Evil Kisses

“Really? That’s where you want the kiss?”

No, where I want the kiss would have her creaming her cotton fucking panties. Christ knows it has me about to soak my goddamn trousers.

~See The Evil

Three Wise Men

Book 1

by Molly Grayson

See The Evil: Wedding Dress

I stare at the embossed wedding invite as though it’s an emaciated Great White and I’m on my fucking period. I’ve been here before. Done this before. Bought a big, white dress and set that bitch on fire. Before.

~See The Evil

Three Wise Men

Book 1

by Molly Grayson

An Evil Tease

I am an asshole. I own it.

What I said was out of line. I own that, too.

She snatches her nightdress off the floor then shrugs it on, not even attempting to be sexy about it, a fact for which I’m grateful. “You think Dash is perfect. You think you love her.” She shoves her feet into those stupid assed slippers then plucks up her panties. “But you don’t. You don’t love anyone.” 

She charges up to me, going toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest, while she wags her finger, thong included, under my nose. Her panties reek of recently fucked pussy, and it’s a dickslap in the face. 

“You can’t,” she screams. “Bastards like your aren’t capable of love!” Her smile turns arctic, her final words like razor blades. “And even if you were, remember this. She doesn’t love you. She’ll never love you. You made goddamn sure of that, you stupid motherfucker.”

Prudence flings her hair behind her, pushes her shoulders back, and then prances out as if she’s just won the Triple Crown. And that’s when I lose my shit. 

I slam my fist into the mirror, not caring that I bought myself seven years of bad luck or that my knuckles are raw and bleeding. I don’t care about anyone or anything because Prudence is right. 

Dash doesn’t love me. 

Not anymore. 

She’ll never love me. 

Not again. 

I destroyed her once. I destroyed her twice. Then I destroyed her a third and a fourth time. But the final time? She destroyed me.

~See The Evil

Three Wise Men

Book 1

by Molly Grayson

See The Evil: Attack of the Queen Bee

Dash’s hard eyes are on mine as she waves away the security milling around her like they’re pesky bees and she’s their motherfucking Queen. At that moment, I wouldn’t put it past her to fuck them, just to make their dicks explode and watch them die.

~See The Evil

Three Wise Men

Book 1

by Molly Grayson

See The Evil: On His Desk

Of course, she’s at my desk. She’s always at my desk, which kills me because I want her on my desk. I want her on her knees on my desk. I want to tonguefuck her from behind while I fingerfuck her tight, little asshole—while she’s on her knees. On. My. Desk. 

~See The Evil

Three Wise Men

Book 1

by Molly Grayson

"The Duke and The Domina" Takeover Teasetastic Tuesday

Hello, my kink-a-licious friends. Today's tease is not my own. I stole it...dun, dun, dun...from the lovely Jenn LeBlanc. With her permission, of course. If you love it (and I have no doubt you will), Warrick and Lulu's story The Duke and The Domina is now available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Google, iTunes, and Kobo! 

XOXOXO,
~Mia

* * * *

Prologue

In the practical art of war, the best thing of all is to take the enemy’s country whole and intact, to shatter and destroy it is not so good. 

—Sun Tzu

The Art of War 

1883

The corset tightened, and Grayson let out his last breath of freedom, finally at ease. Corsets were popular with the men of Victorian society, but the reason he wore a corset was different from the rest. For them it was vanity, a softness of the waist, or a straighter posture. But for him? He had no need for help with posture or waistline. His structure was not at issue. 

Grayson needed the binding and the constriction, the pain of the tension and the relief when it released. 

Grayson breathed against the steel bones, letting them pinch as he watched the process in the cheval mirror. If he took a deep enough breath, if he held it long enough then shifted, he could bruise his skin where the boning crossed his ribs. 

He put his hands against the front of the corset and breathed again, waiting for as long as he could before exhaling, then he used his muscles to prolong that feeling. 

The pinch. The burn. The release. 

Then he nodded to his valet in the mirror’s reflection, and his shirt was brought to him. Then his waistcoat. 

Grayson wasn’t looking forward to today. It took everything in him to not run, leave Britain, and return to India—his home. It’s where he felt safest. Here in England, a country he’d wished to never see again, he was constantly on edge. Terrified he would be discovered. There was too much scrutiny here, particularly for a man like him. 

