Bra Off Quotes

I think being yourself—your true, entire self—is always going to feel like you’re swimming upstream.” “Yeah,” she said. “But if the last few years with you have been any indication, I think it also feels like taking your bra off at the end of the day.

Yesterday, I cried. I came home, went straight to my room, sat on the edge of my bed, kicked off my shoes, unhooked my bra, and I had myself a good cry.

Somehow, Sydney had an internal clock that told her when time was up. I think it was part of her inherent ability to keep track of a hundred things at once. Not me. In these moments, my thoughts were usually focused on getting her shirt off and whether I’d get past the bra this time. So far, I hadn’t.

She did some sort of magic bra trick to get it off and out of her shirt. All women seemed to know the same maneuver.

What happened to the rest of my clothes?” “They left,” he said, face serious. “You took them?” He shrugged. “You wouldn’t have been comfortable sleeping in them.” “How on earth did you manage to get my bra off without waking me?” “He gave me a sly smile. “I didn’t do anything else. I swear. I just … removed it for safety reasons. Underwire is dangerous.

Dammit, Michael, get out of my room, you pervert!” Could you even be a pervert if you were dead? She supposed you could, if you had a working body half the time. “I swear, I’m going to start taking my clothes off!” The cold spot stayed resolutely put until she got the hem of her T-shirt all the way up to her bra line, and then faded away. “Chicken,” she said, and paced the room, back and forth.

It's not your bra. It's our bra and I want it off." I slip it off her, pulling her against me as I rub my hands down the length of her back, then around to the button on the front of her jeans. "And I want to take off our pants." She grins against my lips and slowly nods. "Okay, but hurry," she whispers. "I can be quick," I assure her. "But I'll never hurry.

How far did we go that night?” His gaze dropped to the neck of my tank top and the curves of my breasts. “Second base”.” “Shirt on?” “Off. We were both topless. Topless cuddles are best.” He watched as I absorbed the information, his face close to mine. “Bra?” “Absolutely not.

Now," Clary said. "I don't want to wait. Do you?" He didn't reply, just got up off the floor and picked his shirt. He looked at Clary, and almost smiled. "If we're going to the Silent City, you might want to get dressed. I mean, I appreciate the bra-and-panties look, but I don't know if the Silent Brothers will. There are only a few of them left, and I don't want them to die of excitement." Clary got up off the bed and threw a pillow at him, mostly out of relief. She reached for her clothes and began to pull her shirt on. Just before it went over her head, she caught sight of the knife lying on the bedspread, gleaming like a fork of silvery flame.

I turn to head outside when the boys make their way back into the house. Kel stops in the doorway and puts his hands on his hips, then looks up at me. “Are you my sister’s boyfriend?” I’m thrown off by his directness. I pull my jacket on and shake my head. “Um, no. Just her friend.” “She told my mom you were taking her on a date. I thought only boyfriends took girls on dates.” “Well,” I pause. “Sometimes boys take girls on dates to see if they want them to be their girlfriend.” I notice Caulder standing beside me, taking in the conversation as if he’s just as curious. I wasn’t prepared to have to explain the rules of dating right now. “So it’s like a test?” Caulder asks. “To see if you want Layken to be your girlfriend?” I shrug and nod. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Kel laughs. “You aren’t gonna like her. She burps a lot. And she’s bossy. And she never lets me drink coffee, so she probably won’t let you have any, either. And she has really bad taste in music and sings way too loud and leaves her bras all over the house. It’s gross.” I laugh. “Thanks for the warning. You think it’s too late to back out now?” Kel shakes his head, missing my sarcasm completely. “No, she’s already dressed so you have to take her now.” I sigh, pretending to be annoyed. “Well, it’s just a few hours. Hopefully she won’t burp a lot and boss me around and steal my coffee and sing to her really bad music and leave her bra in my car.” Or hopefully she will.

I didn’t expect to sit here for hours. But if you’re too hot, feel free to take the bra off.” I gave him the finger. “What are you?” he asked. “I’m the woman you chained in your basement. I’m your captive. Your . . . victim. Yes, that’s the right word. All of that education. How come nobody ever explained to you that you can’t just kidnap people because you feel like it?

If you would feel comfortable going around to someone's house at the end of a long day saying, "I'm just going to take my bra off," you know you are intimate friends.

Kayla snatched the ruby-coloured bra he'd dug out from behind his back. "You should know, you're the one who got it off me," she said.

I started getting Mal's texts just before lunch. Mal: Awake Anne: Morning Mal: Going for a run with Jim Anne: Have fun! Mal: Back from run having lunch ... Mal:Your taste in music sucks Anne: Thanks Mal: Seriously, we need to talk it's that bad. Everything apart from Stage Dive needs to go. Anne: Wait. What are you doing? Mal:Fixing it. Anne: Mal, WTH are you doing? Mal: Making you new playlist wih decent shit. Relay Anne: K Thanks Mal: Bored again Mal: Ben's coming over to play Halo Anne: Great! But you don't have to tell me everything you do, Mal Mal: Davie says communication's important Mal: When are you on the rag? Davie said to find out if you want cupcakes or ice cream Anne: I want to not talk about this ever Mal: Bored. Ben's late Mal: Let's get a dog Anne: Apartment has no pets rule Mal: Nice green lace bra Anne: Get out of my drawers, Mal. Mal: Matching panties? Anne: GET OUT NOW. Mal: :) Mal: sext me Mal: Some on it'll be funny Mal: Plz? Mal: High level of unhealthy codependency traits exhibited by both parties relationship possibly bordeing on toxic Anne: WTF? Mal: Did magazine quiz. We need help- Especially you Anne:... Mal: Booking us couples counseling. Tues 4:15 alright? Anne: We are not going to counseling. Mal: What's wrong? Don't you love me anymore? Anne: Turning phone off now.

I slip her shirt over her head and she tries to cover herself, but I move her arms out of the way and kiss up her neck while I talk about all the things that are no longer just mine. 'Will, stop.' She laughs and attempts to pull my hands away from her bra. 'You can't take off my bra, we're in our driveway. What if they come outside?' 'It's dark,' I whisper. 'And it's not your bra. It's our bra and I want it off.' I slip it off her, pulling her against me as I rub my hands down the length of her back, then around to the button on the front of her jeans. 'And I want to take off our pants.

I’ve often been told I fight like a girl, probably because from the moment I whip off my bra, my opponent knows I mean business.

To my surprise, Abby reached behind her back to unzip her dress, slipped it down, and then yanked a T-shirt over her head. She did some sort of magic bra trick to get it off and out of her shirt. All women seemed to know the same maneuver.

Here are some things I didn't have space for: putting on Alone by Heart and miming the lyrics in Leah's face until she started laughing, Leah's long hands and her yellow hair and the werewolf quality of her eyebrows. The way she walked around the flat in shorts and a sports bra and told me off for staring. The way she kissed me and then apologized for biting. The time Leah told me that making me laugh was an achievement because my face was so typically set against it. The way I was often bored and Leah never was. Talking with Leah on early dates about the panic of doing what everyone else was doing and then feeling like a dick about it. The way Leah was kind by nature whereas I always seemed to struggle. The way she tipped my face towards hers and told me otherwise. "You're the kindest person I know and I know six or seven people.

Burning a book is like burning a bra. After the adrenalin rush of the symbolic moment wears off, all you're left with is a pile of ashes and unsupported boobs.

Tapping into the aether, well, it was like coming home at the end of the day and finally being able to take a bra off. It was that good.

This is okay?" he asks. "Yes." The word explodes through me, empowering and sexy, and I can't get my bra off fast enough.

I perform the task of exhausted women everywhere—taking my bra off without removing my top. Once I’ve pulled it through the armhole of my tank, I fling it onto the old, slouchy couch, sending it the disgusted glare that all bras deserve after a long, hot day.

How I’d managed to sit still for the majority of the conversation and be controlled, without ripping my knickers off, throwing them over my head and swinging my bra around my fingers in a come and get me gesture, I had no idea.

Here,” she said. She pulled the shirt over her head, revealing a black bra and ribs shadowed like the furrows of a tilled field. “Don't get Dawes.” Why was she so willing to put herself in his hands? Was she unafraid or just reckless? Neither trait boded well for her future at Lethe. But he had the sense it was neither of those things. It felt like she was testing him now, like she'd laid down another challenge. “Some propriety wouldn't kill you,” he said. “Why take the chance?” “Usually when a woman takes her clothes off in front of me I have some warning.” Alex shrugged, and the shadows moved over her skin. “Next time, I'll light the signal fires.” “That would be best.

God, you're so sweet.” He holds my face in his hands and kisses me deeply. I slowly unzip his hoodie and touch a hand to his bare chest. I relish in the feel of it. Barely an hour ago I was admiring it from afar, and now it's no longer just a tease. When I slide my hand down to his stomach, he groans and his hands slip just under my shirt. “So that's why you didn't want to change.” I can feel his smile against my lips. “You just wanted me to take your clothes off for you.” “Guilty.” I lift my arms for him to pull it off. Instead of returning to kissing me, his eyes roam down my body. I fight the urge to cover myself; even though my bra is still on, I feel exposed. His hands lightly touch each side along the seam. My breath catches in my throat. Meeting my eyes, he says, “You're so damn beautiful.” He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss in between my breasts. I shiver at the light touch of his lips to my sensitive skin. If this is how he makes me feel with such little contact, then how will the rest of this feel? The need is building inside like a spark starting a fire.

When life gives you lemons, you flip off the world, make a pitcher of margaritas, and burn your bra.

Pagan lifted one shoulder and I prayed by all that was holy that she’d take off that pink bra. This may be invading her privacy but I was Death, dammit. I should get some privileges.

Nothing compares to taking your bra off after a long day. -Things men will never know or understand

Mostly a’s: You are an Avoidant Misanthrope. You are the patron saint of the locked door and turned-off phone. Like a big tit in a strapless bra, if there’s a way out, you’ll find it.

So popular is alliteration that in the 1960s it actually made a grab for political power. In the 1960s a vast radical youth movement began campaigning to do things for the sole reason that they began with the same letter. Ban the bomb. Burn your bra. Power to the people. For a moment there it seemed as though alliteration would change the world. But then the spirit of idealism faded and those who had manned the barricades went off and got jobs in marketing.

Good bras are expensive, and you have to wash them extra carefully or you quickly find yourself buying another expensive bra. Don’t get me started on the whole underwire thing. Humanity is a race capable of interstellar travel, and nobody’s invented a bra for girls my size that doesn’t feel like prison. Here is a truth universally acknowledged—taking that thing off at the end of the day is the single greatest feeling in the world.

Off flew his shirt, which landed on an outstretched arm of the ceiling fan. 'Beats me. God, is there a padlock on this thing?' 'It's not rocket science, Driggs. It's a bra.' 'It's a Rubik's cube of diabolical proportions, is what it - ha! Suck it, evil underwear!' Triumphant, he flung the unfastened conundrum across the room [...]

You disgust me." "Like you have room to talk," Cathy said. "You're as much a whore as I am." Dan grabbed the hem of her shirt with both hands as she turned, in one easy move she peeled her tee and sports bra off and gestured at her bare chest. "Oh my god, you see these? They're called breasts. Does this make me a whore? This?" Dan jerked a hand between them, and Cathy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "This is what I do. I strip. I dance. I work a stage five nights a week. I give lap dances to creeps who can't get enough action on their own. But I don't let them touch me and I still make enough money to keep us afloat. Fuck you! I'm seventeen! I'm too young to be your mother!" "No one asked you to be my mother..." "I asked you to be mine. Thanks for failing so spectacularly at it.

Life is like taking off a girl’s bra. You never know exactly what you’re gonna get, but however it turns out, it’s basically awesome.

I've never been to the ocean, never heard the waves lick the sand in that quiet shushing you read about in books. I've never been to the zoo, smelled the elephant piss, and heard the cries of the monkeys. I've never had frozen yogurt from one of those places where you pull on the handle and fill your own cup with whatever you like. I've never eaten dinner at a restaurant with napkins that you set on your lap and silverware that isn't plastic. I've never painted my nails like the other girls at school, in bright neons and decadent reds. I've never been more than ten miles from home. Ten miles. It's like I live in the forever ago, not where buses rumble and trains have racks. I've never had a birthday cake, though I've wanted one very much. I've never owned a bra that is new, and had to cut the tags off with the scissors from the kitchen drawer. I've never been loved in a way that makes me feel as if I was supposed to be born, if only to feel loved. I've never, I've never, I've never. And it's my own fault. The things that we never do because someone makes us fearful of them, or makes us believe we don't deserve them. I want to do all my nevers-- alone or with someone who matters. I don't care. I just want to live.

His eyes are ravenous but his body is still tense, and so I slip my bra strap off my shoulder and motion my finger at him. He takes a deep breath, slips off his silver cross necklace, and tosses it aside. Whatever is about to happen, it seems that he does not want God around to witness it.

In England on a hot day, women are happy to walk around with their bra straps showing. In Paris, they don't shave their armpits. And you just can't mention Germany and style in the same book, let alone the same sentence. It's the same story in America too, where the Farrah Fawcett haido of 1975 still reigns supreme. In Italy, even the policemenists look like they've just come off a catwalk. One I found, standing on a rostrum in the middle of a Roman square, was immaculate, as was his routine. Each wave of the hand, each toot of the whistle and each twist of the body was Pans People perfect. Never mind that the traffic was completely ignoring him, he looked good, and that's what mattered. Looking good in Italy is even more important than looking where you're going.

Two more years: then I'll get my diploma and I'm done.' 'No, don't ever stop: I'll give you the money, you should keep studying.' I gave a nervous laugh, then said, 'Thanks, but at a certain point school is over.' 'Not for you: you're my brilliant friend, you have to be the best of all, boys and girls.' She got up, took off her underpants and bra, said, 'Come on, help me, otherwise I'll be late.

I only took off my shirt, Daniel. The bra isn't even all that revealing," she replied, cool as can be, plush mouth set all prim and proper. "If all it takes for you to lose your cool is the hint of hard nipple then I'm concerned on your behalf." "Shit. Say hard nipple again." Her body vibrated beneath him with soft laughter. "No.

Fuck off, Cam,” she shouted at him as he approached. “You’re practically naked,” he bellowed. “Get back to my quarters, now.” “No.” She tilted, angling to the left and pushing her wings harder to speed up. His anger spiked. “Elithea! I am losing my fucking patience!” She twisted back to look at him then swooped upward. “Eli—” Something hit him in the head from above. He slowed, pulled the material away. It was… her bra.

Slowly, he lifts the flashlight. Her shorts are torn and frayed, her shirt ripped from chest to naval, exposing her black bra and dirty stomach. And then he raises the light so it reflects off her face, off the crimson tears streaming from the girl’s eyes. Her boney hands fly up to protect her face, and her head tilts sharply as she hisses.

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.

but I never turn down the opportunity to take off my bra, throw on my grubbiest sweats, and curl up on my couch with a good smut book or four hours straight of Netflix.

But if the last few years with you have been any indication, I think it also feels like taking your bra off at the end of the day.

It's all fun and games until you have a bad sports bra that causes your boobs to chafe.

