“My mother had a mantra: musical instrument, foreign language, martial art.” — E.L. James Copy Share Image
“Don’t,” he murmurs, then kisses me lightly. “Why don’t you like to be touched?” I whisper, staring up into soft gray eyes. “Because I’m… — E.L. James Copy Share Image
“If he touches me, I will succumb. I know the power he wields over me and my traitorous body. I know.” — E.L. James Copy Share Image
“I’ve been so busy I haven’t managed to contact her since this morning, but she’s been hovering at the edge of my consciousness all… — E.L. James Copy Share Image
“Let me ask you something first. Do you want a regular vanilla relationship with no kinky fu*kery at all?” — E.L. James Copy Share Image
“And the baby?" The words are anguished, breathless. "The baby's fine, Mr. Grey." "Oh, thank God." The words are litany... a prayer, "Oh, thank… — E.L. James Copy Share Image
“No. No!” he says. “I . . .” He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don’t know. “You can’t… — E.L. James Copy Share Image
“Because we're getting to know each other, and you're stubborn and cantankerous and moody and difficult.” — E.L. James Copy Share Image