The fact that chance or fate or whatever machination would take his father and brothers without warning, without so much as an inkling, was beyond cruel. That today he was to meet the woman his father had contracted for his oldest brother, the woman he would marry, the woman who was now to become his duchess, was beyond him. Grayson couldn’t fathom marriage to anyone, but to a society miss? The daughter of a duke? A highborn lady who would expect certain things from him? This was truly unfathomable. 

This woman would be in his life and in his house. It would be impossible to escape her. The fact that he was an honorable man never rankled more than it did now. Honor was all he truly had, when the rest of him was…what he was, and he would be forced to hide who he was even in his own house, where he slept. 

To live out his greatest fear in life, to be a man of society, a husband, a father, a proper gentleman—he choked suddenly and leaned over, his breath stolen from him. He rested his hands on his knees at the thought, attempting to catch his breath as the corset bit into his lower abdomen. 

“Too tight, Your Grace?” Rakshan asked as he held Grayson’s jacket. 

Grayson lifted one hand and waved him off, unable to voice an answer. Breathing in through his nose, he stood tall again then pushed his arms back behind him. Rakshan slid his coat up his arms then yanked the tail, straightened the shoulders, walked in front of him, and buttoned him up. Then he pulled the brush from the dressing table and slid it across his chest, shoulders, and back. 

Grayson closed his eyes and settled into the calm of the movements on him. He would need to take that calm with him today to meet the woman he would marry. The future Duchess of Warrick, his dead brother’s fiancée, the woman who would prevent him from ever being himself. 

He may not miss his family for the reasons people believed he should, but miss them he did, because they were all that had prevented him from becoming who he now had to be. 

The Warrick. 

2015

Lulu snapped the single tail just to the left of Oliver’s shoulder, letting the sonic boom send shudders through his muscles. She loved the dance of muscle as it rippled across the back of a client, the skin undulating like a soft wave carried to shore. She snapped it again quickly, this time on the right before the first ripple had a chance to make its way fully across the broad expanse of his back—and Oliver did have the loveliest back. 

With near-perfect symmetry and structure, he was simply beautiful with his arms stretched out to the bedposts above his head. The canvas of his physique, almost flawlessly balanced, could not have been more suited to her art.

He pulled against the bindings on his wrists, his muscles tightening in the center and stiffening his spine. The tension straightened his back as the lats on both sides flexed. The action made his back even bigger and more impressive, exactly what she needed him to do, exactly as she had instructed, throughout his training. 

Lulu waited for him to steady, then she struck him in earnest. First on the left just below his scapula, then on the right without pause. 

Tonight she would give him the wings they’d worked so hard for. 

She picked up the second bullwhip and tested the air with both bullwhips in tandem. This was her special trick and hers alone, and her clients paid thousands for the honor of it. 

She followed the pattern of his muscles down his lats, not letting him breathe between the strikes because the tension played out in his back. The feathers of his wings, made by the welts of the whips, needed to follow his natural musculature in order to look perfect. It was a difficult and practiced dance. Each strike had to be exact, because she wasn’t to draw blood, yet, and it was incredibly easy to draw blood with a single tail. Much too easy. 

For her part, the muscle control required of her had taken years to perfect, the ability to strike in tandem with an exacting weight and placement was nearly impossible. She practiced daily and worked her shoulders and back twice weekly to train out all signs of dominance on her left side. She worked harder than anyone else had ever considered doing. That’s why the clients paid, and they got exactly what they paid for.

Lulu painted his lats with the red feathers, different weights and lengths of strikes making different patterns until he looked as though his back would physically give birth to the wings she put there. 

She set the bullwhips aside and picked up the Wartenberg wheel to add more subtle texture to the feathers. Then the evil stick for the center of the wings, for additional definition. She used multiple tools to complete her work, each leaving a different pattern. 

She didn’t use the bullwhip where the bone was close to the surface, because the chance of drawing blood was much too high. Instead, she used the floggers to paint broad strokes, then the wheel and the stick to define. The final effect was well-defined crests with fluffier-looking feathers down to the tips, but it was the last feather that sold the piece. 

She picked up her whips again for the final strikes, the most painful of all. They would hit the soft hollows below his ribs, carefully avoiding his kidneys, and painting the final, long feathers that would go from his sides to just on either side of his spine. The feathers would bracket those beautiful dimples in a searing pain he would remember for the rest of his days. These would bleed, but only slightly, and only because he’d asked for them to. 