In these moments, my thoughts were usually focused on getting her shirt off and whether I’d get past the bra this time. So far, I hadn’t.

I think being yourself – your true, entire self – is always going to feel like you’re swimming upstream….but it also feels like taking your bra off at the end of the day.

I added pieces the same way I’d constructed my body, from the inside out: boy-cut panties first (lacy), bra (sheer), stockings (thigh high), knee-length leather skirt (black), lime green midriff-baring shirt (polyester). David leaned against the wall and watched this striptease-in-reverse with fabulously expressive eyebrows slowly climbing toward heaven, I finished it off with a pair of strappy lime green three-inch heels, something from the Manolo Blahnik spring collection that I’d seen two months ago in Vogue. He looked me over, blinked behind the glasses, and asked, “You’re done?” I took offense, “Yeah. You with the fashion police?” “I don’t think I’d pass the entrance exam.” The eyebrows didn’t come down. “I never knew you were so…” “Fashionable?” “Not really the word I was thinking.” I struck a pose and looked at him from under my supernaturally lustrous eyelashes. “Come on, you know it’s sexy.” “And that’s sort of my point.

I didn’t wear a bra, simply to show off that I don’t have to wear a bra, which is a paltry consolation for having such small breasts. But I didn’t mind any more – I had become mostly indifferent to my body.

I watched her peel off the slip, The bra closed in the front like the other. Ah, my teeth clenched seeing her tighten the clasps, breasts gathered like that. The she smoothed the flesh into the cups, lifted each breast, dropped it, her fingers casual, rough. I got hard watching it. Then the panties came up stretched sheer over her pubic hair. I could see the silk seal itself over her secret lips. Little crack. Hair a dark shadow underneath.

I think being yourself—your true, entire self—is always going to feel like you’re swimming upstream.” “Yeah,” she said. “But if the last few years with you have been any indication, I think it also feels like taking your bra off at the end of the day.

Being yourself, your true, entire self, is always going to feel like you're swimming upstream." "Yeah," she said, "but if the last few years with you have been any indication, I think it also feels like taking your bra off at the end of the day." I laughed.

The impulse pumping through my body was to take ahold of her again and ease her head onto my chest. Well no, my actual impulse was to tear off her purple bra with my teeth and prove she was plenty Bond girl for me. But I sensed that might be a slight overkill…

I nodded. “I think being yourself—your true, entire self—is always going to feel like you’re swimming upstream.” “Yeah,” she said. “But if the last few years with you have been any indication, I think it also feels like taking your bra off at the end of the day.

My fingers draw up her back and tangle into her hair. “They’ll never separate us.” “Never,” she repeats. Our lips crush together, our bodies pressed tight. An inferno of lips and hands and movements that continues to grow in heat. The blanket falls away as Rachel slides her legs so that she straddles me. On the verge of burning up completely, I groan and cling to her small frame. Her hands drift under my shirt, leaving a singeing trail. We’ve become a wildfire. Almost unstoppable. I kiss her neck and the beautiful sounds escaping her mouth encourage me further. My hands skim under her shirt, up her back, linger for seconds near her bra, and I gently nip her ear when I feel lace. Images pour into my mind of what she’d look like with her shirt off, then her jeans. My fist traps strands of her hair. “I want you, Rachel.” And because I do, I kiss her fully on the mouth—nothing left to the imagination. Every fantasy becomes a reality with that one embrace.

I stopped by the super for the new key, climbed to my apartment, and studied my new lock. Big, metal, and shiny. Not a scratch on it. Even the key itself had a bizarre groove carved into it, which made the whole setup supposedly completely burglar proof. Pick that, Your Majesty. I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and shut it behind me. I kicked my shoes off, wincing at the hint of ache in my stomach. It would take a long time before it healed completely. At least I no longer bled. Tension fled from me. Tomorrow I would worry about Hugh d’Ambray and Andrea and Roland, but now I was simply happy. Aaahh. Home. My place, my smells, my familiar rug under my feet, my kitchen, my Curran in the kitchen chair . . . Wait a damn minute. “You!” I looked at the lock; I looked at him. So much for the burglar-proof door. He calmly finished writing something on a piece of paper, got up, and came toward me. My heart shot into overdrive. Little golden sparks laughed in his gray eyes. He handed me the piece of paper and smiled. “Can’t wait.” I just stared like an idiot. He inhaled my scent, opened the door, and left. I looked at the paper. I’ll be busy for the next eight weeks, so let’s set this for November 15th. Menu. I want lamb or venison steak. Baked potatoes with honey butter. Corn on the cob. Rolls. And apple pie, like the one you made before. I really liked it. I want it with ice cream. You owe me one naked dinner, but I’m not a complete beast, so you can wear a bra and panties if you so wish. The blue ones with the bow will do. Curran. Beast Lord of Atlanta.

Our would-be Pan shouted something else at Sloane. “Oh yeah?! Never grow up this!” she shouted back, and something black fluttered down from the rooftop. For a horrified second, I thought the boy had jumped. Then the black thing landed on one of the firemen, and I realized that the answer was slightly more mundane, if no less horrifying: Sloane had thrown her shirt off the roof. Her bra landed on the grass next to a fireman’s feet a moment later.

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).

A few months ago on a school morning, as I attempted to etch a straight midline part on the back of my wiggling daughter's soon-to-be-ponytailed blond head, I reminded her that it was chilly outside and she needed to grab a sweater. "No, mama." "Excuse me?" "No, I don't want to wear that sweater, it makes me look fat." "What?!" My comb clattered to the bathroom floor. "Fat?! What do you know about fat? You're 5 years old! You are definitely not fat. God made you just right. Now get your sweater." She scampered off, and I wearily leaned against the counter and let out a long, sad sigh. It has begun. I thought I had a few more years before my twin daughters picked up the modern day f-word. I have admittedly had my own seasons of unwarranted, psychotic Slim-Fasting and have looked erroneously to the scale to give me a measurement of myself. But these departures from my character were in my 20s, before the balancing hand of motherhood met the grounding grip of running. Once I learned what it meant to push myself, I lost all taste for depriving myself. I want to grow into more of a woman, not find ways to whittle myself down to less. The way I see it, the only way to run counter to our toxic image-centric society is to literally run by example. I can't tell my daughters that beauty is an incidental side effect of living your passion rather than an adherence to socially prescribed standards. I can't tell my son how to recognize and appreciate this kind of beauty in a woman. I have to show them, over and over again, mile after mile, until they feel the power of their own legs beneath them and catch the rhythm of their own strides. Which is why my parents wake my kids early on race-day mornings. It matters to me that my children see me out there, slogging through difficult miles. I want my girls to grow up recognizing the beauty of strength, the exuberance of endurance, and the core confidence residing in a well-tended body and spirit. I want them to be more interested in what they are doing than how they look doing it. I want them to enjoy food that is delicious, feed their bodies with wisdom and intent, and give themselves the freedom to indulge. I want them to compete in healthy ways that honor the cultivation of skill, the expenditure of effort, and the courage of the attempt. Grace and Bella, will you have any idea how lovely you are when you try? Recently we ran the Chuy's Hot to Trot Kids K together as a family in Austin, and I ran the 5-K immediately afterward. Post?race, my kids asked me where my medal was. I explained that not everyone gets a medal, so they must have run really well (all kids got a medal, shhh!). As I picked up Grace, she said, "You are so sweaty Mommy, all wet." Luke smiled and said, "Mommy's sweaty 'cause she's fast. And she looks pretty. All clean." My PRs will never garner attention or generate awards. But when I run, I am 100 percent me--my strengths and weaknesses play out like a cracked-open diary, my emotions often as raw as the chafing from my jog bra. In my ultimate moments of vulnerability, I am twice the woman I was when I thought I was meant to look pretty on the sidelines. Sweaty and smiling, breathless and beautiful: Running helps us all shine. A lesson worth passing along.

He said 'That! Put that in your purse! I don't like that!' when I took off my brassiere. It remained there, though, curled up on his wooden floor, curled awkwardly for a piece of clothing, not awkwardly if it had been something else perhaps, a creature. "Idea

We only have a little bit of time before I leave for Korea. Let’s not waste it.” Then I slide my hand in his, and he squeezes it. The house is completely empty, for the first time all week. All the other girls are still at the party, except for Chris, who ran into somebody she knows through Applebee’s. We go up to my room, and Peter takes off his shoes and gets in my bed. “Want to watch a movie?” he asks, stretching his arms behind his head. No, I don’t want to watch a movie. Suddenly my heart is racing, because I know what I want to do. I’m ready. I sit down on the bed next to him as he says, “Or we could start a new show--” I press my lips to his neck, and I can feel his pulse jump. “What if we don’t watch a movie or a show? What if we…do something else instead.” I give him a meaningful look. His body jerks in surprise. “What, you mean like now?” “Yes.” Now. Now feels right. I start planting little kisses down his throat. “Do you like that?” I can feel him swallow. “Yes.” He pushes me away from him so he can look at my face. “Let’s stop for a second. I can’t think. Are you drunk? What did Chris put in that drink she gave you?” “No, I’m not drunk!” I had a little bit of a warm feeling in my body, but the walk home woke me right up. Peter’s still staring at me. “I’m not drunk. I swear.” Peter swallows hard, his eyes searching mine. “Are you sure you want to do this now?” “Yes,” I say, because I really, truly am. “But first can you put on Frank Ocean?” He grabs his phone, and a second later the beat kicks in and Frank’s melodious voice fills the room. Peter starts fumbling with his shirt buttons and then gives up and starts to pull my shirt up, and I yelp, “Wait!” Peter’s so startled, he jumps away from me. “What? What’s wrong?” I leap off the bed and start rummaging through my suitcase. I’m not wearing my special bra and underwear set; I’m wearing my normal every day cappuccino-colored bra with the frayed edges. I can’t lose my virginity in my ugliest bra.

Being comfortable with someone is sexy. It means you trust that they don’t need a phony, Instagram version of you to want to be with you.” He grabs the t-shirt and pulls it off over my head, leaving me in my nude colored nursing bra. “Comfort is sexy because comfort is trust, and there is nothing hotter than a beautiful woman who trusts you.

What are you doing?” he asks me. “Just wait one second.” I run to the bathroom and change out of my old bra and underwear and put on the lacy ones. Then I brush my teeth, look at my face in the mirror. This is it. I, Lara Jean Song Covey, am about to lose my virginity to Peter K. Peter calls out, “Is everything okay?” “Just a sec!” Should I put my clothes back on or just come out in my bra and underwear? He’s never seen me in just my underwear before. Well, I guess he’s about to see me without any clothes at all, so I might as well. I step out of the bathroom, carrying my clothes in front of me like a shield, and Peter does a double take when he sees me and quickly takes his shirt off. I can feel myself blush. I stuff my bra and underwear in my suitcase, and then dig around inside until I find the packet of condoms. I take one out and then climb back into bed and get under the sheets. “Okay, now I’m ready.” “I like your bra,” Peter says, peeling the sheet away from me. “Thank you.” He moves closer to me and kisses my eyelid. First the left, then the right. “Are you nervous?” “A little.” “We don’t have to do anything tonight, Covey.” “No, I want to.” I hold up the condom, and Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. “From my dad’s kit. Remember, I told you he made me a contraception kit?” Taking the condom from me, he kisses my neck and says, “Can we not talk about your dad right now?” “Sure,” I say.

Things I worried about on the bus: a snapshot of an anxious brain . . . Is that car slowing down? Is someone going to get out and kidnap me? It is slowing down. What if someone asks for directions? What if—Oh. They’re just dropping someone off. The bus is late. What if it doesn’t arrive? What if I’m late getting to school? Did I turn my straighteners off ? What if the bus isn’t running today and no one told me? Where’s the—oh. There’s the bus. Oh crap is that Rowan from Biology? What if he sees me? What if he wants to chat? Hide. Okay, he hasn’t seen me. He hasn’t seen me. What if he did see me and now he thinks I’m weird for not saying hi? Did I remember to clean out Rita’s bowl properly? What if she gets sick? One day Rita will die. One day I’ll die. One day everyone will die. What if I die today and everyone sees that my bra has a hole in it? What if the bus crashes? Where are the exits? Why is there an exit on the ceiling? What if that headache Dad has is a brain tumor? Would I live with Mum all the time if Dad died? Why am I thinking about my living arrangements instead of how horrible it would be if Dad died? What’s wrong with me? What if Rhys doesn’t like me? What if he does? What if we get together and we split up? What if we get together and don’t split up and then we’re together forever until we die? One day I’ll die. Did I remember to turn my straighteners off ? Yes. Yes. Did I? Okay my stop’s coming up. I need to get off in about two minutes. Should I get up now? Will the guy next to me get that I have to get off or will I have to ask him to move? But what if he’s getting off too and I look like a twat? What if worrying kills brain cells? What if I never get to go to university? What if I do and it’s awful? Should I say thank you to the driver on the way off ? Okay, get up, move toward the front of the bus. Go, step. Don’t trip over that old man’s stick. Watch out for the stick. Watch out for the—shit. Did anyone notice that? No, no one’s looking at me. But what if they are? Okay, doors are opening, GO! I didn’t say thank you to the driver. What if he’s having a bad day and that would have made it better? Am I a bad person? Yeah but did I actually turn my straighteners off ?

Good swim?’ Robyn asked as Fen approached, her skin wet and glistening. ‘Glorious.’ She pulled on her top, not bothering with a bra. ‘Worth the scramble down, right?’ Water droplets were caught in the ends of Fen’s lashes, sunlight glinting off the perfect clear beads, making her green eyes look like they were sparkling. Robyn felt a fresh charge of energy in her chest. ‘Absolutely.

Request away, rock star.” Here it comes. “Can she wear a push-up bra? Leave off the panties?” Kyle knew what boys liked. “When my lips touch her face I like to taste her skin, so maybe the makeup could be on the light side?” Blake closed one eye. Holy fuck, that’s sexy. Kyle felt her heart spit on her soul, taunting, Cole would want you as you are, if you were important enough. But you’re not.

Trixie fiddled with the zipper of Daniel's battered leather jacket. "He tried to take off my shirt, but I didn't want him to. I told him that it was Zephyr's house and that I didn't feel right fooling around there. He said I was breaking his heart. I felt bad after that, so I let him unhook my bra and touch me, you know, my breasts. He was kissing me the whole time and that was the good part, the part I wanted, but then he put his hand down my pants. I tried to pull his hand away, but he was too strong." Trixie swallowed. "He said, "Don't tell me you don't want this." Daniel gripped the edge of the table so hard that he thought he would crack the plastic. He took a deep breath in through his mouth and held it. He thought of all the ways it would be possible to kill Jason Underhill.

Introduction to Jane. - Jane removed the last of the unfamiliar, silk bra-cup pads and panty liners from within the clothes she was unpacking and placed them in her top lingerie drawer. Her discovery of their illicit presence was a bombshell with which her disbelief was still struggling. The shock was enough for her to call the office, cancel her appointments and tell the studio she would be off all day.

