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You know, I've lived a long time, he told me, massaging my calf more firmly now. And I met a lot of people. But I ain't never met a woman made me want to beat her to death as often as you.
Karen Chance
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Karen Chance
Age: 24
Born: 2000
Born: January 1
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Orlando
Florida
Never
Beats
Time
Lived
People
Told
Massaging
Woman
Calf
Often
Calves
Death
Firmly
Made
Beat
Long
Mets
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Take them off!” I told him, grabbing the front of his jeans. “Take everything off!” “I’m trying!” “Try harder!
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He had the look of an atheist who’d just had a visit from God: stunned, disbelieving and faintly ill.
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...I ran out of stock around midnight and dropped by a place, got some Chinese. I hoped he meant takeout.
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Pritkin kissed like he did everything else, straightforward, accepting no prisoners and with an intensity that left me breathless. It was hot and hard and desperate, like he was starving for it, and I opened my mouth and took it, because, God.
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No they called it the Codex Merlini because it was written by a guy named Ralph.
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And why not?” “You know why! This is a bad idea.” “Perhaps I like a challenge.” “Perhaps you’re a glutton for punishment!” “Perhaps I am in love.
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Mr. Complete Lack of Sympathy
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It's about time! It's supposed to be a ritual, not a marathon.
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I lay there, no longer fighting, since my head was spinning too much. And because I wasn’t going to win anyway. And because I kind of liked the feeling of sensual captivity, at least by this particular jailer.
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I was tops at the Scarlet O'Hara school of emotional distancing. I always thought about the uncomfortable stuff tomorrow, and, as everyone knows, tomorrow never comes.
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My body cheerfully informed me that he felt really good pressed against me like that, all hard muscles and smooth contours and ominous bulges. My body liked the air of barely leashed strength and caged mayhem he was giving off. My body thought he smelled really good, like heat and coffee and electricity. My body was going to get me killed.
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I stared at him, unable to believe this was happening. That he could just disappear, along with everything rich and strange he’d brought into my life. Vanished, like magic.
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I don’t know. Just pick one.” “Well, there’s a lot of choice. I mean, you got your flavored, your ridged, your pre-lubed, your thin, your super-ultra-thin, your super-ultra-thin-pre-lubed, your…Huh.” “Huh what?” “Would you look at this?” he asked, examining a small box. “It says it glows in the dark.
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So maybe it was just as well that my companion was more like Mulder. A coked-out Mulder with a lot of weapons, who knew that the monsters under the bed were real and would gut you.
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Stercus Accidit. [barren happens]
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I barely heard him, I was too busy watching Pritkin, who had slumped over with his head on the sofa arm, shoulders shaking helplessly, and what looked suspiciously like tears leaking out from under his closed eyes. Not that bad, he muttered, and then he was off again.
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All I want to know is why a party of Fey wanted to kill me,” I said heatedly. The beetle’s lips twisted enough to show fang. “Doesn’t everyone?” Radu hustled me out the door before I could find out if the vamp’s plump little carcass would fit into his overstuffed desk.
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One day, you will say it to me again. You will be sober. And you will mean it.
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I’d been declared—over my loud and sustained protests—Pythia, the chief seer of the supernatural world.
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