He yelled into it, a deep, throaty growl. They always did, if not during the process at least during the last strike. None of her subs could contain themselves through that final strike—blood or no.

Lulu dropped the bullwhips and inspected his back. The small cuts at his lower back bled two small rills of blood that slid easily into the dimples at his spine, pooling there. “Don’t move,” she whispered. 

She walked to him and leaned across his back, careful to avoid streaking the blood while brushing his newly formed wings with her corseted breasts, running her fingers down his sides, at the very edges of his feather welts. 

“Don’t move, don’t breathe, we’re almost there,” she whispered over his shoulder into his ear. Her breath sent goose bumps across his skin, his welts, causing shudders of pain to rack his body once again. She loved the sound that came from the depth of his rib cage. She wrapped her hands around his waist, skimming her thumbs just at the edges of the last welts to the center of his spine. 

“Thank you, Domina,” he breathed, his voice tense and hard but gracious, and she was brought to life in that. She hit a switch on the wall, then walked to her camera. The lighting was set, the stage created. All Lulu had to do was check the focus and press the shutter, and they would both have a permanent reminder of why they were here. 

She stared into the ground glass at the upside-down reversed image to check the framing. “Don’t move, my darling,” she said as she made the final adjustments to the focus. This was one of her best yet, and she had the beautiful man before her to thank for it. 

She grinned and gave a little booty shake at her excitement, but when she stepped to the side to take up the shutter release, her heel caught on the tripod and her ankle rolled. Her hand flew out to grab anything to help steady herself, catching the leg of the tripod. As the camera tipped she went down hard, hitting her head on the floor, the camera crashing down with her.

The entire thing landed just in front of her as though she were composing an image, their legs tangled like lovers. She could see the back of the camera, the image out of focus, the tilted room projected on the shattered glass, the wings she’d only just created attempting to take flight as Oliver fought against his cuffs. 

She blinked, struggling to keep her eyes open, focusing intently on the back of her camera one more time to try to keep herself from passing out. As she felt the warmth of blood pooling beneath her skull. she heard him yell her name, but she could do nothing but close her eyes and dream of wings.

* * * *

You can find out more about The Duke and The Domina at Goodreads. And if you'd like to get to know Jenn LeBlanc better, she can be found at www.jennleblanc.com as well as on Goodreads, Facebook, and Twitter.

Tease-tastic Tuesday Has Gone Kinky and Moved To Thursday!

A promise is a promise  Here is the other half of Delancey Sorenson's (unedited) Prologue.  

Kisses,
-Mia

p.s. For those who missed the first half, check it out at http://www.ivegot69problems.blogspot.com/2015/02/tease-tastic-tuesday-has-gone-kinky.html

* * * *

A victorious smile found Delancey’s lips at the sight of Thane’s thinking face. The fact that he was weighing his options and calculating the risks, instead of acting on instinct, was a good sign. She was winning the war. “See, I think you can’t do it.” 

With Thane’s vision cut off, he was at a disadvantage. Delancey exploited that weakness by kicking off her ballet flats and starting for him while starting in on him again. “I think you can’t kiss her. I think you can’t kiss anybody, except me.” To some, she would sound arrogant. But to anyone who knew her and Thane, they would recognize her words for what they were—the stone cold truth. 

   “I might wear your ring on my finger and your collar around my neck. But you wear me where it counts.” To drive her words home, Delancey touched the pulse point at the base of Thane’s neck. She smiled softly at the feel of life sustaining blood being pumped through his veins. “Here,” she said on a whisper then slid the tip of her nail halfway down his bare chest and to her right. She tapped the exact spot where his heart resided beneath all those layers of skin. “And here.”

Thane’s eyes remained closed. His lips stayed smooth and even. Only the tightening of the corners indicated she was getting to him.

Delancey lifted a surprisingly steady hand to the side of Thane’s head. “And here.” She caressed his temple in a small, slow, circular pattern—just like he liked it. “In the mind that fascinates me so.”

Thane’s jaw flexed, and she cupped his cheek. “Don’t deny what we both know…what we all know.” She brushed her lips along his silent ones. “That I am yours, and you are mine.”

