Bra Hook Quotes

It's not objective. It's subjective.” Katya hooks her bra behind her back. “It's just what you think, not the truth.

[after Sammy struggles to unhook Stilton's bra] She rolled onto her face to give him a good shot at the hook in the back. "Free my people!" "I will. I am the Harriet Tubman of your breasts.

This is what you get when you have a naked Lucy Kavanagh.” She reached behind her back to her bra clasp. “There are rolls.” The bra hooks gave way, and she shook it off, letting it drop where it may. “There are stretch marks.” She slid her thumbs into the waistband of her high-waisted panties meant to hold her not-perfect stomach in and pushed them with more force than necessary to her ankles. She kicked them off with enough power that they went flying through the night like a red cotton bullet and landed on a bush near where Frankie had parked. “There are curves where there should be dips.” She held her arms out wide. “There is all of this, and I’m not apologizing for it—not to you and not to anyone.

Wade sighed. “I’ll never understand why women wear bras to start with. They look uncomfortable as hell.” “They’re not that bad.” “Turn around so I can fasten the damn thing for you.” She refused to let go. Suddenly it seemed important to do this one small task alone. “I can do it, Wade. I need to get used to doing things with this cast.” He crossed his arms over his chest as he watched her struggle. “Is it so hard to ask for help from me, Gracie?” She tried the two small hooks once more, but failed to get them both attached. “No, it’s just that I’m not used to people offering, I guess.” He moved around her and helped fasten the contrary hook. When she turned to tell him thanks, he placed his finger over her lips and murmured, “If you thank me, I’ll spank you. Knowing I haven’t been able to catch your stalker, that he broke into your home and trashed your things and I wasn’t able to stop him makes me feel as fucking useless as tits on a bull. The least I can do is fasten your bra.

Just like with buttons on a shirt, the hooks are always going to be on the same side (your left). If you’re trying to remove a bra but can’t, simply say, “I need a little help.” The girl will laugh at you, but she’ll take off her bra. It happened to me many times in my early days, so it’s not a big deal, but it’s in your best interests to be able to do it on your own (unstrapping a bra with one hand or foot at lightning speed is a move girls appreciate).

He hooks his finger into the soft cup of my bra and lowers it. His forehead presses against mine and he looks down, to the hard point of my nipple. “Jesus,” he mutters. “I can take it off—” “No.” He groans softly and thumbs the pebble back and forth. Pinches it just this side of too much, making me gasp. “I’m not going to fuck you, but God, I could.” His entire palm rubs against my breast, and my whimper is humiliating. This is going to feel good. Really, really good. It’s already much better than . . . than anything. Pulling embarrassing, unfortunate noises out of me. “What do I do?” he asks, fitting his fingers in the dips of my ribs. I look up at him, glossy-eyed, already a little dazed. “What?” “What do you like?” He’s looking down at my body like it’s a beautiful space oddity, something belonging to a minor goddess, to be investigated in filthy, methodical, obscene ways. His hand traces my flat stomach. Skims the place where my thigh highs transition into tender skin. Brushes reverently against the pod right above my panties, like this little thing my life depends on is as much a part of me as my navel. J.J. asked me to take it off, said he found it off-putting. Made bionic woman jokes. And then there’s Jack. Licking his lips and asking, “Where do I start?” I have no clue. “Um . . .” He kisses me again, this time slow and gentle, pulling back from that initial brink. He uncovers my other breast, and his fingers are back, playing with my nipple like it’s an instrument. Liquid warmth hooks low in my belly. “Trial and error, then.” “What do you do with other girls?” “Other girls?” “Normal girls.” He laughs into my collarbone, then starts sucking on it. “Elsie.” “I just want to know. If I . . . if I weren’t me, what would you do?” “No.