I stood for a while the way I had the first time they left, letting all the knots of fear unclench. Nothing had happened, I told myself. I am perfectly okay. He was just a creepy, horny, not-nice man, and now he’s gone. But then I shoved my tent back into my pack, turned off my stove, dumped the almost-boiling water out into the grass, and swished the pot in the pond so it cooled. I took a swig of my iodine water and crammed my water bottle and my damp T-shirt, bra, and shorts back into my pack. I lifted Monster, buckled it on, stepped onto the trail, and started walking northward in the fading light. I walked and I walked, my mind shifting into a primal gear that was void of anything but forward motion, and I walked until walking became unbearable, until I believed I couldn’t walk even one more step. And then I ran.

Blake Hartt, if you touch me, your skin must be bare. Do you understand?” Livia looked into his green eyes. They seemed confused, but he nodded. Livia wished she’d worn something more romantic, but no matter. This wasn’t about clothes; it was about skin. She kicked off her sneakers and stepped away from him. Come get me, Livia said with her eyes. She pulled off her sweatpants and felt the cool air snap at her skin. She walked further and stopped in the center of the clearing next to the miraculous saplings. She now stood right where they’d been before when they’d failed. She took her jacket off and let it fall. She created a trail of clothes like little stepping stones to hope. Livia had always been shy about her body. But she could do this here, now. She was asking so much of him. She pulled her sweatshirt off and stood in her bra and panties. She shook a little from the cold and the risk. She willed him to take the chance as well. He hadn’t moved, just stood squeezing the handle of the cheerful umbrella and watching Livia like she was walking a tightrope without a net. Livia reached behind her and unlatched her bra. She added it to her trail of clothes. Blake flexed and closed a gloved hand. Livia slipped off her white panties. Now she was here—nude for him—if he could bring himself to walk across the meadow. She shivered and fought the need to cover her chilly skin. Blake kept his eyes on hers, not yet indulging in the sight before him. “You’re cold,” he said softly. Livia nodded. “I’m cold and alone out here.” I will stay put. I will not cry. Come to me. Come to me. And he did. He made slow, steady progress until he stood in front of her.

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.

Her brassiere's snaps are in the front. His own forehead snaps clear. He thinks to kneel. But he knows what she might think if he kneels. What cleared his forehead's lines was a type of revelation. Her breasts have come free. He imagines his wife and son. Her breasts are unconfined now. The bed's comforter has a tulle hem, like a ballerina's little hem. This is the younger sister of his wife's college roommate. Everyone else has gone to the mall, some to shop, some to see a movie at the mall's multiplex. The sister with breasts by the bed has a level gaze and a slight smile, slight and smoky, media-taught. She sees his color heighten and forehead go smooth in a kind of revelation--why she'd begged off the mall, the meaning of certain comments, looks, distended moments over the weekend he'd thought were his vanity, imagination. We see these things a dozen times a day in entertainment but imagine we ourselves, our own imaginations, are mad. A different man might have said what he'd seen was: Her hand moved to her bra and freed her breasts. His legs might slightly tremble when she asks what he thinks. Her expression is from Page 18 of the Victoria's Secret catalogue. She is, he thinks, the sort of woman who'd keep her heels on if he asked her to. Even if she'd never kept heels on before she'd give him a knowing, smoky smile, Page 18. In quick profile as she turns to close the door her breast is a half-globe at the bottom, a ski-jump curve above. Figure skaters have a tulle hem, as well. The languid half-turn and push at the door are tumid with some kind of significance; he realizes suddenly she's replaying a scene from some movie she loves. In his imagination's tableau his wife's hand is on his small son's shoulder in an almost fatherly way.

I panted as he pulled me back through the entryway, hands on my waist, kissing the whole way, and collapsed backward onto the gray leather couch, which felt softer than my skin. I fell on top of him, straddling his lap. He kissed his way down my neck and across the collar of my blouse, leaving a trail of fire behind. "Enough of that," I panted, ripping my shirt over my head. Thank goodness I'd worn a decent bra today---blue satin with a bow in the middle, not frayed or torn anywhere. He eyed it with a growl of approval, but maybe it wasn't a growl for the bra at all, because a moment of fumbling over my back and---pop---I shook off my now unfastened bra. "And to think you didn't like me at first." He drank me in unabashedly, his eyes roaming from belly to breasts to nose to eyes, and each inch his eyes traveled made me feel more and more powerful. Like I could go anywhere, do anything. Except all I wanted to do was right here. I ground against him, feeling his cock already hard and strong under his zipper. "Who says I like you now?" He gasped and pulled me tighter onto him. "If this is what you do to people you don't like, what do you do to people you do like?" I silenced him with another kiss as I rubbed up and down him again. Now my own sex was throbbing, and I sucked in a breath with every movement. I kept moving up and down as he kissed my breasts, tongue tracing lightly over each nipple. When I couldn't take it anymore, I tumbled to the side, lying down on the couch and pulling him on top of me. Because his was an expensive couch and not the cheap one my old roommate had bought at Ikea, there was plenty of room for us to writhe without making me feel like I might topple off the edge. He went down to kiss my breasts again... and kept going. His tongue slid down my stomach, did a lazy circle around my belly button. I clenched my teeth, holding back a beg for more as he slowly, slowly, way too slowly unzipped my skirt and tugged it down. I kicked it off, along with my underwear, when he reached my knees, nearly clipping him on the ear. When I felt close to the edge, I reached down and pulled him up. My hand moved down and took over, zeroing in on just the right spot on my clit. It didn't take long. I shuddered against his shoulder, biting back a cry, then wondered why I was biting it back and let it out. Breathing hard, my head collapsed back into the cushion. I was a little worried that now post-orgasm clarity would descend upon me and be like, What the hell are you doing, Julie? but the post-orgasm clarity seemed to approve. With a wink and a nudge, it made me pull away, and the desire roared back inside me. "That's why it's great to have a clitoris," I told Bennett. "Multiple orgasms.

I turn toward Dylan, who’s already reaching into her dress and unclasping her bra. The production crew rotates around us, cleaning up and preparing for tomorrow’s show, ignoring Dylan’s impending freeing of her breasts. They’re used to it by now. They know, when the show’s over and the red light has been turned off, Dylan is reaching into her shirt or dress and taking off her bra. I just wish when she did it, she didn’t grunt like a pig digging for truffles.

Jemma?” Ryder murmurs, his mouth hot against my skin. “Is this okay?” I tilt my head back against the wall, catching my breath. “Yeah,” I say, panting. “It’s definitely okay. Okay?” His forehead is resting on my shoulder now, his hands skimming my hips. “You sure? I don’t want to…I mean, I know things are kinda weird right now, but--” “Just kiss me, Ryder.” So he does. Does he ever. And, of course, that’s when the dang-blasted tornado siren decides to go off again. Seriously? Ryder steps back from me, looking a little disoriented. It takes us both a few seconds to get our bearings. “Storage room,” he says. “I’ll get the cats; you get the dogs?” I just nod, tugging my tank top back into place. Somehow it’d gotten pushed up, bunched around my bra. And Ryder…At some point he must have taken off his T-shirt, because he’s shirtless now, his jeans riding low on his hips. Focus, Jemma. The dogs. I’ve got to get the dogs.

I’m going to take my time, slowly peeling off your shirt, your bra, kiss your nipples until they are so hard that you’re begging me to bite them. Then I’ll take off your jeans, inch by torturous inch, enjoying the show of your thighs before I reach your panties. I bet they’re ridiculously wet. Even right now, I bet they are soaked. I bet they’d taste good too. Then I’m going to fuck your wet pussy so good that you’ll wonder how you survived this long without me.

When I reach the doorway, I stop and thank every higher power for putting this woman in my life. Because, holy fucking Christ, there is nothing I did to deserve this. Banner is spread out on top of my sheets like some kind of fantasy come to life, wearing nothing but a scrap of red lace that she might call a bra, but I can see her nipples through. Her legs are splayed wide, and there’s a toy buried inside her pussy. Her eyes are closed as she throws her head back and lets out a moan. She doesn’t even realize I’m here, and she’s already getting off. Naughty girl.

Dear Beck, You only know how to push or pull when it comes to guys. Admit it. Own it. Fix it. Love, Beck Dear Beck, You reel in men and you lose interest when you have them. You don’t wear a bra so that guys will look at your nipples. Wear a bra. Nicky sees what you’re doing. This is good. Be seen. Love, Beck Dear Beck, Intimacy terrifies you. Why are you so afraid? You can only get off when you’re role-playing. Why can’t you be yourself? Nicky knows you and accepts you. So will others. Love, Beck Dear Beck, You think you can’t have love until you’ve outgrown your daddy issues. But maybe you won’t outgrow your daddy issues until you let yourself fall in love. Nicky is right. You grow through love. You don’t postpone love until you stop growing. Love, Beck Dear Beck, It’s not your fault that you were born on an island. Of course you identify as an island. But, dear girl, you’re not an island. Be populated. Be welcoming of love. Love, Beck. Dear Beck, It’s okay to resent your mom. She does envy you. Love, Beck Dear Beck, Don’t be your own worst enemy and chase after guys who don’t want you. Be your own best friend and learn how to love guys that do want you. And remember, nobody is perfect. Love, Beck

Hey!” a voice calls out behind us, and we turn to find Ryder standing beside the row of orange lockers outside Mr. Jepsen’s classroom. I have no idea why he’s out of class early, and I don’t care. “I just heard the announcement--congrats.” “Thanks,” Morgan chirps. “This is epic, right? Both of us.” Ryder nods, his gaze shifting from Morgan to me. I duck my head, averting my eyes. This is worse than when I hated him, I realize. At least then, it wasn’t awkward. I could just ignore him and go about my business. Now I feel all queasy and mad and breathless and guilty. I need to get away from him. Fast. Mercifully, Morgan glances down at her watch. “We gotta get going. There’s a meeting in the media center.” “Right,” Ryder says. “But, uh…Jemma, could I talk to you for a second after school today? Before practice, maybe?” My gaze snaps up to meet his. “I…um, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “I’ll be quick,” he says. “Actually, maybe I’ll come over to your house after dinner. That way I can say hi to Nan.” “She’s…really not up to visitors.” “Really?” He fixes me with a stare, one brow raised in disbelief. “’Cause your mom said just the opposite.” Crap. Now what? I’m out of excuses. Besides, the last thing I want to do is pique Morgan’s curiosity. “Oh, fine. Whatever.” “Great. See you then.” He turns and heads back into the classroom without a backward glance. I have no clue what he wants to talk about. Things are already uncomfortable enough between us as it is. No use making it worse by discussing things that don’t need to be discussed. We made out, even though I hadn’t bothered to break up with Patrick first. It was a mistake--a big mistake. End of story. The memory of that night hits me full force--his shirt was off; mine was close to it. My cheeks flare with sudden heat as I recall the feel of his fingertips skimming up my sides, moving beneath my bra as he kissed me like no one’s kissed me before. Ho-ly crap. Stop. “What was that about?” Morgan asks me as we continue on our way. “He was acting kinda weird, wasn’t he?” “I didn’t notice,” I say with a shrug, going for nonchalance. “Anyway, we should hurry. We’re probably late already.” “Maybe he wants you to ask him to escort you,” she teases, hurrying her step. I match my pace to hers, needing to take two steps for every one of hers. “Yeah, right,” I say breathlessly. “Hey, you never know.” She looks at me and winks. “Weirder things have happened.” Oh, man. She has no idea.

She began peeling off her pants. Whatever Arthur's concerns, she was safe and in one piece. One very sexy, beautiful piece. Heat flared through the bond and she sucked in a breath. "Planning on taking a shower?" I approached slowly, my face revealing every intimate thought on my mind. "I---yes." Her exhaustion was lifting, replaced with a knowing smile. "Is that a problem?" "Not at all." I closed the distance between us, removing my shirt. "In fact, I might just need a shower myself." "Do you want to go first?" she teased. "I'm in no hurry." "No, no, I won't delay your shower." I wrapped my arms around her, unfastening her bra. "Why don't we take one together?" A playful smile crossed her lips. "I don't know, that seems terribly inefficient." "Nonsense." I helped her remove her bra and then slipped the panties down her legs. "I will show you just how efficient I can be." She moved a hand to my chest, catching her lower lip with her teeth. "Well, you can't shower in your suit." She leaned up to kiss me, her fingers working on my buttons as I laughed against her mouth. "Eager?" "Shut up." I scooped her off her feet as her laughter carried through to the bathroom, where I planned to assist her in a very slow and inefficient shower.

in the men's room. I couldn't control the want or the need." He moves his hands up my sides, pulling the dress with them. "That tight little body teasing me from across the room." I lift my hands above my head and he pulls the dress over. "I wanted you too," I whisper. "You came to the club to get fucked." He pulls the front clasp of my bra open. "You were made to be fucked by me." He takes one of my nipples into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it. I throw my head back at the sensation and I feel his hand push down my belly. "You're so wet and ready." He moves his finger quickly across my clit. The pressure is so light I can barely feel it. "Sometimes, at night, I close my eyes and think about how you taste and I jerk myself off." I moan at the thought of him coming to any thoughts of me. I push his hand back down, towards my center. He pulls it back up as I moan in protest. "I'm going to make you scream, Jessica." He holds my hips as he shifts his hips to the side, pulling himself down on his back. "You're going to ride my face until you can't take it anymore." I feel him pull my thighs towards him and I eagerly acquiesce. I move my body so my core is right above his mouth. I feel so close already and he hasn't even touched me with his tongue yet. He jerks my legs and I fall forward, my cleft meeting his mouth. He sucks the folds between his lips and

It was one of the rare mornings when Dad was around. He’d gotten up early to go cycling, and he was sweaty, standing at the counter in his goony fluorescent racing pants, drinking green juice of his own making. His shirt was off, and he had a black heart-rate monitor strapped across his chest, plus some shoulder brace he invented, which is supposedly good for his back because it pulls his shoulders into alignment when he’s at the computer. “Good morning to you, too,” he said disapprovingly. I must have made some kind of face. But I’m sorry, it’s weird to come down and see your Dad wearing a bra, even if it is for his posture. Mom came in from the pantry covered with spaghetti pots. “Hello, Buzzy!

