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He was almost naked too, but I hadn't quite gotten to his boxers yet. (They were silk because, honestly what else would Adrian wear?)
Richelle Mead
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Richelle Mead
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: November 12
Author
Novelist
Writer
Michigan
United States
Would
Hadn
Gotten
Naked
Honestly
Wear
Quite
Adrian
Almost
Boxers
Else
Silk
More quotes by Richelle Mead
Keep your love, I have no use for it anymore.
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You two are a match made in heaven. Or somewhere.
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Tradition or not, I sometimes thought putting children on an old guy’s lap was already creepy enough. We didn’t need to mix alcohol into it.
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This is very domestic of you, he said. It's kinda hot, really. Giving me all sorts of fantasies about you in an apron vacuuming my house.
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What, are you doing? Aside from getting your sandwich cold. I’m making a snow angel. Don’t you know what that is? Yes, I know. But why? You must be freezing. Not so much, actually. My face is a little, I guess.
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He leaned closer to me and then seemed shocked as he realized what he was doing. Why would you do that? Why would you do that for me?
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Sage, he said. What are you wearing? I sighed and stared down at the dress. I know. It's red. Don't start. I'm tired of hearing about it. Funny, he said. I don't think I could ever get tired of looking at it.
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I lifted the lid and found a piece of bread and some water—and a rat that quickly darted off the tray. Talk about adding insult to injury.
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I like you being the sinner you are. -Adrian Ivashkov
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Poor Martin. Geek or no, committing his soul to eternal damnation was a helluva price to pay for six minutes.
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He shrugged. The same as any other. It's a way to make people feel better about themselves. Everyone likes feeling special. Being part of an elite group is a way to do that. But you weren't part of it? No need. I already know I'm special.
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Every relationship is different. Everyone loves differently.
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It'd be nice to have someone who understood some of the things that went on in my head.
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Weirdly, an image of Adrian’s Love painting came back to me. I thought of the jagged red streak, slashing through the blackness, ripping it apart. Staring at Jill and her inconsolable pain, I suddenly understood his art a little bit better.
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I'm sorry. Be sorry you lied, he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. Don't be sorry you loved him. That's part of you, part you have to let go, yeah, but still something that's made you who you are.
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Rose, do you think I'd do anything that would hurt you.- Dimitri to Rose
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He stepped back and threw his arms out. I'm always crazy around you Rose. Here, I'm going to write an impromptu poem for you. He tipped his head back and shouted to the sky: Rose is in red But never in blue Sharp as a thorn Fights like one too.
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You are so beautiful, it hurts me sometimes. -Dimitri to Rose
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You’re presumptuous and arrogant and a whole lot of other things if you think I’ve changed my mind.” “You see, that’s just it.” There he was again, moving into my space. “I think you like the ‘other things.
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You did what you did out of love. I can't be mad at you over that. It was stupid, but that's how love is. Do you have any idea what I'd do for you? To keep you safe?
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