - hard! So very hard. "I - " he thrusts - "am no one - " he thrusts - "that you know. I never will be. I will hurt you - " he thrusts - "for my pleasure - " he thrusts - "I will make you pay - " thrust - "Every day you fuck me, I will make you pay." He thrusts brutally hard, so hard the carpet burns my ass. So hard I can feel him buried deeper than anyone before. I moan. "Your call, Angel. Your choice.

Powerful players produce powerful results.

I'd gotten my first glimpse of Elizabeth DeVille. She'd had her hair in a pony-tail that stuck up off the side of her head, and she'd been wearing short red shorts and a light blue tank top with a whale on it. "You like whales?" I'd asked her when I finished with the car. Her face had gone all soft and pretty, making me feel more like one-hundred-and-three than the twenty-three I was, and she'd shrugged. "Yeah, but not a lot more than any other animal. I just like saving things.

Hope can turn ugly when it's dashed over and over.

You know, sloth is a sin," he says softly.
"I prefer to think of it as an adorable animal.

Now she's drinking coffee from an owl mug.

Isn't ignorance bliss?" "Ignorance is drunkenness,

What a domineering motherfucker. Who does he think he is?

Priscilla is a masochist, but she has a sadistic side, I learned tonight. She brought the whip to keep me out of the party, but she definitely enjoyed using it.

Next time I'm here, I won't be alone. If I play my cards right, I might never be alone again.

There's a common perception, partially true, that rich people are above the law. It's true for a lot of us, but I have a feeling my notoriety could work against me. I'm the kind of guy prosecutors like to stick a case to. And I've got a dirty past.

She looked at me, and she saw something no one else did. Even I don't know what." -Landon

He ducks and pulls my panties down, and before I know it his mouth is covering me right where I'm throbbing. I'm coming off the mattress, tugging on his hair, and he is moaning like he loves it.

Next I think about that night on my bed: her head pressed into my pillow, her hair spread out around her face. The memory of it makes me hard, but then I remember how it ended, with Libby seeing me with Priscilla. Impotent rage washes over me, but I'm still hard as a damn diamond. I shift my weight; that makes it worse. Libby's eyes are on mine, thankfully.

I think of him as part tiger. He's languid to the point of appearing almost lazy, and yellow or green, those eyes are framed by ridiculous lashes, set in a strong face with prominent cheekbones, full lips, and a sensuous smile.

I can see the exact moment he realizes what I've been doing. His torso stiffens as his hands, pressed against the mattress, curl into big fists. He makes a low, approving sound and speaks in a voice that sounds like molten lava. "That's so sexy.

A good twenty percent of this idea's allure is in my eagerness to get rid of my V-card so I can stop saving it for Hunter. I need to be freed of that idea. Freed of my crush. I hope that after spending some time at Love Inc., I never blush in the middle of a sexual encounter ever again. No Hunter West or anybody else will be able to knock me off my feet, and I like that idea.

We're not meant to be alone. We're made with holes inside our souls. The only way to survive is to fill them.

The one I'm looking at now is Sylvia Plath. The colors are a translucent sort of jade, pale gold, and, in a few places, milky white. Running jagged and clear, horizontally, through the middle of the canvas, is a line I recognize immediately and, after a long second, place as a line from the poem, "Daddy.

With the exception of Hunter West, who's been my own personal porn since that fateful night Mom's Porsche broke down, I don't find that many men attractive. Maybe I am a lesbian, but I don't think so.

My life has been fucked up this way ever since that night with Sarabelle. I woke up the next morning stark naked, sprawled out on my back, with a splitting headache, a killer case of dry-mouth, and a lipstick heart drawn around my left nipple. When I sat up, the room tilting around me…

I'm thinking of making it a project for my PhD. You know, writing about value judgments people place on things. One sexual encounter is just that: it's a ten minute thing. And virginity? It's just a hymen, an antiquated measure of a woman's value,