Before he could say my name, I closed the space between us. Quickly, my lips moved against his. The mental and emotional emptiness took over instantly, but physically, I was more alert than ever. Wesley’s surprise didn’t last as long as it had before, and his hands were on me in seconds. My fingers tangled in his soft hair, and Wesley’s tongue darted into my mouth and became a new weapon in our war. Once again, my body took complete control of everything. Nothing existed at the corners of my mind; no irritating thoughts harassed me. Even the sounds of Wesley’s stereo, which had been playing some piano rock I didn’t recognize, faded away as my sense of touch heightened. I was fully conscious of Wesley’s hand as it slid up my torso and moved to cup my breast. With an effort, I pushed him away from me. His eyes were wide as he leaned back. “Please don’t slap me again,” he said. “Shut up.” I could have stopped there. I could have stood up and left the room. I could have let that kiss be the end of it. But I didn’t. The mind-numbing sensation I got from kissing him was so euphoric-such a high-that I couldn’t stand to give it up that fast. I might have hated Wesley Rush, but he held the key to my escape, and at that moment I wanted him… I needed him. Without speaking, without hesitating, I pulled my T-shirt over my head and threw it onto Wesley’s bedroom floor. He didn’t have a chance to say anything before I put my hands on his shoulders and shoved him onto his back. A second later, I was straddling him and we were kissing again. His fingers undid the clasp on my bra, and it joined my shirt on the floor. I didn’t care. I didn’t feel self-conscious or shy. I mean, he already knew I was the Duff, and it wasn’t like I had to impress him. I unbuttoned his shirt as he pulled the alligator clip from my hair and let the auburn waves fall around us. Casey had been right. Wesley had a great body. The skin pulled tight over his sculpted chest, and my hands drifted down his muscular arms with amazement. His lips moved to my neck, giving me a moment to breathe. I could only smell his cologne this close to him. As his mouth traveled down my shoulder, a thought pushed through the exhilaration. I wondered why he hadn’t shoved me-Duffy-away in disgust. Then again, I realized, Wesley wasn’t known for rejecting girls. And I was the one who should have been disgusted. But his mouth pressed into mine again, and that tiny, fleeting thought died. Acting on instinct, I pulled on Wesley’s lower lip with my teeth, and he moaned quietly. His hands moved over my ribs, sending chills up my spine. Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss. Only once, as Wesley flipped me onto my back, did I seriously consider stopping. He looked down at me, and his skilled hand grasped the zipper on my jeans. My dormant brain stirred, and I asked myself if things had gone too far. I thought about pushing him away, ending it right where we were. But why would I stop now? What did I stand to lose? Yet what could I possibly gain? How would I feel about this in an hour… or sooner? Before I could come up with any answers, Wesley had my jeans and underwear off. He pulled a condom from his pocket (okay, now that I’m thinking about it, who keeps condoms in their pockets? Wallet, yes, but pocket? Pretty presumptuous, don’t you think?), and then his pants were on the floor, too. All of a sudden, we were having sex, and my thoughts were muted again.

A couple of minutes later I was surprised when the figure that came back was . . . not him. It was Arianna, holding something bulky draped over her arm. She opened my door, and I got out. “Where’s Lend? I’m supposed to wait for him.” “Nope.” She smiled bigger than I’d ever seen her smile before, and suddenly I was a touch nervous. What if she was working with Nona and the faeries? “You were waiting for me. Now, strip.” “I—What?” “You heard me. Strip. Take off your coat, shirt, and pants. You can leave your bra, for all the good it does you.” I noticed then that the bulky thing over her arm was a garment bag. Aha! “Ar, listen, I don’t feel that way about you. You’re not my type.” “Oh, shut up, take your clothes off, and close your eyes.” “Again, not something I was hoping to hear from you tonight.” Her smile was replaced by an annoyed scowl. “DO IT NOW.

We should break up,” she says. “I’m a disaster. I’ll fuck everything up. I always fuck it up.” Her voice is distressed and she looks like she’s on her way to hyperventilating. “And you’ll leave. Everyone leaves. And I don’t know what I’m doing.” “You can’t break up with me. We’re not dating,” I reply calmly and cross over to her, taking her hand so she’ll stop twisting the hell out of her hair. “Oh.” She exhales in an audible puff as she tilts her head back to look at me. She swallows. “I can’t?” “Nope.” “Then what are we doing? Why are you so nice to me? You’re always so freaking nice to me, Boyd. And attentive. And good in bed. And—” “We’re just Chloe-and-Boyding.” I cut her off before she gets any more worked up. “Chloe-and-Boyding?” “Yes,” I say then brush my lips along the shell of her ear. “Trust me, Chloe.” I give her a gentle push back, because I’m not above distracting her with sex. Not one bit. I lie on the bed beside her and pull her to me. “And you can’t go when there are so many fucks I haven’t given you yet, Chloe. I’d like to give you all the fucks.” “All the fucks?” The tension eases from her body and her eyes flare, but in excitement instead of panic. “All of them. The bossy fuck.” I slip my hand under the hem of her shirt and lift it up and over her head. “The rough fuck.” She lifts her hips as I grip the waistband of her leggings and tug. “The shower fuck.” She sucks in a breath at that and swallows. “So many fucks, Chloe.” I brush my lips against her ear. “The dirty talk fuck. The ass play fuck,” I whisper. “Do you want to miss any of those?” “No.” She shakes her head and flexes her hips against me, already looking to move this forward. “I want all the fucks.” “Good. Then we’re on the same page. Take off your bra.

I’m standing in front of Enrique’s Auto Body, doing deep-breathing exercises to keep from being nervous. Enrique’s Camry is nowhere in sight, so I know Alex is alone. I’m going to seduce Alex. If what I’m wearing doesn’t capture his attention, nothing will. I’m giving this my all…bringing out all the artillery. I rap on the door, then close my eyes tight and pray this goes as planned. I open my long, silver satin jacket and the cool night air rushes onto my exposed skin. When the creak of the door alerts me to Alex’s presence, I slowly open my eyes. But it’s not Alex’s black eyes staring at my scantily clad body. It’s Enrique--who’s staring at my pink lace bra and pom-pom skirt as if he’s won the lottery. Ripped with embarrassment, I wrap my coat around myself. If I could wrap it around twice, I would. “Uh, Alex,” Enrique laughs. “There’s a trick-or-treater here to see you.” My face is probably beet red, but I’m determined to see this through. I’m here to show Alex I’m not going to desert him. “Who is it?” comes Alex’s voice from somewhere inside the garage. “I was just leavin’,” Enrique says, slipping past me. “Tell Alex to lock up. Adiós.” Enrique walks across the darkened street, humming to himself. “Yo, Enrique. ¿Quién está ahi?” Alex’s voice fades when he reaches the front of the shop. He looks at me with contemp. “Need directions or your car fixed.” “None of the above,” I say. “Trick-or-treatin’ on my side of town?” “No.” “It’s over, mujer. ¿Me oyes? Why do you keep droppin’ into my life and fuckin’ with my head? Besides, aren’t you supposed to be at the Halloween dance with some college guy?” “I blew him off. Can we talk?” “Listen, I’ve got a shitload of work that still needs to get done. What did you come here for? And where’s Enrique?” “He, uh, left,” I say nervously. “I think I scared him away.” “You? I don’t think so.” “I showed him what I was wearing under my coat.” Alex’s eyebrows shoot up.

Miss Rudy, the former Harmony librarian, had single-handedly held off a siege of the town council bent on cutting her funds. She had locked the library doors and hid the only key in her bra, living on water from the toilet tank after the town had shut off water to the building to drive her out. She ate paste to keep up her strength. Oh, they had underestimated her. On the fourth day, the men of the council had capitulated, apologizing for cutting the funds, begging her to open the doors and come out. But she had stayed in the library an extra day, just to show them one could live on books, then marched out at noon on the fifth day, her head held high, and three pounds heavier. She had gained weight! When word got out, her picture made the cover of American Libraries magazine. Admiring letters poured in from librarians around the world – beaten down, beleaguered librarians who had drawn strength from her bravery. She answered each one in flowing, Palmer-method, handwritten script.

I shifted one strap over my shoulder, then the other. I circled my head around and swiveled my hips, creating a sort of hula hoop helix, a study in the curves of a woman's body. He reached for me, but I stepped back, just beyond his reach. "Not yet..." "Argh," he said, but he said it with a smile. "Yes, mademoiselle." I turned around and grazed the tops of his knees with my butt, then spread my legs and bent over, because I knew the dress would ride up. I'd known this Hervé Léger was good for dancing, but I hadn't known until then that it was made for holding men entranced. I stood up while his hand moved up and down my inner thigh, and then his other hand joined in. He unzipped the back of the dress and it fell to the ground with an unsexy sandbag-like thud. I had never stood in front of a man in just a bra, panties, and heels. My first instinct was to be embarrassed, to want to cover up or turn down the lights, to jump on him so he wouldn't have such a complete view of every inch of me. Yet his gaze only grew in intensity. But then Pascal pulled me at the knees so I buckled and tripped on the way to his lap. He flicked my bra open and off so my arms flew wildly in front of me. Then, in a rather impressive move, he slid my panties off and circled me around me so I was the one sitting and he stood over me. All of a sudden, he had the control. "Hey," I said. A quiver came into my voice now that he was on top and I didn't know what to do. Pascal unbuttoned his shirt and unbuckled his belt. I got the picture and began to kick off my shoes, but he stopped me. "Leave them on," he said. "You look so fucking sexy in those heels." I blushed, but now wasn't the time to be sheepish. He leaned over me. I squeezed his waist with my legs and held his neck in the crook of my elbows so I could keep his face to mine. We rocked together forcefully but in sync. He swiftly slid off his boxer briefs and put my hand on him. He was even harder than before, harder than I had ever felt with Elliott. Pascal was roaring in triumph as he sat over me, himself in hand.

Things I worried about on the bus: a snapshot of an anxious brain . . . Is that car slowing down? Is someone going to get out and kidnap me? It is slowing down. What if someone asks for directions? What if—Oh. They’re just dropping someone off. The bus is late. What if it doesn’t arrive? What if I’m late getting to school? Did I turn my straighteners off ? What if the bus isn’t running today and no one told me? Where’s the—oh. There’s the bus. Oh crap is that Rowan from Biology? What if he sees me? What if he wants to chat? Hide. Okay, he hasn’t seen me. He hasn’t seen me. What if he did see me and now he thinks I’m weird for not saying hi? Did I remember to clean out Rita’s bowl properly? What if she gets sick? One day Rita will die. One day I’ll die. One day everyone will die. What if I die today and everyone sees that my bra has a hole in it? What if the bus crashes? Where are the exits? Why is there an exit on the ceiling? What if that headache Dad has is a brain tumor? Would I live with Mum all the time if Dad died? Why am I thinking about my living arrangements instead of how horrible it would be if Dad died? What’s wrong with me? What if Rhys doesn’t like me? What if he does? What if we get together and we split up? What if we get together and don’t split up and then we’re together forever until we die? One day I’ll die. Did I remember to turn my straighteners off ? Yes. Yes. Did I? Okay my stop’s coming up. I need to get off in about two minutes. Should I get up now? Will the guy next to me get that I have to get off or will I have to ask him to move? But what if he’s getting off too and I look like a twat? What if worrying kills brain cells? What if I never get to go to university? What if I do and it’s awful? Should I say thank you to the driver on the way off ? Okay, get up, move toward the front of the bus. Go, step. Don’t trip over that old man’s stick. Watch out for the stick. Watch out for the—shit. Did anyone notice that? No, no one’s looking at me. But what if they are? Okay, doors are opening, GO! I didn’t say thank you to the driver. What if he’s having a bad day and that would have made it better? Am I a bad person?

She kissed his lips and felt his smile form. Alone in this beautiful space, Blake and Livia made things right. Blake kissed her slowly and patiently, like he had all the time in the world. Carefully, they eased back to lie down, and Blake braced himself above her. He smelled of mint and fresh soap. Livia put her hands on his chest and felt the densely packed muscles there. Empowered by his adoration, she shrugged off her fleece shirt, enjoying the feeling of being trapped between his arms. Blake’s eyes became stormy seas. “Damn it all to hell,” he cursed. Despite his words, Livia believed she was winning this battle of seduction. Blake kissed her mouth and sucked on her bottom lip. He moved to her earlobe and breathed, “First, I will blow, then I will lick, last I will bite.” Holy crap. Blake blew a gentle stream of minty breath along the outside of Livia’s ear, down to her neck, and along the edge of her breasts where they peeked out of her bright blue bra. Blake took his time creating an elaborate pattern on her stomach, and Livia was pretty sure he’d spelled the word torture. He increased the pressure of his breath as he grazed below her belly button to the top of her jeans. He skipped back to her mouth and gave her another long, slow kiss. “And now I lick,” he murmured. Livia bit back the embarrassingly loud moan she felt building. He gently traced the same trail his breath had left, this time with his tongue. When he reached her breast, she lost control and grabbed his hair, intent on kissing him. “No. No.” Blake held her wrists above her head. “I’ve done this to you so many times in my mind. I won’t have you rush me.” Livia groaned and arched her back in an effort to change his mind. But his slow, sexy smile told her he was doing it his way. “Fine.” Livia dutifully kept her hands above her head as he picked up where he’d left off. His tongue had her making noises that surely scared the wildlife. He spent an inordinate amount of time licking just above her belt buckle. Then again he was back to her mouth. He spoke through his kiss. “I’m going to bite you now.” Blake began down the same flaming path on Livia’s body with his teeth, nibbling in time with her heartbeat. When it speeded up, he bit slightly harder. After what seemed to be sixteen million glorious years, Blake was at the top of her jeans again. A light, almost invisible, mist from the gray clouds now gave the clearing a slick sheen. The cool rain and his hot mouth were ecstasy. Blake unbuckled her belt and used his tongue and teeth to unbutton her jeans. He chuckled as he flipped her zipper with his teeth. Each pop of the releasing zipper filled the woods as he blew again on the newly revealed skin. Livia knew what to expect this time: blow, lick, bite. Oh, sweet God! This is heaven. At last, Livia could no longer obey and reached her hands down to his angelic face. Blake glanced up as if to rebuke her, but quickly smiled and let her sit up to meet his lips. Love. Crazy, soon, ever. Love, Livia’s mind raged. She tried to tell him with kisses, but it wasn’t enough. Blake knelt before her, and Livia straddled his thighs. She pulled back to try putting it into words and noticed how Blake glistened, covered in tiny raindrops. The clear, cool pond she’d described to Cole had just exploded over them. But instead of drowning, they wore it like a cloak.

So Dad was a tedious, well-connected workaholic. But the other thing you need to understand is that Mom was a living wet dream. A former Guess model and Miller Lite girl, she was tall, curvy and gorgeous. At thirty-eight, she had somehow managed to remain ageless and maintained her killer body. She’s five-foot-nine with never-ending legs, generous breasts and full hips that scoop dramatically into her slim waist. People who say Barbie’s proportions are unrealistic obviously never met my stepmother. Her face is pretty too, with long eyelashes, sculpted cheekbones and big, blue eyes that tease and smile at the same time. Her long brown hair rests on her shoulders in thick, tousled layers like in one of those Pantene Pro-V commercials. One memory seared in to my brain from my early teenage years is of Mom parading around the house one evening in nothing but her heels and underwear. I was sitting on the couch in the living room watching TV when a flurry of long limbs and blow-dried hair burst in front of the screen. “Teddy-bear. Do you know where Silvia left the dry cleaning? I’m running late for dinner with the Blackwells and I can’t find my red cocktail dress.” Mom stood before me in matching off-white, La Perla bra and panties and Manolo Blahnik stilettos. Some subtle gold hoop earrings hung from her ears and a tiny bit of mascara on her eye lashes highlighted her sparkling, blue eyes. Aside from the missing dress, she was otherwise ready to go. “I think she left them hanging on the chair next to the other sofa,” I said, trying my best not to gape at Mom’s perfect body. Mom trotted across the room, her heels tocking on the hard wood floor. I watched her slim, sexy back as she lifted the dry cleaning onto the sofa and then bent over to sort through the garments. My eyes followed her long mane of brown hair down to her heart-shaped ass. Her panties stretched tightly across each cheek as she bent further down. “Found it!” She cried, springing back upright, causing her 35Cs to bounce up and down from the sudden motion. They were thrusting proudly off her ribcage and bulging out over the fabric of the balconette bra like two titanic eggs. Her supple skin pushed out over the silk edges. And then she was gone as quickly as she had arrived, her long legs striding back down the hallway.