Hope there isn’t anyone below us.” “If so, they’re already asleep. I mean, I’d already be asleep if you weren’t licking my ear. Why are you licking my ear?” Lex retrieved her tongue. “Because I feel like something awful is going to happen tomorrow. And I’m really hoping it doesn’t involve my grisly demise, or an even grislier demise for you than your last one, but—” She swallowed. “I want this night to be a happy one, because I think they’re going to be in short supply from now on.” “Yeah, but—” He glanced behind them. “With four friends, one uncle, one Pandora, and a comatose museum curator within hearing range?” “Good point.” Lex nodded thoughtfully, as if they were debating tax reform. “However: this.” She grabbed his hands and slapped them onto her chest. His eyes bulged, then met hers. “Compelling rebuttal.” Lex grinned and dove back into his face while Driggs’s hands reached around her back. “Ah, the over-shoulder boulder holder,” he said in a sneering voice, picking at her bra. “My old nemesis.” “Okay, don’t panic,” Lex said. “Do it just like we practiced.” “Right. The hook faces out.” “The hook faces in.” “DAMMIT.

We ran back, he first and I following him, between the beds and downstairs, and we picked up an armful of wood from the pile by the wall and the knife for whittling and ran up again, we couldn’t be quick enough. He knelt down in front of the stove, and it wasn’t long before he had done the trick again. Outside the window it was night now, and the wind blew vaporous white milk against the panes, milk over the forest and the fjord, but in here there were just the two of us and the stoves and the sound of wood burning behind the black iron and sending waves of heat out into the rooms and into the walls and timbers that sucked it in. I smelt the scent of wood growing warm, and it made me as white in my head as the whirling night outside, and hungry. We stood in the kitchen with our coats on eating the contents of two tins with one spoon we took it in turns to use, and we laughed, I didn’t even notice what I was eating. Soon it was warm enough for us to take off some clothes, his overcoat and my coat, and while he hung his on a hook, I let mine fall to the floor. I took off the sweater I wore underneath and dropped that on the floor too, I unbuttoned my blouse and still felt the cold against my neck. But the heat rose to the ceiling and up to the first floor and there was another stove there. Then I calmly walked across the room and upstairs with his eyes on my back, and at first he stood still, and then he followed, and when he got to the top my blouse was off and my stockings on the floor. I slowly turned round and stood there, me inside my skin, while he was fully clothed, and I cleared my head of every thought I had ever had and let them sink out into my skin till it was painfully taut and shinning all over my body, and he saw it and did not know what it was he saw. I put my arms round my back and unfastened my bra and slid the straps over my shoulders, and I thought he might be going to weep, but his voice sounded hoarse as he whispered: “You’re lovely,” and I answered “Yes”, and didn’t know if that was true. But it did not matter, for I knew what I wanted and what to say, and his hands were as I’d thought they would be, his skins as soft and his body as hard, and it was so warm around us, and the whole time I smelt the dampness of the bedclothes like the ones at Vrangbæk, and then I just shut my eyes and floated away.

He moved into a large sitting area, past a sunken bath that could fit ten and through a set of double doors, where he tossed her on the bed. She bounced as she hit and looked up. He didn’t break eye contact as he shed his jacket, tossing it over on a chair. “Strip.” “You first.” Frank toed off his shoes and loosened his tie, pulling it over his head then dropping it to the floor. “Tell you what. Whoever’s naked first, gets to be on top.” He gave her a lecherous grin and was rewarded with a rosy blush, coloring her cheeks. “Okay.” She climbed off the bed. “On the count of three.” “One,” Frank said and lifted his hands to the top of his dress shirt. She did the same, bracing for the count like a racer on the blocks, her hands behind her neck. “Three.” Frank unbuttoned the collar, and tugged the shirt over his head, including the T-shirt underneath. “That’s cheating,” she said, as she fumbled with the hooks down the back of her blouse. “You had a head start. I’m evening the field.” He ripped his belt off and undid his fly and dropped his boxers and pants all at once. She froze and gasped, staring, hunger in her eyes, snapped out of the spell and tossed her blouse and bra to the side, moving fast, but not fast enough. Her skirt puddled around her ankles as Frank stood, as bare as the day he was born. “I win.” She kicked her garment to the side and placed her hands on her hips. Her chest rose and fell, pebbled nipples displayed against gloriously soft skin and full breasts. Her eyes were wild and her soft blonde hair tousled, like she’d already taken a roll in the sack. Man, did he want to make a bigger mess of it.

