St. Clair

“Don’t worry, I’m the business expert here, and when I make my first million, I’m going to sue those werewolves’ asses off,” Priscilla said cheerfully.  “They’ll have no ass left. They’ll be ass-less. They’ll look ridiculous.”

“I’m brutally honest.”              “No kidding. Sometimes a little too honest. There’s this word called tact, it’s in the dictionary under the letter T.”“I don’t believe you, I think you just made that word up.”

“And now,” he said, “You’re all sticky. You really need a shower. I happen to have a shower.”“You do?” her voice rose in a squeak.“Yes, I do. And if you’re wondering if that was just a transparent excuse to get your clothes off, then yes, it was. Because I really want to fuck you. I’m sorry, was that too crude?’              “Oh, no.” Her voice was faint, and her heart hammered against her chest. “Not at all. It’s just crude enough.”