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.

Carolina walked over to the private deck and turned on the Jacuzzi, the bubbles starting to bounce in the water. Enrique followed her and brushed his hand through the water. "That looks nice, but I don't have a swimsuit." "Neither do I," she said with a smile. She held his gaze as her sundress fell to her toes. She was standing there in nothing but the new bra and panties and heels he'd purchased at the store. The yellow lace barely covered her nipples, and the thong accentuated her perfect ass. Enrique wanted to fuck her against the hot tub until she screamed his name. But again, he reminded himself that he needed to go slow. "You sure? I can run down to the gift shop and buy us swimsuits." She shook her head. "No, Enrique. I just don't want to hold back anymore, I want you." She unhooked her bra and took off her panties, revealing dark curls between her legs. The sight of this beautiful naked woman caused his cock to spring to attention. She carefully slipped out of her shoes, stepped into the tub, and sat down. He'd assumed she would be shy, but apparently that girl was gone. Well then! Enrique stripped down, his cock at full attention. Her mouth opened at the sight of his naked body. He grinned and then slipped into the bubbles and sat next to her. Enrique was about to kiss her when she straddled his thighs. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. She kissed him. "I'm sure." "Carolina... you're so beautiful." He kissed her neck, and she tossed back her hair. His cock was pressed up against her soft belly. He so desperately wanted to be inside of her. Her hands rubbed all over his body, and she hesitantly touched his throbbing cock underwater. Her delicate fingers felt incredible with the current from the jets. Her nipples were glistening from the water, and he sucked on one. She moaned as he touched her pussy, sliding a finger inside of her while thumbing her clit. God, she was tight. "Enrique. That feels so good." He smirked. "You haven't seen anything yet." He lifted her to sit on the edge of the tub, spreading her legs as he knelt on the seat inside. She shook her head and closed her legs. "Oh, I don't know if I'll like that." He laughed. "Yeah, you will." She bit her lower lip. "Do you like doing it?" "Babe, I've been dying to eat your pussy since I met you." Her jaw dropped and her cheeks seemed redder, but maybe that was from the heat of the spa. "Enrique! That mouth!" He grinned. "My dirty mouth speaks the truth. Now spread your legs and relax." She cautiously opened her legs.

After midnight, I’ve set the cookies on the cooling rack and put on my cat pajamas, and I’m climbing into bed to read when there’s a knock at my window. I think it’s Chris, and I go to the window to check and see if I’ve locked it, but it’s not--it’s Peter! I push the window up. “Oh my God, Peter! What are you doing here?” I whisper, my heart pounding. “My dad’s home!” Peter climbs in. He’s wearing a navy beanie on his head and a thermal with a puffy vest. Taking off the hat, he grins and says, “Shh. You’re gonna wake him up.” I run to my door and lock it. “Peter! You can’t be in here!” I am equal parts panicky and excited. I don’t know if a boy has ever been in my room before, not since Josh, and that was ages ago. He’s already taking off his shoes. “Just let me stay for a few minutes.” I cross my arms because I’m not wearing a bra and say, “If it’s only a few minutes, why are you taking off your shoes?” He dodges this question. Plopping down on my bed, he says, “Hey, why aren’t you wearing your Amish bikini? It’s so hot.” I move to slap him upside the head, and he grabs my waist and hugs me to him. He buries his head in my stomach like a little boy. His voice muffled, he says, “I’m sorry all this is happening because of me.” I touch the top of his head; his hair feels soft and silky against my fingers. “It’s okay, Peter. I know it’s not your fault.” I glance at my moonbeam alarm clock. “You can stay for fifteen minutes, but then you have to go.” Peter nods and releases me. I sink down on the bed next to him and put my head on his shoulder. I hope the minutes go slow. “How was the party?” “Boring without you.” “Liar.” He laughs an easy kind of laugh. “What did you bake tonight?” “How do you know I baked?” Peter breathes me in. “You smell like sugar and butter.” “Chai sugar cookies with eggnog icing.” “Can I take some with me?” I nod, and we lean our backs against the wall. He slides his arm around me, safe and secure. “Twelve minutes left,” I say into his shoulder, and I feel rather than see him smile. “Then let’s make it good.” We start to kiss, and I’ve definitely never kissed a boy in my bed before. This is brand-new. I doubt I’ll ever be able to think of my bed the same way again. Between kisses he says, “How much time do I have left?” I glance over at my clock. “Seven minutes.” Maybe I should tack on an extra five… “Can we lie down, then?” he suggests. I shove him in the shoulder. “Peter!” “I just want to hold you for a little bit! If I was going to try to do more, I’d need more than seven minutes, trust me.

Look, I’m sorry, Jemma. It took me forever to get there, what with all the flooding and everything. And then I was trying to clean stuff up and…well, I guess the time just got away from me.” I try to pull away, but he tightens his grip. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “Well, you did scare me.” I manage to pull one hand loose, and I use it to whack him in the chest. “Idiot!” “I’m fine, okay? I’m here.” “I wish you weren’t!” I yell, fired up now. “I wish you were lying in a ditch somewhere!” I stumble backward, my heel catching on the porch’s floorboards. “You don’t mean that,” Ryder says, sounding hurt. He’s right; I don’t. But I don’t care if I hurt his feelings. I’m too angry to care. Angry and relieved and pissed off and…and, God, I’m so glad he’s okay. I thump his chest one more time in frustration, and then somehow my lips are on his--hungry and demanding and punishing all at once. I hear him gasp in surprise. His mouth is hot, feverish even, as he kisses me back. The ground seems to tilt beneath my feet. I stagger back toward the door, dragging him with me without breaking the kiss. Ryder’s tongue slips between my lips, skimming over my teeth before plunging inside. And… Oh. My. God. No one’s ever kissed me like this. No one. His hands and his tongue and his scent and his body are pressed against mine…It’s making me light-headed, dizzy. Electricity seems to skitter across my skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. I cling to him, grabbing fistfuls of his T-shirt as he kisses me harder, deeper. I was meant to do this, I realize. I was made to kiss Ryder Marsden. Everything about it is right, like the last piece of a puzzle falling into place. Somehow, we manage to open the front door and stumble blindly inside, past the mudroom, where we shed our boots and jackets. We pause right there in the front hall, our hands seemingly everywhere at once. I tug at his T-shirt, wanting it off, wanting to feel his skin against my fingertips. His hands skim up my sides beneath my tank top, to the edges of my bra. Shivers rack my entire body, making my knees go weak. Thank God for the wall behind me, because that’s pretty much all that’s holding me up right now. With a groan, he abandons my mouth to trail his lips down my neck, to my shoulders, across my collarbone to the hollow between my breasts. I tangle my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, clutching him to me--thinking that I should make him stop, terrified that he will. This is insane. I’m insane. But you know what? That’s just fine with me. Because right now, “sane” seems way overrated.

Peter sits down on the floor and takes off his coat and spreads it out like a blanket. “You can sit here.” I sit down, and he pulls me toward him by my ankles, reeling me in carefully like a big fish that might jump off the line. When we’re knees to knees, he kisses me: soft-lipped, we have all the time in the world kisses. I’m shaking, but not from the cold. I feel jittery heart-palpitations kind of nerves. Peter bends his head and starts kissing my neck, making his way down to my collarbone. I’m so keyed up, it doesn’t even tickle the way it normally does when someone touches my neck. His mouth is warm, and it feels nice. I fall back against my hands, and he moves over me. Is this it? Is this when it’s supposed to happen? On the floor of Carolyn Pearce’s tree house? When his hand moves under my blouse, but still over my bra, a panicky thought leaps into my head, one I haven’t thought before--Genevieve’s boobs are definitely bigger than mine. Will he be disappointed? Suddenly I blurt out, “I’m not ready to have sex with you.” His head jerks up in alarm. “God, Lara Jean! You scared me.” “Sorry. I just wanted to make that clear, in case it wasn’t.” “It was clear.” Peter flashes a hurt look at me and sits up, his back ramrod straight. “I’m not some caveman. Damn!” “I know,” I say. I sit up and fix my necklace so the heart is in front. “Just…I hope you weren’t thinking that because you gave me this beautiful necklace, that…” I stop talking because he’s glaring at me.

Are his letters to Diana downstairs?" She sighed. "What is it about girls and letters? My husband left me messages in soap on the bathroom mirror. Utterly impermanent.Really wonderful-" She broke off and scowled. I would have thought she looked a little embarrassed, but I didn't think embarrassment was in her repertoire. "Anyway. Most of the correspondence between the Willings is in private collections. He had their letters with him in Paris when he died. In a noble but ultimately misguided act, his attorney sent them to his neice. Who put them all in a ghastly book that she illustrated. Her son sold them to finance the publication of six even more ghastly books of poetry. I trust there is a circle of hell for terrible poets who desecrate art." "I've seen the poetry books in the library," I told her. "The ones with Edward's paintings on the covers. I couldn't bring myself to read them." "Smart girl. I suppose worse things have been done, but not many.Of course, there was that god-awful children's television show that made one of his landscapes move.They put kangaroos in it. Kangaroos. In eastern Pennsylvania." "I've seen that,too," I admitted. I'd hated it. "Hated it.Not quite as much as the still life where Tastykakes replaced one orange with a cupcake, or the portrait of Diana dressed in a Playtex sports bra, but close." "Oh,God. I try to forget about the bra." Dr. Rothaus shuddered. "Well, I suppose they do far worse to the really famous painters.Poor van Gogh. All those hearing-aid ads." "Yeah." We shared a moment of quiet respect for van Gogh's ear.

Rowan coughed and spluttered on his gulp of beer. “I’ve never played with my pussy,” he said with an amused glint in his eye.” Her cheeks heated at his dirty language, but the tingles running under her skin made her aware of her reaction to being alone in the hotel room with Rowan, sitting on the big bed and playing silly games. “I’ve never touched a woman’s breasts beside my own.” “I’ve never given a blow job.” “I’ve never received a blow job,” she said, tilting the mini wine bottle to her mouth and realizing it was empty. “I’ve never played I never with a woman I love before,” he said, setting his beer can on the nightstand with a clink. “I’ve never kissed a man in a hotel room before.” She pressed forward onto her hands and knees to reach and kiss him. Their lips lingered for a long moment before she leaned back and waited for his next I never. “I’ve never removed a woman’s shirt in a hotel room.” Now it was his turn to lean forward and tug her sweater up over her head. She thought long and hard about her next words, knowing he would act on whatever she said. “I’ve never ordered a man to take off his shirt in a hotel room,” she said finally and watched happily as he removed his long sleeve navy cotton T–shirt. She’d never tire of seeing his smooth skin over hard pectorals. A narrow line of hair trailed down the center of his belly disappearing into jeans. She’d licked her way along that line yesterday and licked her lips now in anticipation of tasting him again. “I’ve never kissed a woman’s nipples in a hotel room,” he said. In a flash, her bra was flying through the air to land in a pile on the carpet in front of the window, and Rowan’s mouth was on her breasts. Sensation spiraled through her as she shuddered and her arousal built. She’d been on edge since their heated kisses in the car in the parking lot, and it didn’t take much for Rowan’s tongue to turn her into a shuddering, needy wanton. “I think this game has turned from I Never into Truth or Dare,” she said, clasping Rowan’s head to her chest. He pulled away from his decadent kisses to look her in the face. “Let’s do it. Dare me, Jill.” The look in his eye told her she might’ve taken on more than she could handle. Though she’d been an active participant in their lovemaking up to now, Rowan had taken the lead and guided her. She had the power here. The question was what to do with it. “I dare you to”—she licked her lips thoughtfully—“I dare you to get naked and lie on your back. Eyes closed,” she added. When all was as she wanted, she leaned over him and planted a kiss on his lips. Then she kissed her way down his body, stopping at all the best spots. His chin, where his unshaven beard scratched at her skin. His pectorals, one nipple, then another. His belly button. “You’re ticklish,” she observed. “Yeah.” Then she made her way lower to his erection, lying over his belly pointing at the chin. She freaking loved his body and how it reacted to her every touch. Being alone with him in the hotel room was even better. Here there were no echoes of footsteps in the hallway, no clock ticking signaling the end of their hour together, no narrow bed forcing them to get creative in their positions. They had a king–size bed and a whole night to explore. Kneeling at the side, she took him in her mouth, eliciting a moan. His musky taste filled her mouth, and she lovingly used her tongue to drive him wild. His hand found the crease of her jeans between her legs and explored her while she used her mouth on him. She parted her legs, giving him better access, and it was all she could do to concentrate on giving him pleasure when he was making her feel so good. She wanted to straddle him so bad. The temptation to stop the foreplay and ride this thing to completion was great, but she held off. “Are you ready for me?” Rowan asked. “You want my cock in you?” His eyes remained closed, and a smile lingered on his face.

I pull the fire escape door open, scoop my eyeshadow palette off the ground and slip back inside. For a moment, I pause in the corridor and catch my breath. Adrenaline is surging through me. Rage. A normal woman would call the police at this point. But a normal woman would never have been paranoid enough in the first place to pretend to go to the toilet, only to sneak out of the fire escape and spy through a window to watch what her date does when he has five minutes alone with her drink. Nope. A normal woman would have gone to the loo, done a pee and topped up her lipstick. Or she’d have texted a friend about her hot date, feeling giddy with hope and excitement. Now, let’s think about what would have happened to a normal woman. A normal woman would have headed back to her date, smiling prettily, before sitting down and drinking her drugged drink. Then, a short while later, that normal woman would have started feeling far more drunk than she normally does after just a couple of drinks, but she’d probably blame herself. She’d wonder if maybe she’d drunk too much. Or maybe she’d blame herself for having not eaten earlier in the day because she didn’t want to look fat in her dress. Or maybe she’d blame herself because that’s just what she does; she blames herself. And then, just as she started to feel woozy and a bit confused, her date would take her outside for some fresh air and she’d be grateful to him. She’d think he was caring and responsible, when really, he was just whisking her out of sight, before she started to look less like she was drunk and more like she’d been drugged. And then the next thing she’d know, she’d be staggering into the back of a cab and her date would be asking her to tell the driver where she lived. And when she’d barely be able to get the words out and her date made a joke to the driver about how drunk she was, she’d feel small and embarrassed. And then she’d find herself slumping into her date’s open arms, flopping against his big manly body, and she’d feel grateful once more that this man was taking care of her and getting her home safe. And then, once the taxi slowed down and she blinked her eyes open and found they’d pulled up outside her flat, she’d notice in a fleeting moment of clarity that when the driver asked for the fare, her date thrust two crisp ten-pound notes towards him in a weirdly premeditated move, as though he’d known this moment was going to happen all along. As though he’d had the cash lined up, the plan set, and she’d feel something. Something. But then she’d be staggering out of the taxi, even sloppier than when she got in, and her legs would be buckling, and she’d cling to her date for support, her make-up now smudged, her eyes half-closed, her hair messy. She’d look a state and he’d ask her which flat was hers, and she’d walk with him to her front door, to the flat where she lives alone. To the place that’s full of books and cute knick-knacks from charity shops and colourful but inexpensive clothes. She’d unlock her front door, her hand sliding drunkenly over the lock, and she’d lead him into the place she’s been using as a base to try to get ahead in life, and then he’d look around, keen-eyed, until he spotted her bedroom and he’d draw her in. And then all of a sudden he’d be in her bedroom and she wouldn’t be able to remember if she’d asked him back or not or quite how this happened, and it would all be moving so fast and her thoughts would be unable to keep up – they’d keep sliding away – and he’d be kissing her and she’d be unsure what was happening as he pulled off her dress and she’d wonder, did she ask for this? Does she want this? Has she been a ‘slut’ again? But the thoughts would be weak, they’d keep falling away and he’d be confident and he’d be certain and he’d be good-looking and he’d be pulling off her bra and taking off her knickers. He’d be pushing himself inside her. The next day, he’d be gone by the time she woke up. She’d be blocked, unmatched...