Then something cold touches my skin. I jump and his hand lands back on my thigh, holding me down. "I wouldn't move if I were you," he warns. My head arches up and I see a flash of silver. A pocket knife. My heart starts pounding faster, harder, echoing in my ears. My breath shudders out as my chest expands. Dean's fingers hook into one side of my thong and he cuts it away before doing the same to the other and then he takes the bottom of my dress and glances up, those dark eyes of his meeting mine as he begins to slice upward. The back of the metal blade presses against my skin, making my heartbeat leap as he cuts a perfect path up past the swell of my breasts until the fabric is laying open, revealing everything that my bra doesn't cover.

Boyfriend #11 Clark Barnyard, Age Twenty-Three Still not over boyfriend #9 and humiliated by #10, Jane declared she would shed her victimhood and become the elusive predator--fierce, independent, solitary!...except there was this guy at work, Clark. He’d made her laugh during company meetings, he’d share his fries with her at lunch, declaring that she needed fattening up. He was in layout at the magazine, and she’d go to his cubicle and sit on the edge of his desk, chatting for longer than made her manager comfortable. He was a few years younger than her, so it seemed innocent somehow. When he asked her out at last, despite the dark stickiness of foreboding, she didn’t turn him down. He cooked her dinner at his place and was goofy and tender, nuzzling her neck and making puppy noises. They started to kiss on the couch, and it was nice or approximately sixty seconds until his hand started hunting for her bra hooks. In the front. It was so not Mr. Darcy. “Whoa, there, cowboy,” she said, but he was “in the groove” and had to be told to stop three or four times before he finally pried his fingers off her breasts and stood up, rubbing his eyes. “What’s the problem, honey?” he asked, his voice stumbling on that last word. She said he was moving too fast, and he said, then what in the hell had they been building up to over the past six months? Jane sized up the situation to her own satisfaction: “You are no gentleman.” Then Clark summed up in his own special way: “Hasta la vista, baby.”

she rose from her seat and crossed the room to a filing cabinet. Dangling from the waist band of her stretch pants hung a bra. One end was caught by the hooks in the knit material, while the other end tapped right above her calf. The bra looked like Old Glory. It flashed red, white, and blue. I didn’t know whether to laugh or salute it. “Mary Lou, you have a bra hanging off your butt.” I don’t believe I’ve ever had to make that statement before in my life.

her. I look at her. Finally look at her. She’s wearing a T-shirt, and I can see the elastic leg of her panties when she turns. “Why don’t you go in my room and wait?” She looks down and flushes. “Oh, crap,” she says. She pulls a drawer open and gets a pair of shorts. I can’t draw my eyes away from that perfect round ass. I know, I’m a rude fucker, but I can’t look away. “Damn, that’s pretty,” I murmur. I bite my cheek, trying to take my mind off it. I’m sitting here in my boxers and nothing else, trying not to let her see how hard I’m getting. While my ceiling leaks on our heads. She steps into the hallway and puts on her shorts. When she comes back, all that beautiful skin is covered up. Just my luck. Her bra is hanging on the end of the bed. I hook it with my finger and hold it up. “Do you need this?” She jerks it from my hand and tosses it into a drawer. She slams it shut with her hip. I want to lift her shirt and pull her waistband out so I can see the top edge of her panties, but that would be rude, considering she hasn’t invited me to do it, and my ceiling is about to fall in. I scrub a hand down my face. Now I know she’s not wearing a bra. Fuck me. The doorbell rings. “I’ll

You’re just going to walk away and let him face fuck me?” Aubrey screeches. “Fuck you, Hugo. I thought you loved me.” He chuckles, dark and sinister. “Who said I was walking away?” He hooks his finger into her tank top and bra strap, slowly tugging it down over her shoulder. “I’m staying right here.