“Delancey…”

Delancey didn’t heed the warning in Thane’s tone. But she did step into him, sighing his name when the heat his body exuded melted her from the outside in. “Thane.” She guided her hands, both of them, from his washboard abs to the waistband of his low-slung leathers. There, she paused to sigh his name a second time, “Thane.” 

Slowly, as though he were drugged, Thane’s lids lifted. His pale eyes captured hers, penetrating and at the same time riveting her. He didn’t speak, not a word. He simply struck. Faster than lightning, more reckless than a storm, he hauled her against him, drawing her to him until her body was flush with his, every inch of her touching every glorious inch of him. Even pissed, having Thane this close, feeling his warm breath on her face, made Delancey want to crawl inside of him, made her want to get lost in him and never come out. 

Thane growled, grabbing the hair she’d pulled back in a ponytail and wrapping it around his knuckles. He tugged mercilessly and without his usual restrain. The fiery burn his uncompromising clench ripped a guttural moan from Delancey, and she shuddered.

“You’re damn straight, precious girl,” Thane whispered, his stunningly beautiful mouth hovering just above hers. “You belong to me, and I belong to you. Always have, always will.” 

Delancey finally allowed herself to breathe, and her lungs thanked her.

“But I fear one day…

Unease prickled along Delancey’s scalp as she waited for Thane to continue. The foreboding sensation fused with the heat from his hold. Together, they crawled down her neck and spine. She shivered and inexplicably some instinct inside her screamed. Whatever he was about to say would change her, would change them, would change everything. She didn’t know how she knew that. She only knew that Thane feared nothing. 

Except… 

Air left Delancey once again. Thane did fear—for one thing. For her. Her safety, her sanity, and everything in between was everything to him. His weakness, it was her. She was what could bring him to his knees. 

If something happened… 

It didn’t even bear thinking about. The Thane she knew would cease to exist without her, just as she would, if it were him.

“One day soon, you will pay for loving me. One day, you will suffer for being mine.”

~Untitled (The Doms of Kinky, Kansas Book 2)

Wicked Wednesday's Line of the Day

“You can kick me, curse me, scratch and claw at me.”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

Thane ignored Delancey’s insolence. “I'll even let you spit on me, if that's what you need.”

Delancey snort was equal parts disrespect and disbelief.

“In a twisted way, I'll love you all the more for the fight you give me. But remember this, precious girl, you will forgive me. You always do. Then you’ll be mine once again. And this time, I won't ever let you go.”

~Untitled (The Doms of Kinky, Kansas Book 2)

Monday's Kink-tastic Moment...

“If believing you hate me will help you sleep tonight, feel free.”

~Thane Sorenson, Untitled (The Doms of Kinky, Kansas 2)

Sunday's Line of the Day...

“Tears aren’t a sign of weakness, precious girl. They’re a symbol of acceptance, surrender, release, and freedom. They show strength, not cowardice.”

~Nathaniel Sorenson, Untitled (The Doms of Kinky, Kansas 2)

Saturday's Sensual Six a la Kinky...

Delancey’s eyes flew to his, and she forgot everything. The past, the present, the future, it all ceased to exist. It was just her and Thane’s eyes. His pale, green, piercing eyes. They were eyes that could cut through glass, and she knew from experience that they would cut through a person. Only the sharp edge of his tongue could cause more grievous harm than those eyes, the eyes focused on her. 

~Untitled (The Doms of Kinky, Kansas 2)

 

Friday's Kink-a-licious Line of the Day

“If he finds out I feel sorry from him, I’m liable to lose a limb or something far more important to me—like you know, my goddamn dick.”

Behind the blindfold, Delancey rolled her eyes. Wyatt was about as subtle as a fist-sized plug shoved up the ass when he wanted to be. 

~Untitled (The Doms of Kinky, Kansas Book 2)

Kinky Line of the Day...

Delancey needed Sebastian here to keep her from killing her previously dead, recently resurrected asshole of a husband. 

Although, now that she thought about it, Sebastian was as likely to kill Thane as she was. Only he would be colder and crueler, more clinical and exceedingly efficient. Whereas hers would be a crime of passion, his would be a precise, calculated act of revenge. 

Sunday's Sexy Six...