Wrath…” “What,” he murmured against her, working her with his nose. “You don’t like?” “Shut up and get back to doing—” His tongue slipping under the panties cut her off…and made him have to slow himself down. She was so slick and wet and soft and willing, it was all he could do to keep himself from hauling her on the rug and going at her deep and hard. And then they’d both miss out on the fun of anticipation. Moving the cotton aside with his hand, he kissed her pink flesh, then delved in. She was oh, so ready for him, and he knew it because of the honey that he swallowed as he dragged upward in a long, slow lick. But it wasn’t enough, and holding the panties to the side was distracting. With his fang, he punctured them, then split them apart right up the middle, leaving the two halves to hang off her hips. His palms went up to her ass and squeezed hard as he quit fooling around and got busy working out his female with his mouth. He knew exactly what she liked best, the sucking and the licking and the going in with his tongue. Closing his eyes, he took it all in, the scent and the taste and the feel of her shuddering against him as she peaked and came apart. Behind the fly of his leathers, his cock was screaming for attention, the rasp of the buttons not nearly sufficient to satisfy what it was demanding, but tough shit. His erection was going to have to chill for a while, because this was too sweet to stop anytime soon. When Beth’s knees wobbled, he took her down to the floor and stretched one of her legs up, keeping to his pace while shoving her fleece to her neck and putting his hand under her bra. As she orgasmed again, she grabbed onto one of the desk legs, pulling hard and bracing her free foot into the rug. His pursuit pushed them both farther and farther beneath where he discharged his kingly duties until he had to crouch down to fit his shoulders. Eventually her head was out the other side and she was gripping the pansy-ass chair he sat in and dragging it with her. As she cried out his name once more, he prowled up her body and glared at the stupid, nancy chair. “I need something heavier to sit in.” Last coherent thing he said. His body found the entrance to hers with an ease that spoke of all the practice they’d had and…Oh, yeah, still as good as the first time. Wrapping his arms around her, he rode her hard, and she was right there with him as the storm rolling through his body gathered in his balls until they stung. Together, he and his shellan moved as one, giving, receiving, going faster and faster until he came and kept going and came again and kept going until something hit his face. In full animal mode, he growled and swiped at it with his fangs. It was the drapes. He’d managed to fuck them out from under the desk, past the chair, and over to the wall. Beth burst out laughing and so did he, and then they were cradling each other.

The phone was snatched from her grasp. She let out a screech, her fingers clasping at air. “Hey! Give that back.” Gracie slipped it down the V of her tank and into her ample cleavage. “Come and get it.” Billy plopped down on a vacant stool, eyes bugging out of his head. Maddie stared at Gracie’s chest and contemplated. She could stick her hand down a woman’s top. It was no big deal—just skin, for God’s sake. She jumped off the stool and straightened to her full five-foot-three inches. “What is wrong with calling him?” “It’s a girlfriend’s responsibility to stop her friend from the dreaded drunk dial.” Maddie scowled. She was not drunk dialing! “Telling him where I am isn’t a crime.” Gracie planted her hands on her hips. “Sorry, honey. I’m doing this for your own good.” “You don’t understand.” Maddie picked up her drink and took a slow sip. Her gaze was fixed on the stretch of fabric across Gracie’s ample chest. She wanted that phone, and with way too many margaritas in her system, she wasn’t above groping another woman to get it. “I’m getting that phone.” Billy’s mouth dropped open, and Maddie was surprised no drool hung down his chin like a rabid dog’s. “You’ll thank me later.” Gracie didn’t appear the least bit threatened. If anything, she thrust her breasts out farther, as though daring Maddie to come and get it. “Give it to me!” Maddie stomped her foot. “Like I said, come and get it.” Gracie batted her thick lashes, cornflower-blue eyes sparkling. She tucked her hand into her top and shoved it lower into her bra. “All right, but remember, I know how to fight.” Gracie laughed and Billy whooped like he’d hit the jackpot. Maddie charged. Gracie’s eyes widened in surprise, and she let out a holler, crossing her arms over her chest for protection. Maddie refused to be thwarted. She squeezed her lids together so she wouldn’t have to look and flung her hands out, praying she’d get hold of something. When her palm brushed against soft, pillowy cotton, she squealed. Pay dirt. “Maddie!” Gracie grabbed her hand, twisting her body to block Maddie’s progress. “That’s my boob!” Maddie reached again and this time her hand curled around the cotton neckline. She pulled, squirming down the deep V of the top. Her fingers brushed the phone and a surge of adrenaline pounded through her. “Now, why doesn’t this surprise me?” Mitch’s voice made her knees go weak. Before she could swing around, she was hauled against his warm, strong body. She sagged in relief. He’d come for her after all. “You girls are giving everyone quite a show.” Charlie stood next to Mitch, looking lethal in all black. Maddie could picture him with an FBI armband over his bicep. Wait . . . was that the FBI? Or was it SWAT? “With all these disappointed faces, I’m sorry we broke them up.” Mitch’s tone rang with amusement, and Maddie realized it had been too long since she’d heard him sound like that. “I wanted to call you, but she wouldn’t let me.” Her pulse raced from her girl fight and the buzz of tequila. His palm spread wide over the expanse of her stomach, his thumb brushing the bottom of her breast. “Well, here I am.” “See!” Gracie pointed and shook her hips in a little booty dance. “I told you so!” Yes,

If she was wearing a bra it was a soft wisp of one, a silk rag encircling her ribs. Her nipples rained down in his mind in the form of hard glittering gems, diamonds and quartzes and those faceted clumps of rock crystal one grew in a jar on a string. Her breasts were ideally small, precisely the size of the cup of his hand. He weighed them and measured them, marveling, brushing them, with his palms or the tips of his fingers, the same way again and again. With his now-cast-off girlfriend from his previous school he’d evolved the Formula and had then become imprisoned by it: first Kissing with Tongue for the fixed interval, then Tits for the fixed interval, then Fingering Her for the fixed interval before, culminatingly, Fucking. Never a step neglected nor a change to the order. A sex recipe. Now with a shock he realized that it needn’t be thus.

The ocean breeze blew her flimsy gown against her body. Hip bones jutted out on either side of her concave stomach. I’d once seen a picture of sacred cows on the Ganges. Starving. “What’s with the outfit?” I asked. “No time to change,” she said. “Had to make a quick getaway.” She kicked the pumps off, pulled the dress over her head. There she stood in a lacy bra and butt-floss thong. Some yacht dads gazed our way. “Evie!” stage-whispered Jack to me. “She’s naked!” “Listen, kid,” said Alycia. “What was your name again?” “Jack?” said Jack. “Right, right. Well, Jack, I can show you naked if you want. But this isn’t it. See this piece of fabric? They call it underwear.” “But I can see your regina.” “Jack, it’s your lucky day.” She turned from us, splashed through the shallows, and dove. Graceful as a dolphin. The yacht dads rubbernecked. She front-crawled out past the breakers. “Why is my day lucky?” asked Jack. I tousled his hair.

What the hell is a ‘duffer’?” Rachel asks. “Someone who’s useless,” I say distractedly as the woman in front of me peels off her bra, exposing gloriously perky

I generally start the conversation immediately, that way the person wanting a book signed never has to say the things they’ve stood in line agonizing over, and that they will most likely regret later on. There are exceptions, though. I was in Baton Rouge in late May 2013, when a woman approached, saying, before I had a chance to throw her off balance, “You got me to put my bra back on.” I set down my pen. “I beg your pardon?

The door opened behind us and several of the cheerleaders shrieked as Darius strode in wearing his Pitball uniform, making a beeline for Tory. She was only in her skirt and sports bra, looking to him with her brows arching. “Flans on a Friday!” Geraldine exclaimed mid-lunge. “This is the ladies room and Jacinta has her Petunia out!” She pointed at Jacinta who was struggling to get her panties up her legs, getting entangled as she stared at Darius’s back in alarm. Darius rolled his eyes, ignoring the chaos around him as he fixed Tory in his sights while I fought a grin at the two of them. I couldn’t believe what Caleb had done for them and I was so happy that there was a way they could be together sometimes. Even if that did involve a threesome with two Heirs, at least she was enjoying herself. Get it, Tor. “Cheerleaders sometimes support a certain player on the field,” Darius said as he pushed his hand into his pocket and took out a navy ribbon with the word Fireshield on it. “Will you cheer for me today, Roxy?” He held it out for her and I swear she actually blushed. “I’m cheering for Darcy and Geraldine too.” “We don’t mind,” I said immediately. “Do we Geraldine?” “By all the rocks in Saturn’s rings, of course we don’t!” Tory shrugged in answer, a smile playing around her mouth and he leaned forward and wrapped the ribbon around her throat and tied it in place. “They’re normally worn on the wrist,” Geraldine whispered to me overly loudly. “This is most romantic.” “Good luck,” Tory said and he nodded before heading out of the room. I bit my lip, looking to her for a comment while Geraldine rested a foot up on the bench, pressing her elbow to her knee and perching her chin on her knuckles as she gazed wistfully at my sister. “What?” Tory asked innocently. “You know what,” I teased and she fought a grin, glancing over her shoulder as if checking to make sure he was really gone. Then she cast a silencing bubble around thethree of us and her expression became anxious. “It’s not that I don’t like the sweet side of Darius, but…” she started. “But what?” Geraldine gasped. “What is it?” I pressed gently when she didn’t elaborate. She sighed, looking a bit guilty. “I just miss our back and forth. This isn’t him. It’s just a nice version of him. I want the real Darius, not some watered down version. And I need to be sure the real Darius isn’t going to hurt me again. Like what happens when one day I piss him off and make him lose his temper again?” Geraldine’s jaw almost hit the floor, but before she could try and convince Tory otherwise, I spoke. Because I knew my sister, and I was starting to get a fairly good read on Darius too. And she had a point. He was on his best behaviour right now, but that couldn’t go on forever. If they were going to find some way to make this work, she needed to know what long-term Darius looked like. And besides that, she lived for being kept on her toes. (Darcy)

Do you want your bra off?” A smile spreads across my closed lips. “Well, if those aren’t the six sexiest words in the English language strung together.

I could feel the tension leaving her as she gave in, her kisses rich and consuming as I explored her mouth with mine. I moved my hand that final inch, my thumb dragging its way up the centre of her panties until I found her clit and pressed down, making her gasp in pleasure. I began circling my thumb against her through her panties and she arched her back, her thighs widening further to give me all the access I wanted to destroy her. I kissed harder as I began to unhook her shirt buttons with my free hand, wanting to see those fucking tits I'd been jerking off over in the flesh. Her hands continued to move across my bare skin as I kept working her clit and I gave up trying to take my time with her as she started panting with need. I shifted my hand, pushing her panties aside and growling with desire as I found her pussy soaked and ready for me and I immediately sank a finger deep inside her. Tory moaned, her voice rough and breathy and so fucking sexy that I had to fight the urge to drop my pants and drive my cock into her here and now so that I could hear what it sounded like when I really made her scream. But thanks to fucking Teddy, I knew I didn't have time to fuck her the way I ached to and I didn't want to rush through something I'd been daydreaming about for so long. So I was going to feel her coming for me like this, take control of her pleasure and leave her wanting more so that she was aching for me as much as possible the next time we found ourselves alone like this and I could really show her what I was made of. My other hand found her tit and I squeezed it through her bra, groaning at the fullness in my palm and breaking our kiss as I worked my way down her body to better service her hardened nipple. Tory leaned back, giving me a perfect fucking view of her with her shirt swinging wide and her skirt hitched up around her waist as I drove my finger in and out of her tight pussy. I yanked her bra down, my dick jerking at the sight of her pink nipple before my mouth descended on it and I sucked it between my lips, coupling the move with the addition of a second finger driving inside her. She moaned even louder, her pussy tightening like a vice around my fingers while I sucked on her nipple and felt her body surging towards its climax like I was playing the most exquisite instrument in the world. The moment I felt her coming for me, I reared up and kissed her hard, swallowing her cries of pleasure and tasting her lust as I dragged my tongue over hers. My dick was fucking aching and I growled with a desperate, needy plea of my flesh which I knew I didn't have time to answer as the heat of our kisses softened and I slowly drew my fingers back out of her, fixing her panties into place again. I broke off our kiss with a surge of effort, mentally planning to give Teddy the lesson from hell for forcing me to cut this shit short after I'd waited so long to claim it. Tory blinked up at me in surprise and I had to fight the urge to pout like a bitch as I read the desire in her body and knew she'd been hoping to come all over my cock again after that stunning first round. “I have a student coming in a minute to learn the art of Vampirism from an expert,” I explained, wishing I could just cancel the damn thing, but my mom had already been calling me out on not attending a bunch of these sessions and as our family name was linked to them, it was a bad look for me to miss any more of them. “So that was purely for my benefit?” Tory asked in surprise as she began to re-button her shirt. My jaw ticked with frustration, though I couldn't claim she was the only one of us who had gotten something out of that. “Oh no, I got plenty from that too,” I promised her, my gaze sweeping over her body appreciatively as I began to mentally plan all the things I wanted to do to every inch of her if I was lucky enough to get to do this with her again. (Caleb POV)

