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1 " As he sat up, he heard soft dripping sounds from the bathroom, little plips like water slipping over the edges of the tub and into the floor. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he realized where he‟d last heard that sound. His muscles tight with strain from his earlier exertions, he stood and walked warily toward the half open bathroom door and the tub beyond it. Slipping quietly past the door, he saw that the curtain was drawn, and again the shadowed figure lay behind it. One long, slim, leg dangled from the end of the tub, beads of water gliding down its length and off the polished toes. At the other end he saw a mass of auburn curls, matted deep red near the porcelain of the tub. It was the dream and the vision again, more real now, too strong to deny. Shaking, he moved toward the curtain, gagging on the sickly smell of rust and roses, feeling the thin nylon glide between thumb and palm as he pulled it back to reveal his darkest nightmare and deepest regret. He could see the crimson water now, blood bubbles gliding over its surface and clinging to the legs dangling over the tub‟s edge. When he‟d pulled the curtain completely away from the tub and around to its opposite side, he saw her face. Her eyes were closed and he saw that her lids were bruised and purple against the translucent paleness of her face, drained completely dead white under the makeup she‟d brushed on before she‟d died. Staggering by the sight of her, he knelt by the tub and extended one shaking hand to touch her cheek. It all seemed as if he‟d walked into a horror film and once again he needed to prove to his mind that this wasn‟t real. His hand shook as he lifted it nearer to her flesh, waiting for the corpse, the supposedly dead and buried to move. He touched his quivering fingers to her face, feeling its claylike reality. The sensation caused an immediate shudder of revulsion and he fought not to vomit. Even as the moment came, the sight of her moving in the water startled him and he jumped away from the tub. It wasn‟t an obvious movement at first, only soft breaths moving in and out of her nostrils, but then her chest rose and fell with it and he quaked, feeling unstable where he knelt on the floor.Her eyes opened next and he felt the blood fall out of his face, wanting to scream but too afraid he would cause her to take some action, to reach out and touch him, proving well and forever that he was indeed insane. Scream and you might as well slit your own throat. He swallowed the scream like a rock and stared as her eyes moved slowly in their sockets, locking on him. Slowly, as if she‟d lost control of her muscles, she rose from the tub and looked down at him, smiling. Blood water slid down her bare body, over her neck, down her back and the smooth ridges of her breasts, to slip slowly down her thighs and down over her calves. A puddle spread on the floor, and as it extended toward him he struggled to his feet, skittering away from it. As he watched it spread, he shivered, weak as he started to cry frantic, horrified tears. Breaking down, he looked back up at her face and slipped to the floor once more, his knees incapable of sustaining his own weight. The smile grew wider as she strode to his shivering form, thrown on his side and struggling to rise. The blood water seeped into his clothes, making him sick, a drop of it trickling along the lobe of his ear and into it. And then she leaned down, holding those dim, stained curls of auburn out of her face and tucking them behind her ear. Her lips parted, blue beneath the strong crimson red of her lipstick, and she spoke into his ear with the chill breath of the dead. His eyes grew wide and horrified as she spoke, the hair on his neck rising, sending a maddening shiver of fear through him. “I‟ve returned, Raven.” She whispered “And I want what is mine.” The last thing he saw before his mind, finally, thankfully, shut down was her face in front of his. They were pursed for a kiss. "
― Amanda M. Lyons
2 " Arrive before your Husband. Not that I canSee quite what good arriving first will do;But still arrive before him. When he's takenHis place upon the couch and you go tooTo sit beside him, on your best behaviorStealthily touch my foot, and look at me,Watching my nods, my eyes, my face's language;Catch and return my signals secretly.I'll send a wordless message with my eyebrows;You'll read my fingers' words, words traced in wine.When you recall our games of love together,Your finger on rosy cheeks must trace a line.If in your silent thoughts you wish to chide me,Let your hand hold the lobe of your soft ear;When, darling, what I do or say gives pleasure,Keep turning to an fro the ring you wear.When you wish well-earned curses on your husband,Lay your hand on the table, as in prayer.If he pours you wine, watch out, tell him to drink it;Ask for what you want from the waiter there.I shall take next the glass you hand the waiterAnd I'll drink from the place you took your sips;If he should offer anything he's tasted,Refuse whatever food has touch his lips.Don't let him plant his arms upon your shoulders,Don't let him rest your gentle head on his hard chest,Don't let your dress, your breasts, admit his fingers,And--most of all--no kisses to be pressed!You kiss--and I'll reveal myself your lover;I'll say 'they're mine'; my legal claim I'll stake.All this, of course I'll see, But what's well hiddenunder your dress--blind terror makes me quake. "
― Ovid , The Erotic Poems
3 " As she reached back for the buckle, her fingers met Mr. Meisner’s. She jumped. “I can do this... Sir.”“Ah.” He brushed aside her fingers. “I see you’ve at least remembered the sir.”“One always calls gentlemen that, just as you--”With only a rustle of cloth to warn her, his teeth met in the lobe of her ear, sending a spark into her middle. Like the melt of winter snow, she felt heat pool in her lower body. Her fingers curled against her collarbone where her hands still rested either side of her neck.“I’m not a gentleman, Faith. "
― Cari Silverwood , Rough Surrender
4 " Have you ever done something so far out of your normal behavior that it was freeing?” She wouldn’t plead, but she wasn’t above a little coercion. She whispered into his ear and gave the lobe a quick nibble. “I mean. We’re stuck here together. I like you a lot and have talked to you more than anyone else in a long time. If this was a date I’d be thinking of letting you into my apartment for a nightcap or whatever it is people call it now. Want to throw morals and all that out the window for a little bit? "
― Lea Barrymire