Does this car have Bluetooth?” Oliver chuckles. “Yes, Princess Estelle, is it up to par with your inspection?” I stop moving my hand over the dash and set it back on my lap, feeling a blush creep into my face. “I liked your old car better,” I say. Oliver’s eyebrows hike up and he turns to gape at me. “You like my beat-up Maxima better than this?” I shrug. “It was more cozy. This reminds me of the Batmobile, and there’s nothing wrong with the Batmobile, but I like cozy.” He shakes his head and mutters something under his breath, but starts to look for my phone to hook up to Bluetooth. He already knows it’s because I want to play my own music—I don’t even have to explain. I used to bring my own CD whenever I was in the car with him. Oliver listens to two things: heavy rock and rap, and while I’m okay with both, I prefer the classics. The Steve Miller Band hasn’t even gotten to the hook before they’re interrupted by a call from Mia. Oliver looks at me with a question in his eyes. “If you don’t mind,” I say. He presses the button, and before I say hello, Mia’s frantic voice comes through. “What underwear are you wearing?” she asks. My face goes hot for the second time this morning. From the corner of my eye, I see Oliver bite down on his lip. “What?” I ask. “Mia, you’re on speaker phone!” “I don’t care. This is an emergency. Do you not hear the shrill tone in my voice? What are you wearing under your clothes?” My eyes snap to the side of Oliver’s face, then out the front window, and finally, I pull my shirt slightly and look down, because I completely forgot what underwear I have on. “Can you disconnect the phone?” I say to Oliver, who shakes his head in refusal. “Please. This is like . . . monumentally embarrassing.” “Just answer,” he whispers. “Who’s that?” Mia asks. “Oliver. We’re in his car, and you’re on the fucking Bluetooth.” She laughs. “Oh my God! I am so sorry, Bean!” “What?” I shout. “He’s not the one being harassed!” “Oh, but now he is. So tell me—underwear?” “White lace bra and matching boy shorts,” I say, almost through my teeth, not missing the way Oliver’s eyes snap to me with an approving look. I want to slap him for it, but I know nothing good would come of that, so I just cross my arms over my chest like a petulant child.

Across the courtyard, I hear a window slide open. I freeze, cigarette in midair. A light switches on, and there is Donato, in just a towel. It is shocking to see him, like a flashlight shined directly into my pupils. I can feel them dilate, I can feel my whole body swell and open. He sees me and tilts his head, running his hands through his hair. He smiles that knowing, teasing smile. I can see his biceps flexing, the muscles in his chest and stomach—the faint ones on his sides that come down to a point where his towel is tied. Something is happening, I don’t think I could stop it even if I wanted to. I’ve slipped my blouse off, unclasping the hooks of my bra. I watch Donato lean forward, he isn’t smiling anymore. He has that look, the one I haven’t seen on a man in a long time. I suck on the end of that cigarette and blow out toward him, imagining the smoke will travel the length between us. Then I shut the window and close the curtain. My whole body is shaking. I start to laugh but then remember everyone is sleeping. I have to cover my face with a pillow.

SEVEN YEARS AGO… “You notice anything different about Ash?” my cousin Sawyer asked as he climbed up the tree to sit beside me on our favorite limb overlooking the lake. I shrugged, not sure how to answer his question. Sure, I’d noticed things about Ash lately. Like the way her eyes kind of sparkled when she laughed and how pretty her legs looked in shorts. But there was no way I was confessing those things to Sawyer. He’d tell Ash, and they’d both laugh their butts off. “No,” I replied, not looking at Sawyer for fear he’d be able to tell I was lying. “I heard Mom talking to Dad the other day, saying how you and me would start noticing Ash differently real soon. She said Ash was turning into a beauty, and things between the three of us would change. I don’t want things to change,” Sawyer said with a touch of concern in his voice. I couldn’t look at him. Instead I kept my eyes fixed on the lake. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Ash is Ash. Sure, she’s always been pretty, I guess, but that’s not what’s important. She can climb a tree faster than either of us, she baits her own hook, and she can fill up water balloons like a pro. The three of us have been best friends since preschool. That won’t change.” I chanced a glance at Sawyer. My speech sounded pretty convincing, even to me. Sawyer smiled and nodded. “You’re right. Who cares that she’s got hair like some kind of fairy princess? She’s Ash. Speaking of water balloons, could you two please stop sneaking out and throwing them at cars right outside my house at night? My parents are gonna catch y’all one of these days, and I won’t be able to get y’all outta trouble.” I grinned, thinking about Ash covering her mouth to silence her giggles last night when we’d snuck down there to fill up the balloons. That girl sure loved to break rules--almost as much as I did. “I heard my name.” Ash’s voice startled me. “You two better not still be making fun of me about this stupid bra Mama’s making me wear. I’ve had it with the jokes. I’ll break both your noses if it doesn’t stop.” She was standing at the bottom of the tree with a bucket of crickets in one hand and a fishing pole in the other. “Are we gonna fish or had y’all rather just stare down at me like I’ve grown another head?