Stop doubting my amazing stripping skills, dude,” Roxy teased as she continued to struggle with her buttons. I was about to force my eyes away from her when she cursed and yanked on her shirt hard enough to rip every button off of it. Beneath it she was wearing a gold push up bra which accentuated her perfect tits and made her look like something out of a Dragon’s wet dream. She tossed her head back with laughter, taking a playful bow for her friends but her foot slipped and she tumbled off of the table instead. I took a few running steps towards her before I could stop myself but the guy had leapt up to catch her before she could hit the ground. “Tory?” he asked as she slumped against him, seeming to have fallen unconscious. “Oh, shit! Help me.” The girl Roxy had called Sofia scrambled to help him with her and they struggled to move her towards one of the cushioned chairs close to where they’d been sitting. I shook my head to clear it of the image of her in that gold bra and spun on my heel, striding towards the exit and quite possibly a cold shower. Just as I made it to the door, a loud scream halted me. I turned back to see Roxy’s friends backing away from her in a panic as a thick sheet of ice spread across the ground away from her, tinting everything in its path a frosty blue. “Wake up, Tory!” Sofia yelled desperately. “Maybe you should run for a teacher,” the boy said. “I’ll try to get through to her.” Sofia turned to run for the exit and her eyes widened in panic as she found me striding towards her instead. “What’s wrong with her?” I asked, my tone clipped. “She err...” Sofia hesitated, clearly not wanting to trust me with her friend’s condition while battling against the inclination to do whatever I told her. “She passed out and now she’s using magic in her sleep and we can’t get close to help her.” Roxy whimpered behind her and I stepped around Sofia to inspect the damage for myself. I’d dealt with this kind of thing with the other Heirs once or twice when our powers had first been Awakened. We were just so powerful that if we got too drunk, sometimes we’d lose control over our magic in our sleep and Roxy had seemed wasted to me. “It’s fine, we’ll look after her,” the boy said firmly but I ignored him as I walked closer to Roxy where she was slumped in the chair. Ice crunched loudly beneath my boots while the temperature around me plummeted and I hadn’t even gotten close to her yet. I drew on my fire magic, pushing it against the ice and melting some of it but Roxy’s power fought back as she whimpered again. “Roxy,” I growled as I made it to stand before her. The ice was still spreading and thickening. She was trembling in the chair and I noticed a few tears sailing down her cheeks. “Not again,” she breathed, her fists balling as she curled in on herself. “Roxy, wake up!” I snapped, moving forward to grab her arm and shake her. She didn’t wake but the ice around me thickened even more and her friends cried out as they were forced to back up again. My breath rose before me and I dropped the six pack beside her chair, crouching down before her so that I could shake her more firmly. She started coughing and water burst from her mouth like she’d been drowning. I pulled her forward, slapping her back to help her get it all up and the tremors rocking her body reverberated through mine as she pressed against my chest. More cold water flooded from her, drenching her as she cried out in panic and I pulled her against me more firmly. (Darius POV)

Sofia just stared at me and I shook my head, turning back towards my door as Roxy mumbled something against my chest. “Forget it,” I muttered, my gut twisting as I failed him again. “You know,” Sofia said softly behind me. “Everyone says Darius Acrux is heartless and cold blooded just like the Dragon he turns into. But you’re not, are you?” I gave her a flat look over my shoulder but she carried on anyway. “You actually give a shit about other people, don’t you? You want to protect them, look after them…” Her gaze fell on the unconscious girl in my arms like that was proof and I growled at her. “Is there a point to your inaccurate analysis?” Sofia had the nerve to roll her fucking eyes at me. “I’ll message you my number. You can tell Phillip to message me whenever he likes.” I raised an eyebrow at her in surprise and she threw a final look at Roxy in my arms before turning and heading away from us. I unlocked my door awkwardly while still holding her and headed inside, kicking it closed behind me as I dropped her bag and crossed the wide space towards the bed. Roxy’s head lolled back against my shoulder and her hair hung over my arm. She was still soaking wet and I hadn’t realised how much she’d been shivering as I’d walked here but now I could feel the tremors of her body where it was pressed to mine. I quickly used my water magic to pull every bit of moisture from her clothes and hair then pushed some warmth from my body into hers. She drifted near to consciousness as she stopped shivering and shifted in my arms, mumbling something incoherent as she pressed her cheek to my chest. My heart thumped a little harder than usual and I cleared my throat uncomfortably as I lowered her down onto the bed. Her brows pinched and she started mumbling something again as I released her. I pulled her shoes off and tossed them on the floor and she kicked out at me, forcing me to step back. “I can do it myself, Darcy,” she muttered, still slurring. “You shouldn’t have to look after me like this.” Before I could stop her, she lifted her hips up, pulled her skirt off and threw it at me. She still hadn’t opened her eyes and I didn’t think she was really awake at all. The gold panties she wore matched the bra which I could still see as her buttonless shirt had fallen open. I tried not to stare at her, I really tried but I couldn’t stop looking at her bronze skin, her narrow waist, the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell in time with her deep breaths... Fuck it’s like someone picked apart my deepest desires and brought every fantasy I’ve ever had to life. Why did it have to be her? Why did I have to lust after one of the only people in the whole of Solaria who I could never have? I knew I was going to have to marry a Dragon Shifter one day but that didn’t stop me from having other women. But this one would never be mine in any way. She hated me more viscerally than I thought anyone else ever had. And I couldn’t even blame her. I’d hate me too if I was her. What we’d done to her, what I’d done... it was necessary but I still didn’t like it. I was supposed to be working with the other heirs to get rid of them and instead here I was protecting her like I'd lost my fucking mind. (Darius POV)

I took a step away, pulling my sheets over her and intending to take a position in the armchair by the fire for the night but she caught my hand before I could leave. I looked at her in surprise and found her eyes open, her gaze locked on mine. “Don’t go,” she breathed, her grip tightening. “I don’t think you really-” “Please don’t leave me alone,” she begged and the vulnerability in her voice broke down any further protests I’d been going to make. She sat up a little and tugged on my arm, trying to pull me down into the bed with her. And I couldn’t really deny the fact that I’d thought about getting her in my bed more than once before. Not that I’d lay a finger on her in her current state but even seeing her here, surrounded by gold and half undressed was sending zips of turbulent energy right through me. She pulled on my hand again and I gave up trying to talk myself out of it as I kicked my shoes off and got in beside her. She smiled at me and it wasn’t sarcastic or taunting, the difference that made taking my breath away for a moment. I settled back against the pillows and she rolled against me, pressing her nearly naked body flush to mine. I could feel myself getting hard just from that small amount of contact. I tried to prise her away from me but she wriggled closer, pressing her full breasts against me and giving me a clear view of them trying to break free of the confines of her bra. “Fuck, Roxy, I cant sleep next to you while you’re dressed like that,” I said, rolling her away from me more forcefully. She blinked up at me in confusion for a moment before pushing herself upright and looking down at her undressed state. “Oh, sorry,” she mumbled before pulling off the unbuttoned shirt and throwing it to the floor. “Better?” My mouth dried up and a growl escaped me as the Dragon writhed beneath my skin. “You need to be putting more on, not taking things off,” I said tersely. She huffed like I was the one who was being ridiculous. “Give me your shirt then,” she demanded, reaching out to pull at my black t-shirt. “I don’t think it will help if I start taking off my clothes too,” I said, catching her wrist to stop her. “You’re so fucking bossy,” she muttered, a bit of her usual fire rising to the surface. “Just do as you’re told for once.” Before I could respond to that, she shoved my hand aside and moved to straddle me in one quick movement. I was so surprised that for a moment I couldn’t even react as she yanked on my shirt and pulled it over my head. My hands found her waist, my thumbs brushing against her hip bones as she looked down at me with her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders and that sexy as sin underwear begging me to touch it. She laughed as she waved the shirt at me triumphantly, doing a little victory dance which meant she was grinding right against my hard-on and sending my body haywire. Before I could say or do anything, she pulled the shirt over her head and covered herself with it. I was so much bigger than her that it fell right down to pool around her thighs, trapping my hands beneath the material where I still held her. Her gaze locked with mine and for a moment it was like none of the shit that had passed between us had ever happened and we were just us, alone...in my bed. (DariusPOV)

I pulled off my leggings and tank top before struggling to free my tits from the constraints of my sports bra. These things were a form of torture, but without it I’d probably get a black eye from my lady lumps.

I never turn down the opportunity to take off my bra, throw on my grubbiest sweats, and curl up on my couch with a good smut book or four hours straight of Netflix.

He undid his shirt and I stared at his tan chest, covered with a light dusting of golden hair. He reminded me of a lion, and I felt like a lioness, proud and ready. His belt was off so fast, it clunked when it hit the ground, and he stepped out of his jeans. I was almost blinded by my desire for him then. It was like the edges of my vision were blurred. I reached out to him, and he pulled me close, unhooking my bra and tossing it on the pile of tangled clothes on the grass, and then pressing me against him again. His chest was so warm against my skin that it only made me burn hotter.

It felt like we were on fire. Everything got so hot, it was almost too much to stand. Kissing him, having his body close. I thought of how you feel when you're eating a meal and don't realize how hungry you are till you're three bites in. You start eating faster, savoring every bite. Now I couldn't stop, so I took another kiss, then another. I let his tongue slip into my mouth, and I shivered again. He smiled at my reaction and went in for more. The way his hands started to move over my body gave me the impression he had been there before. I could have stopped, I knew I should have stopped, but all the drama and emotional pain I'd experienced over the last few days made me recklessly ignore that thought. I tore his shirt off. He gasped, which made me giggle. I covered my mouth, and he grabbed my hand and put it around his neck. He scooped me up and I tightened my thighs around his waist. He sat me down on the bar and peeled off my blouse. Any last ounce of Southern lady I had left in me exited the building. I unhooked my bra and threw it across the room. Screw it. If I was going to go ahead and make a mistake, I might as well take the fast lane. We watched it slingshot and land on a booth. "Is the door locked?" he asked, gasping for air. "Think so," I said, taking big gulping breaths. I was drowning and was totally fine with it. "Good," he said. He pulled me to the end of the bar and pulled my shoes off. I hopped off and helped him along by unbuttoning my jeans and wiggling out of them as sexily as I could. He did the same. "Man, you look good enough to eat," he said. "So do you. Take a bite," I said. We were standing about four feet apart and our clothes were all over the floor. I stood there almost naked and drank in the sight of him. He took a few slow steps toward me, like a lion about to jump on his prey, and dug in.

She pointed to a sundress with bright yellow lemons on it. "That's cute. I love lemons." Ay, Dios mio! Carolina cringed. She sounded like a fool. It was like Baby's "I carried a watermelon" line in Dirty Dancing. Why was she so awkward? "You'd look stunning in that." Enrique signaled to a woman who worked there. A saleswoman walked over to them from the back of the shop. She quickly and professionally assessed Carolina's body and then picked one of the bright dresses off the rack. "This should fit you. Shall I put it in a room for you, miss?" "Sure." Carolina followed her right to the dressing room. The dark hair on her arms stood at full attention and her heart raced. Nerves and anticipation swirled through her--- this whole day seemed like a fantasy, but it was tough for her to just live in the moment. She undressed and slipped the dress over her head. The soft fabric caressed her body, accentuating her curves. She stared at her figure in the mirror. She looked... sexy. Carolina had never seen herself as sensual, but in this dress, in the soft, warm glow of the dressing room lights, she was a knockout. The saleswoman had also placed some bright red pumps in the room. Carolina loved high heels and never had a problem walking in them, because she had spent so many years dancing with the Ballet Folklórico. Carolina's eyes practically bugged out of her head when she saw their bottoms, and she stroked the red soles--- they were Louboutins, an identifying detail she knew about from Blanca's endless fashion magazines. Blanca dreamed of owning a pair one day. She would be so jealous. Luckily, they were the same size, so Carolina would let Blanca borrow them. There was only one problem with Carolina's outfit--- her underwear didn't work with the dress. Her broad, wide bra elastics showed under the thin spaghetti straps, and her panties were too dark. She leaned out of the curtain. "Ma'am." The saleslady walked back over to her. "Can I get you something else?" "Yes. A bra and some panties." Carolina told the lady her sizes, and the lady went around the corner, returning later with an adorable matching yellow lace bra and thong. A thong. Her face crinkled. "Do you have anything with, uh, fuller coverage?" "Of course, dear. But not in the yellow. Do you want to match the bra?" Carolina did want to match the bra. It was such a cute set. She exhaled, stepping out of her comfort zone and into the lingerie. She again looked at herself in the mirror. She practically couldn't recognize herself--- a gorgeous young woman on a romantic day trip with a man whom she really liked.

I tugged my threadbare men's T-shirt off and wiggled my tits into a sports bra before throwing an oversized Vampire Diaries sweatshirt over the top. It’d been a joke gift from Seph a few years ago because it read Mystic Falls Timberwolves. But it was also super cozy, so I wore it way more than I should.

You’re rich, right?” My voice came out rough. “Yes.” “Couldn’t you spring for air-conditioning in the room?” “I didn’t expect to sit here for hours. But if you’re too hot, feel free to take the bra off.” I gave him the finger.

With a wicked smile, I stuff them inside my bra and take off with everything that matters to me and the one thing that matters most to him.

I reach behind her and feel around on her back until I find the clip and proceed to struggle with it. I can take on a vampire army but the moment I’m met with a bra, I’m confused and so far out of my comfort zone that I’m positive I’m making the situation worse. “Have you never taken a bra off before?” “No!

Placing the phone on the bottom bars, I slide the bra off. Disaster documentary-slash-soft porn. Should be a total hit with audiences.

Duchess stole a glance at her, bright lips and smoked eyes, hair curled. She wore a cream skirt, navy top cut low, and silk scarf. So much a woman Duchess felt even more a girl. “That’s a lot of tit for church.” “I take my bra off and they’d roll down the aisle.

I swear to God he fell in love with me when he saw me take my bra off without taking off my shirt. He looked at me like I was some kind of sexy witch.

One by one, Alex’s hand stealthily undid each button down Kaylee’s blouse. Lost in the kiss, Kaylee didn’t take heed until she felt Alex press her warm hand against her bare midriff. The hand explored her body, teasing her hips, softly dragging nails across her tummy, and finally cupping her breast through her bra. Kaylee let a soft moan slip into Alex’s mouth, which relentlessly pressed on. Kaylee’s blouse was pushed off her shoulder, along with the bra strap. Her bare breasts felt the cool air of exposure and responded to the gentle caress of Alex’s hand. With Alex squeezing, teasing, and pinching lightly, Kaylee arched into the ministrations. She realized she was almost bare from the waist up, exposing her feminine

Back in my room, I put Izzy down, pulled my dress over my head, and tossed it on the floor, lost in thought. "Marygene Brown," Mama scolded the second I closed the door. I screamed. Izzy was growling and running around Mama, barking. Alex bolted through the door, gun in hand, scanning the room for an intruder. "What is it?" I held my hand over my heart, a familiar response for me now, and scooped Izzy up. Mama was giving me a chastising glare, her arms folded across her chest. She didn't seem to like the idea of Alex sleeping in the house. She was such a hypocrite. That was when I recalled I was standing in nothing but my bra and panties. Alex devoured me with the intensity of his gape. I snatched the dress off the floor, using it to cover myself. "Um... I thought I saw a mouse. Sorry I alarmed you," I stammered. "Mouse, my derriere," Mama said. "That boy doesn't need to be in this house. You have a blind spot when it comes to him." She had never been fond of Alex. He was subpar in her eyes. He didn't own his own business, like Zach did, nor did he come from an aristocratic family. He was a common boy who grew into a common man, who earned a deputy's salary. Like Eddie. Alex had a lopsided grin. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were using that as an excuse to get me up here. A little jealous tonight, were we?" "You watch yourself, young man!" Mama scolded, her finger in his face. Not that he saw her. "Shh," I said to Mama. "What are you shushing me for? Any man would think the same," Alex said. "I thought I heard it," I held my hand to my ear, "the mouse, listen." He put his gun back into his holster. "Right. If you want me to stay," he waggled his eyebrows at me, "all you have to do is ask." "I mean it. You're about to get it, young man," Mama was waving her arms around like a lunatic, and I wasn't certain she could do no harm. She had slammed me to the floor the other night. "No. I swear it was a mouse." I shoved him out the door. "I'll be fine. Good night, Alex." "Good night, Marygene." He grinned again as I closed the door. "If you need me, just holler." He put extra emphasis on the word need.

