Mo

“No. No!” he says.
“I . . .” He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don’t know.

“You can’t go. Ana, I love you!”
“I love you, too, Christian, it’s just—”
“No . . . no!” he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head. “Christian . . .”
“No,” he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head bowed, long-fingered hands spread out on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t move. What?
“Christian, what are you doing?”
He continues to stare down, not looking at me.
“Christian! What are you doing?”
My voice is high-pitched. He doesn’t move.
“Christian, look at me!” I command in panic. His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards me passively with his cool gray gaze—he’s almost serene . . . expectant.
Holy Fuck . . . Christian. The submissive.”
― E.L. James, Fifty Shades Darker

“You can’t tell me
what to do anymore, Travis! I don’t belong to you!”
In the second it took him to turn and face me, his
expression had contorted into anger. He stomped toward
me, planting his hands on the bed and leaning into my face.
“WELL I BELONG TO YOU!” The veins in his neck
bulged as he shouted, and I met his glare, refusing to even
flinch. He looked at my lips, panting. “I belong to you.”
― Jamie McGuire, Beautiful Disaster

“Laters, baby.”
― E.L. James, Fifty Shades of Grey

“I wanted...to own you. I wanted a part of me in you." He cringed. "I wanted to mark you, make you mine.”
― S.C. Stephens, Effortless