Nicole Castle Quotes

There was nothing like being objectified to make a boy feel pretty.

At least with all the blood moved to his face he'd be able to leave the table without further embarrassing himself.

I'd found that in my case, once I was in trouble, digging the hole deep enough to climb out on the other side was sometimes the quickest way to redemption.

The fact that picking out china patterns was pretty gay didn't bother me, since we were picking them out to shoot them. Frank chose the design. Ivory white with solid black borders and real gold edging. Fucking expensive. He made me pay.

It wasn't the same as when other men called me beautiful. With them, it meant I'd be donning knee pads. With Frank, it meant uncomfortable silence. And the last thing I wanted was for Frank to be uncomfortable or silent.

How was I ever going to seduce Frank, make him fall in love with me, if I was brunet? (Vincent)

His face was badly bruised and swollen and altogether painful looking, but it really brought out his eyes.

Are you having a midlife crisis?"

"You'll be having an end of life crisis if you say that again," he threatened.

When Vincent didn't understand something, he would figure it out. When Frank didn't understand something, he'd light it on fire.

As if anyone in Paris would believe for a second that I was a top. Not only was I made for being manhandled, I was far too lazy to be anything but a bottom.

He glared at me as if I were solely responsible for the food shortage not only at the opening, but in several third world countries on top of it.

I was his fire, one look boiling his blood and turning him from a man who'd blush at a dirty word to one who'd make me feel like a virgin again, shying away from the scandalous things he whispered in my ear while he made me lick my come off his fingers.

The empty place inside of me was gone. I was whole.
If I hadn't been in love with him before, I was now. Each thrust was like waking up, everything beautiful and bright.

It was true, I had a big mouth, and more than once I'd made things worse for myself by neglecting to shut the fuck up. I'd even considered that he might've been right, that maybe if I just behaved I wouldn't have gotten hit. But no one asks for rape, especially not when they're sleeping. Or at least if I did ask him to rape me in my sleep, I didn't mean it.

Fortunately for Alan's sake, Frank preferred beauty over age so I had no need to defend my territory.

He was also the only adult male in my life who I'd never so much as flirted with, which gave him a special place in my heart. And made me a bit hesitant to be alone with him. Old habits are hard to break.

Bullets like cocks, came in a variety of different sizes and length but were all more or less the same shape.

I thought seeing him naked was the highlight of my life. That suit was better than sex.

It took all my concentration not to get an erection now that he was being mean to me again. He was really fucking sexy when he was hostile.

I'd even jerked off to the thought of it, something I hadn't done since I learned that I was good enough looking to have someone do ti for me

The blade gleamed in his hand, making my knees go so weak that I had to hold onto the car. Even watching him use a butter knife on an unsuspecting piece of toast was enough to make my whole body burn, inciting an erection under the table that would last long past dessert.

Watching him snap someone's neck as easily as lighting a cigarette made me dizzy with desire for him. And when he stabbed someone I could barely see straight until we'd made a successful getaway, and he'd trace a blade across my skin, making me come. I'd received more scars from acts of lovemaking than I had from my whole childhood, and I wasn't even eighteen yet.

Luckily for me, he knew my limits better than I did. If I looked like I needed it, he'd forget to wake me when I conked out, or he'd purposefully incapacitate me during our hand to hand combat, so I'd have no choice but to take the night off. We didn't have a safety word. I trusted him to know my breaking point, and never pass it.

He flicked his cigarette at me. Luckily, I was still wet, and it was mostly extinguished upon contact. I sat on his lap and lit another one for him. It's the little things in life.

She could undoubtedly get the boy to dig his own grave. With enough encouragement and a little cleavage, he wouldn't even need a shovel.

At seventeen years old, masturbation was unfamiliar to me, but I knew the fell of a wedding ring against my cock. I couldn't count how many dicks I'd sucked, but the number of mouths to touch mine wouldn't fill one hand.

How could I explain the sort of twisted fantasies I'd had to play out to Frank? Most of them I didn't even understand myself. Like being drenched in maple syrup and having acorns thrown at me by a guy wearing nothing but hiking boots.

I'd seen a lot of handsome men in my life, but Frank was absolutely beautiful. I could stare at him all day. I wanted to touch him, not just in the standard erogenous zones, but to move my fingers over every inch of his skin until I'd memorized his face and body the way he memorized his books.

I love you, Vincent. That goes beyond trust.

Frank took my hand and pressed it to his lips. Considering that my knuckles were bruised from punching him in the face, it should've come with the romantic gesture of the year award. Or a restraining order.

Frank was a great seamstress.

How could I not be in love with a man who folded something after strangling me with it?

Antoinette had squinty eyes she could barely open under the six pounds of mascara and teal eye shadow she must've applied with a paint roller, and lips that were puckered on a permanent basis as if she were storing lemons in the deep recesses of her jowls. She smelled like a bull that got loose in a perfume shop, and had pointy high heeled shoes that threatened to burst out the sides at any moment from the pressure of being three sizes too small.

We were prime examples of the age old debate: nature versus nurture. I'd been brought up around muscle cars and crescent wrenches, and he'd been surrounded by neon lights and stilettos. In all likelihood, I should've been straight as an arrow, and Frank would've ended up as a showgirl. Yet, he was the top, if only in bed. We both knew who wore the pants in the relationship, even though they were big on me because they were his.

I'd say that if she touched his cock I'd kill her, but then, I'd kill her anyway.

I laughed, harder than I'd laughed in a long time. "You have got to be kidding," I said, watching the hope vanish from his face. "I'm the one you ought to be scared of. I killed my fucking goldfish.

Frank was by far the best kisser I'd ever had the pleasure to make out with. Being able to wrap his tongue around so many languages couldn't have hurt his skill of wrapping his tongue around mine. It felt like he controlled my whole body when he kissed me, his hands on my face, his fingers reaching the back of my head as we tried to consume each other, like only one of us could come out alive at the end. And his mouth tasted more like the sweet aroma of coffee than the bitter flavor.