“Samantha, you’re okay. I promise. The orgasmic cocktail of oxytocin, endorphins, dopamine, and serotonin is just messing with your emotions.” He kissed my shoulder. With a soft chuckle, and added, “I knew you just needed the right man to please you. God, you’re so fucking amazing.”

~Samantha Sheridan, Night Shift

She looked like temptation incarnate—everything I didn’t want to want. I told myself I was a man of logic. But after seeing the show she put on last night, I couldn’t suppress my baser instincts. I’d watched her move, twist, writhe, and command the attention of every man in the room. She didn’t need to fake seduction—it was in her bones.

This girl, who poured coffee and read romance novels by day, was no innocent flower. Within her was a scorching sun of sensuality.

I wanted her. And I didn’t care if she burned me alive.

~Nikolai Volkov, Eyes on You

Daria wasn’t just ice—she was fire too. She would burn for those who couldn’t fight for themselves. She carried a quiet, unseen goodness, the kind that refused to be extinguished no matter how much darkness tried to swallow it. It was still there, even after men like her father and Malinov had spent decades trying to snuff it out. And as for all the blood on her hands, I knew—knew—she had never wanted it there.

She hadn’t been born a killer. She’d been made into one.

Forced into the Kremlin’s machine, raised under her father’s brutal rule, taught that love was a weakness and that her only loyalty was to the men who controlled her. Every lesson had been beaten into her. Every moment of softness was something she’d had to carve out of herself just to survive. And despite all of it, she had still chosen to protect the innocent. She had still risked her life for the Ukrainian people. For me.

~Braxton Thorin, Mission Shift

She can hiss and spit all she wants, but I’m taking possession of her future one way or another. Feral just means special handling.

~Lucian Byrne, Eyes of the Unholy

Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto fractured, and those eyes of the unholy turned murderous, setting my blood on fire with equal parts fear and hunger.

~Scarlett Hayes, Eyes of the Unholy

And fuck me, I wanted to give her every beautiful thing she’d never had.

Not because she needed saving.

Because she deserved to be spoiled rotten.

Tonight I wanted to be wrecked, to be so consumed by someone that I couldn’t remember my name, much less all the screwed-up things life had thrown at me. Kol was the kind of man who could do that; I could tell just by the way he moved. I wanted him to worship every inch of me, to let him light up every one of my nerves like a Christmas tree.

~Noelle Nichols, Christmas Cancellation

“It’s strange learning where you came from after you’ve already become who you are.”

Lachlan was quiet for a moment.

“Blood can tell you where you came from, Mouse. Doesn’t mean anyone gets to decide where you go next.”

I’d worship the goddess when she wanted worshipping and spoil the princess until she forgot there had ever been another way to live.

And if she ever wanted a dangerous man on his knees in front of her, I’d go there willingly.

That realization should’ve bothered me.

No one forced Lachlan Byrnes to kneel.

Even covered in blood and close to disaster, Isabella’s attitude hits Lachlan exactly where it should not.

That little flash of attitude made me want to kiss her, which was inconvenient as hell at the moment.

Turns out, a woman rolling her eyes at me while covered in blood and standing a few yards from a fatal drop was exactly my type.

Good to know.