KEshia Djoe

“She couldn’t take her eyes from the dancing flame. No, this was so wrong. Candles should be used for meditation…for romance. Or on a birthday cake at least.
So where was the cake? The present? The song? As he stepped closer to her—as the damned flame got way too close—she started singing. “Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me…” Marcus paused, looking at her in disbelief. See. I knew he didn’t have a sense of humor. “Happy birthday, dear Gabi”—she lifted her head and blew out the candle—“happy birthday to me.”
― Cherise Sinclair, Make Me, Sir

“If your left leg is Thanksgiving, and your right leg is Christmas, can I visit you between the holidays?”
― Suzanne Wright

“She took a second look at him, at his fancy tailored suit. Dark gray with pinstripes. Oh please, like she’d really believe he was a dom at all? “Gabrielle Anderson. Are you sure you’re Master Marcus?”

“Why would you think I’m not Master Marcus?” he asked. Well, good grief. She waved a hand at him and kept the duh from slipping out. Just in case he really was Master Marcus. Maybe he hadn’t changed yet or something. “The suit? Where are your leathers or latex or…biker jacket or vest? And black? Did you forget to wear black?”

He stared for a second, as if she’d turned into a drooling idiot, and then simply roared. Deep, full laughter—amazing coming from someone who looked like he should have a stick up his ass.”
― Cherise Sinclair, Make Me, Sir

“People—especially men—don't always know what they want. You try, and if it doesn't work, then you may quit.”
With a broken heart. As if she'd read her mind, Abuelita frowned and scolded, “Hearts mend, but lost chances are gone forever.”
― Cherise Sinclair, Lean on Me