Last night, Belle—the hellcat that she was—had sharpened her claws and unleashed them on Ash and Kegan, scratching them both where it hurt, after they’d called a halt to the fun. She’d been pissed at them for stopping, more pissed than he’d ever seen her, pissed enough to read them the riot act. Then she’d been pissed enough to strip naked, give them the finger, and crawl into bed. And still, that hadn’t been enough. She’d yelled, “Get your asses naked and into my bed or you can show yourselves out and not come back until you actually want to get laid.” 

What man could resist that? 

Hope y'all have a Super Sexy Sunday!

Love and kisses,
-Mia

Getting Down and Dirty on Teasetastic Tuesday!

 Ash had never known Kegan to be speechless, especially when it came to a woman. His friend was no Casanova. He didn’t care about his love life or lack thereof. He didn’t get attached because he ate, slept, and breathed his job at the FBI. It was his life, his wife, and his baby—all rolled into one. That was why they shared women. Kegan could get laid when he needed to let off some steam, and Ash got to have a short-lived, uncomplicated, no-strings-attached relationship. 

But no more. That was all in the past. This woman, whoever she was, had changed everything for Ash. He wanted complicated. And he wanted so many strings that he could tie her up with them…and never let her loose again. 

“Who is that?” Ash finally asked once he recovered enough to regain his power of speech.

"Annabelle Kennington-Preston.”

At Kendall’s no nonsense reply, Ash’s stomach bottomed out. That was Annabelle? The FBI wanted him to get close to her? Had they lost their fucking minds? What about their fucking eyes? Did they not see what she looked like? Shit, a man only had so much willpower. And when it came to the magnificent creature only feet away from him, Ash would have none. He knew it as surely and confidently as he knew the tip of his dick was already seeping cum for her.

If Ash actually followed orders—which he rarely did—and got “close” to Annabelle, it would only be to take her, to possess and own her, not to investigate or interrogate her. The entire FBI could suck his motherfucking cock. And if he touched her, that simple sheath dress she wore would be off her in a flash, the lace ripped to shreds, lying in a hunter green puddle at his feet. 

No warning and no questions asked, Ash would back Annabelle up against the wall in the hall behind her. He wouldn’t waste the time to take off his black jacket, crisp white dress shirt, or tuxedo pants before he had her short, shapely legs hugging his waist, her heels digging into his back, scouring holes into his skin. He’d hold her tight while he worked his weeping cock into her warm, wet, sinfully snug pussy—with the whole world there to watch and witness them. 

As tiny as Annabelle was in stature, she’d weigh no more than a feather in his arms, and her pussy was sure to be a tight fit. The satiny walls would have to stretch and strain to accommodate him. But he would make sure she accepted him—all of him, every, single, goddamn inch of him. He wouldn’t be gentle about it, either. No, not the first time. His animal instincts were too alive, too fresh, too raw for slow, sweet, and smooth. He couldn’t do tender or tame. He needed her too badly. He craved her too desperately, yearned for her too deeply.

Oh yeah, Ash was fucked.

Breathing hot and heavy, Ash stepped forward, knowing he had to have her—this very minute. Married or not, guilty or not, she was his, and she always would be. 

Saturday's Line of the Day...

“He's got a point. We've done everything short of begging her, and the stubborn woman isn't catching on. What's next? A collar around our necks and a leash for her hand?”

-Mia

Monday's Lines of the Day!

Addy got off on fighting them. And that was just fine because they got off on taming her, even if it was only long enough for them to get her beneath them, between them, or anywhere else they could have her sexy, little body.

Like say…up against a wall.

-Adeline Raines's Untitled Story (Sweet Serenity Book 6)

If you come back tomorrow for Tease-Tastic Tuesday...

You might just get to see where Trev's diry mind is going with these lines.

You never know. Naughtier things have been known to happen.

Love and cherries,

-Mia

Double the Pleasure, Double the Kinkiness...For Thursday's Lines of the Day!

To make up for missing yesterday, I'm giving you two lines of the day today! As always, these are unedited. So please be gentle with me. ;)

XOXOXO,

-Mia

Lines of the Day #1

That man would cut off his own dick and use it as a gag before admitting he was wrong. And the day he admitted to changing his mind was the day Luc waxed his motherfucking balls. 

