Ivette

“What’s under here?” He toyed with the hem of my shirt.
“You’ve forgotten already?”
He dragged my T-shirt over my head and tossed it aside. “Oh, breasts. Best present ever. Thanks, pumpkin.”
― Kylie Scott, Play

“David had apparently been busy writing more songs about the glory of doing his wife.
Ah, true love and stuff.”
― Kylie Scott, Play

“Ah, man,” he sighed, shaking his head slowly, mournfully. “I’m not sure I can stick my dick in a woman who doesn’t even know who John Bonham is.”
“‘Stick your dick in’?” I asked, my brows probably touching. “Did you actually just say that?”
“Make love. I meant make love … of course. I would never just stick my dick in you. I would make mad, passionate love to this sweet, sweet body of yours for days, no, weeks. It would be beautiful, pumpkin. There’d be little angels, and birdies, and you know … all just hanging around, watching. Perverts.”
― Kylie Scott, Play

“You have to understand, before now, I hadn’t been entirely certain Reece even realized I was female. Yet here he was, edging toward me as if I was territory to be protected. Something Mal didn’t intend to allow if his side-stepping maneuver meant anything. It was like some strange animalistic caveman dance, the two of them slowly hemming me in. Amusing in a way.
The first male to pee on me, however, would pay with his balls.”
― Kylie Scott, Play