June 26, 2012
"Throw My Dreams Out in the Street..."
all my dreams are made of chrome
I have no way to get back home
You've heard about my love affair with "chrome," right? The word appears in 160 documents on my current hard drive alone. Well, I blame this song. I mean, thank this song. Bow down on my knees and worship this song. Lick its boots. Kiss its (chrome) belt buckle.
Did someone mention fishnet thigh highs and a pair of glossy black boots with a chrome zipper up the side?
—Bound by Lust foreword
He was dressed in a nearly identical fashion to the way I was. “Adult still-in-school style,” I call the look. Jeans. Black. Some leather and chrome hardware.
She unzips her shirt and peels off the PVC. She undoes the three shiny chrome buckles of the skirt, and the fabric falls open.
—Tied Up and Twisted (coming soon from Harlequin)
We’d had our moments, the type of minor, harmless disagreements any couple can expect after the golden bliss of “getting to know you” starts to fade to chrome.
—The Perfect Girl
I’m making goo-goo eyes at the older man sitting across from me at the chrome-topped diner counter.
He wore a sleeveless chrome-gray tee-shirt, and the muscles in his arms flexed and danced when he beat the skins.
He shook his head, but the corners of his lips turned up. I’d told him my name. I could see that fact register in his chrome-colored eyes.
I sat how he wanted me, and I felt the fear spread, cold and wet, through my body as he pulled out a brand-new set of restraints. They were stunning, leather and chrome, somehow attached, wrist to ankle.
—The Price of Pleasure
Some words linger, resonate, ink themselves into your skin. "Chrome" is one of mine.