Lines of the Day #2

An image of Adam as Cupid popped into Luc’s head. Only Adam wore leathers, not a diaper, and he wielded handcuffs and a Tranq gun filled with Viagra darts rather than a passé bow and arrow.

Saturday's Kinky Line of the Day...

Declan almost felt sorry for Luc. Almost. The man could bear a lot of shit. What he couldn’t bear was a woman whose feelings had been hurt. And if she cried, he was truly fucked. But Declan couldn’t control his lying sack of troublemaking shit brother. And he didn’t particularly want to. So he figured Luc might as well bend over and take it like the man he was.

-Two Doms and a Baby (The Doms of Kinky, Kansas Book 2)

Tease-Tastic Tuesday

Happy Tease-Tastic Tuesday! I'm doing things a little different today. I'm actually posting two unedited snippets on TWO different blogs. Yes, that means you're going to get a glimpse of the first book in my newest series The Shifters of Trinity, Kansas here. And you'll also get a peek of the fifth book in my Sweet Serenity series at When One is Not Enough!

So without further ado, here's a taste of Ace and MacKenzie from my first ever paranormal menage, Pacts and Promises.

* * * *

“I was so glad you called,” Ace murmured in Kenzie’s ear as he placed a possessive hand on the small of her back and guided her across the wood planked porch. He smiled when she shivered, loving how she was as helpless to him as he was to her. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while, but…”

“But what?” Kenzie blinked her gorgeous eyes up at him. Even with the moon barely glittering overhead, he couldn’t miss the curiosity glimmering in the granite depths. “You thought I had cooties or something?”

Amused, a smile tilted his lips. “Of course not,” he replied while helping her down the steep steps like the gentleman he wasn’t but had been schooled by Henry to be. “I know you have cooties. You’ve been spending all your time with that flea infested pussy of yours.”

Kenzie scowled, her displeased glare more endearing than intimidating. “You take that back, Ace Monroe Gallagher! Only I get to call Emmett a pussy. To you, he's a fe-lion.”

Ace shook his head. “No, I don’t think I will.” A heartbeat later, a soft slapping sound rang out, and it took a minute for Ace to realize that he’d been gently smacked in the chest by the she-wolf of his dreams. And fantasies. But rather than be angry, he came to a sudden halt a few feet away from the porch steps. Then turning to her, he chuckled. “Now I know I won’t.”

Her scowl morphed into a ferocious glower as she stepped away from his touch. She balled her fists on her voluptuous hips, which was a mistake on her part because her defiant gesture only drew his attention to the generous curve and distracted him. “Yes, you will. Or I’ll—”

Ace lifted his gaze from his mate’s hips, slowly and appreciatively, to the tempting dip at her waist then drifted up and over her lush breasts to her face. He arched an eyebrow at her then asked, “You’ll what?”

Kenzie went silent, nibbling her succulent lower lip. As he watched, a variety of expressions danced across her charming ‘thinking’ face. This should be good, he decided. Almost as good as she looks tonight. And damn, the woman looked un-fucking-believable. Not that she didn’t always look like perfection personified. But there was something different about her tonight. It could have been how her too red to be chestnut, too brown to be auburn hair fell around her shoulders, framing her pretty face, rather than being pulled back in her trademark ponytail. Or it could have been that her faded jeans were nowhere in sight, and she’d wrapped her statuesque self in a daring purple dress that revealed as much as it covered. It could have even been that she’d replaced her sneakers with high heels that made her already long legs look like a stunning supermodel’s. Or hell, it could have been the exotic jungle green she’d applied to her eyelids and the dewy pink blush she’d brushed onto the apples of her cheeks. But personally, he thought it was the way she talked and walked—like a wolf bent on seducing her mate, which according to Emmett, she was. Thank the gods.

Kenzie finally released her lip before a brilliant smile curved her mouth upward. “I’m not telling you, wolfie, because then you’ll see me coming and run the other way.”

Ace choked back his mushy response, saying, “I doubt that, Kenz,” rather than “I always see you coming, and I would never run away.” A wolf had his pride, after all.

“Speaking of running away…” Kenzie cocked her head to the side. “Where are your sidekicks?”

* * * *

I hope you enjoyed my teeny, tiny tease! Check back next week for more. XOXOXO!

Love and cherries,
-Mia

p.s. Don't forget to check out When One is Not Enough for another un-edited snippet! :)