Not really, but I never turn down the opportunity to take off my bra, throw on my grubbiest sweats, and curl up on my couch with a good smut book or four hours straight of Netflix.

Please don’t go…Daddy.” She unhooks her emerald green bra and lets it fall on top of the robe, showing off the roundest, bounciest little pair of tits I’ve ever seen in my life. “I’ll be a good girl, I promise.

His hand slid down the front of my shirt until he found my breast. I arched into his touch, and he squeezed--- gently at first, and then, when he saw what his touch was doing to me, with firmer pressure. My breasts were a respectable size, but I fit easily and entirely within his large palm. My nostrils flared, my breathing coming hot and quick as sensation coursed through me. "Frederick," I murmured, intending only to encourage him to keep going. The sound of his name must have done something to him because he growled his response. All his formidable powers of speech seemed to have fled as his free hand came down and cupped my other breast. He thumbed roughly at my nipples through my shirt and bra until they pebbled up into hard little sensitized buds against his palms, and then he kept going, and going, and going, until I was nothing but pure sensation. "Oh," I said, incapable of articulate speech. The soft velvet duvet underneath me served as delicious contrast to the sharp spikes of pleasure coursing through my bloodstream, the placid and even ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway a stark accompaniment to my uneven, rapid breaths. Frederick tore off my shirt and bra impatiently, tossing them to the floor like the hindrances they'd become. His low, desperate groan when he saw my bare chest ratcheted the coil of desire in the pit of my stomach to nearly unbearable heights.

Do whatever makes you more comfortable.” I mean, come on. Am I really going to talk her out of taking that bra and thong off? No. I never claimed to be a gentleman.

I look up to see him staring at me and I catch that look on his face, the look we are relentlessly told is reserved only for the rarified who have followed the proper regime. Applied the toners and moisturizers and serums in the correct order. Lifted the right amount of weights. Done cardio for the correct amount of time. Excluded the right amount of sugar or fats or meats. Followed each set of new rules as they appear. Restricted themselves. Contorted themselves. Done the work. Remained young. It is the look of a man gazing upon a naked female body they have been invited to partake in. A mix of lust, excitement, gratitude, and relief. He steps back for a moment, dropping my bra onto the couch and removing his shirt. He takes another long look at me. Ah the enjoyment of being enjoyed. “Amazing,” he says with a grin before coming closer. And I think, Yes. Yes. You are fortunate my clothes are off. It is amazing. Is there a name for the Male Gaze being subverted by actual male gazes?

I shove the T-shirt over her head and hope she’s not one of those girls who hates sleeping in her bra.

Showing some guy your boobs is never the way to go.” I knew the opposite to be true, that you could get almost anything you wanted if you were willing to take off your bra.

With a slow smile, she brought her gaze back to Kyle’s as she reached behind and unhooked her bra. “Need some help with that?” he asked. “I have had plenty of practice.” “Yeah, well, I could do with the extra practice. Takes way too long to get those things off.

barely covering the charcoal demi-bra, and revealing the river of cleavage that Mason wants to see. Next, off

Bra already forgotten, he was working on her pants, and he kissed every inch he bared, from her waist to her knees, then to her ankles, then her toes, one by one. he laid a path of kisses down on leg, then up the other, then he placed a long, lingering kiss at her center, through her panties, She was already wet for him. Not that he hurried. All the impatience he'd shown earlier seemed to have evaporated. Doris could have crocheted a pair of panties in the amount of time it took Hunter to remove Gabi's. She squirmed under him. "I thought they teach speed in the military." "When warranted. There are times that call for careful deliberation." "You're going to deliberate me to death," she warned, just as he finally parted her hot flesh, a move that immediately silenced her. But he didn't touch her further. He blew on her clit. She nearly jackkifed off the couch. He pushed her knees up until her heels touched her butt, then he pushed her knees out until she was spread wide open just inches from his face. And then he just looked. Good grief. What was there to look at? "Touch me!" she snapped when she couldn't stand the suspense any longer. "Touch me, you torturous bastard. That's an order." He laughed deeply and heartily. "And what are you going to do if I don't?" "I'll arrest you." "I think that's what they call an abuse of power." His eyes glinted darkly. "But the idea of handcuffs does have considerable merit.

I walked to the fridge and slipped the desserts and whipped cream inside, taking a deep breath. "What is that?" I asked, not able to place the smell that still somehow made my stomach growl. "Tacos?" I asked, brows drawn together. "Don't insult me," he said with a smile. "Not an insult. I like tacos." "Okay, next time. This time, we're having wet burritos." "What is a wet burrito?" I asked, propping myself up on the counter and watching as he scooped rice and then a supply of cooked veggies and beans onto the tortilla. "Depends on your taste. But in general, a tortilla filled with rice, veggies, meat, beans, and cheese. Then you roll it up, melt some more cheese on top then add some Pica de Gallo, salsa verde, rojo, or habanero- depending on what heat-level you can take." "That sounds too good to be true," I said, meaning it. "It is. And it goes great with the beer I have cooling in the fridge," he told me, rolling up one burrito and putting a mix of shredded cheeses on top before nuking it for a couple seconds and handing me the plate, gesturing toward the supply of salsas. He wasn't trying to sweep me off my feet with some three-course meal, but he cooked me something that made that frappe foodgasm moan sound tame when I had my first bite. "Oh my God." "I know," he agreed, smiling big at my enjoyment. And I realized with a sort of blinding clarity that I literally couldn't remember the last time I felt quite so content. It wasn't that kind of 'high' you get when something goes right or you achieve something after a long time trying; it was deeper. It was soul deep. I felt it into my marrow. "What's that look for?" he asked as he took my plate and put it beside his on the coffee table. Not sure how to explain it and thinking it was perhaps too soon to even if I could, I took a long swig of my beer and shrugged. "What look?" To that, his lips tipped up devilishly. "You really want to do this again?" "Do what?" I asked as he stood suddenly and walked toward the kitchen. He didn't answer me though as I heard some shuffling before he came walking back with the whipped cream. "Do the 'I am going to get what I want out of you by using sex to do it' thing," he explained as he slammed the can down on the coffee table and moved to stand between it and the couch, reaching down and pulling me onto my feet. "Brant..." I said as his fingers teased up under the material of my tee, running across my lower back and inching it off my skin. "Know what?" he asked as his fingers paused to unclasp my bra. "No, what?" I asked, feeling my chest get heavier as desire started to course through my system. "I'm still hungry," he told me, pulling my shirt until I had no choice but to raise up my hands as he pulled off both my shirt and my bra. "Brant, please..'' "Begging won't help you this time," he informed me as his hands whispered down my belly and unfastened my button and zip before yanking the thick material over my butt then down my thighs. I stepped out of the material as his hands pressed into my hips and pushed me back toward the couch. I had barely sat down before he was grabbing for the whipped cream and shaking the can, eyes devilish, smirk downright sinful. "Lay back," he commanded and I automatically moved to do just that. "Unless you want to end it without all the torture and tell me." Tell him what? I had no idea what I was even supposed to tell him anymore and, honestly, even if I did know what... I was pretty sure I wanted every second of a torment that involved him licking things off my body. I jumped slightly as he circled my nipple with the cold whipped cream, an unexpectedly erotic sensation. He covered both nipples and created a line down the center of my belly and completely covered the skin above my sex. I waited for him to move over me, to kiss me, then move down to my chest.

When I die, I'm going to slam into help, take off my bra, sit on Satan's lap, and say "Hi, Honey, I'm home.

He looked straight into my eyes with an intimacy you couldn’t fake. I felt so exposed, it was almost like he ripped off my top and bra and left me naked in front of the throng.

Matilde leads us into one of the apartment’s two bedrooms, obviously belonging to Bruno and Luca. Bunk beds are stacked in the corner and the walls are covered in soccer posters. “You can have the bottom bed, Pippa,” Chiara says. “You seem to have a problem with steps.” I snatch a pillow and whip it at her, but she ducks in time, the pillow knocking over a stack of sports magazines. “Girls same as boys.” Matilde laughs as she turns back to the living area. We pull fresh clothes out of our luggage and Chiara heads to the bathroom--the only one in the apartment--closing the door behind her and leaving me to change. I shed my shirt and freshen my deodorant, then fan my skin trying to cool off. I feel wet everywhere. I can still hear Chiara shuffling around in the bathroom, so I quickly change my shorts into ones that are more breathable, and then decide to sprinkle some baby powder down my bra. Just as a little cloud of powder hits my chest, a voice that is neither Chiara’s nor her aunt’s announces its presence in the now open doorway. “You are the American girl who is taking my bed.

And it’s not like I have to have a relationship with the man. A one-night fling would do. I could be a one-night fling kind of girl. Adam’s sexy smile and flirty touches scream one-night stand. Adam leads me to his car and opens the back door. “Yep, there he is.” “Who?” He turns and smiles down at me. “Hailey’s bear.” “Oh. Right.” I’m staring at his mouth, and finally, without overthinking it, I rise up on my tiptoes and press my mouth to his firmly, then pull away and gasp. “I’m so sorry.” “Sorry?” Adam stops my hand from tugging my shirt up over my shoulder and drags his fingertip down my skin, right next to my bra strap, and every nerve ending in my body stands up on high alert. “Sweetheart, if you’re going to kiss a man, you don’t apologize after the fact.” Before I can reply, he turns me so my back is against the car, his hands on my hips, and presses in, his face so close I can feel the heat coming off of him and smell the mint from his toothpaste. His nose nudges mine, and then his lips are working their magic. I grip his arms and revel at the hard muscles there, and everywhere, as he presses his firm body against me and devours me whole. He bites my lower lip, then moves in for more. His hands skim up my sides and cup my jaw as his tongue tangles with mine. He’s all lips and hands and hard body, and oh my God, I want him. Right here. Right now. But he suddenly stops, panting hard, his forehead leaning on mine. “Let me take you out,” he whispers. “Let me see you again.” I can’t speak, so I nod weakly, making him smile. Without looking down, I pull my card out of my back pocket and slip it into his, silently high-fiving myself for touching his very fine ass. “My number’s on that.” “Okay,” he says, still whispering. Even his whisper is sexy. I nod again, swallow hard, and when he pulls away, I clear my throat and begin walking away, toward my own car, acutely aware of his eyes on my ass as I leave. “Sarah?” “Yeah?” “You forgot something.” He’s holding the bear and sporting a very satisfied grin. “Right.

Mavis packs: many separate top and bottom options, including but not limited to multiple shorts and shirts, dresses short and long, skirts, running/exercise tanks and shorts, a special moisture-wicking-type bra, athletic socks, several sandals, a pair of gym shoes, at least one romper, an extra carburetor, a full silver service, a twin-size bed, several different types of Tylenol, and a cooler full of dry snacks and drinks and coffee. It never even occurred to me that I might do anything other than survive off of whatever I could find in a vending machine or from room service. She is a real-life adult. It’s impressive.

At the unexpected sight of Spence, Colbie startled hard. How was it that he was the one who needed glasses and yet she’d not seen him standing against the window? “No, I don’t kill a lot of people,” she said cautiously because she was wearing only a towelin front of a strange man. “But I’m happy to make an exception.” He laughed, a rough rumble that was more than a little contagious but she controlled herself because, hello, she was once again dripping wet before the man who seemed to make her knees forget to hold her up. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said and pushed off the wall to come close. She froze, but he held up his hands like, I come in peace, and crouched at her feet to scoop up the clothes she hadn’t realized she’d dropped. Leggings, a long forgiving tee, and the peach silk bra-and-panty set that hadn’t gotten so much as a blink from the TSA guy. But it got one out of Spence. He also swallowed hard as she snatched them back from him. “Hold on,” he said and caught her arm, pulling it toward him to look at her bleeding elbow. “Sit,” he said and gently pushed her down to a weight bench. He vanished into the bathroom and came back out with a first aid kit. It took him less than two minutes to clean and bandage the scrape. Then, easily balanced at her side on the balls of his feet, he did the same for both her knees, which she hadn’t noticed were also scraped up. “You must’ve hit the brick coping as you fell in the fountain,” he said and let his thumb slide over the skin just above one bandaged knee. She shivered, and not from the cold either. “Not going to kiss it better?” she heard herself ask before biting her tongue for running away with her good sense. She’d raised her younger twin brothers. Scrappy, roughhouse wild animals, the both of them, so there’d been plenty of injuries she’d kissed over the years. But no one had ever kissed hers. Not surprising, since most of her injuries tended to be on the inside, where they didn’t show. Still, she was horrified she’d said anything at all. “I didn’t mean—” She broke off, frozen like a deer in the headlights as Spence slowly lowered his head, brushing his lips over the Band-Aid on her elbow, then her knees. When he lifted his head, he pushed his glasses higher on his nose, those whiskey eyes warm and amused behind his lenses. “Better?” Shockingly better. Since she didn’t quite trust her voice at the moment, she gave a jerky nod and took her clothes back into the bathroom. She shut the door and then leaned against it, letting out a slow, deliberate breath. Holy cow, she was out of her league. He was somehow both cute and hot, and those glasses .

Abrams voice cut in over the comm. “My God, this place is breath-taking!” “It is a palace for the gods,” added Brock. The group stood gawking at the magnificence of the hall surrounding them. Delanda went to the table, placed her helmet and pack on it, and began pulling tablets, scanners, and other accessories out. She wrestled off her gloves, but had trouble with the suit torso so Wilson had to intervene and help. Without a thought to the revealing fit of the white stretch suit liner, she escaped the spacesuit bottom and placed it on the table. Then, with still no self-consciousness at all, she stripped the suit liner off down to athletic bra and slim panties and pulled her pink, rolled up vacuum-packed flight coveralls and cloth boots from the suit pack. After excitedly dressing, she hurriedly grabbed a scanner from her pack and began investigating the hall. Show over, one by one we all removed our suits and became visitors in white suit liners. Wilson gave his fatherly warning. “Everyone be very careful removing and folding those liners. If you tear or damage the thermal control system in any way you could have an unpleasant trip back to the ship. Also, be careful to tuck in your suit communicator since we’ll all be using wrist coms from now on. That is if they actually work here.” Delanda ignored his comments and headed for the far end of the hall. Wilson pulled on black coveralls, R.J.’s were farmhouse blue, Brock and Wen light green, Abrams in hospital scrubs green, and Sharma’s and Ansara’s in tan. Mine were captain’s blue. As we studied our celestial surroundings, Delanda returned and spoke in a commanding voice. “Gentlemen, if you would grab your tablets and gather around me here at this magnificent table we should get started.” For the first time there was a unanimous look of annoyance, although everyone quickly complied. R.J. and I stood opposite her feeling like two school kids being ushered around on a field trip. Delanda checked to be sure everyone was paying attention. “Okay, I’m assuming our intranet will work in here even though we’re out of contact with the ship. Let’s try it. All of you use your tablets to access mine and copy the file titled: Translations. Let me know if anyone has trouble.” Delanda’s tablet appeared on our screens. As she had guessed, there were no problems getting in. Once copied, I opened the file and found dozens of Altair symbols, some highlighted, most grayed-out. “Okay, everyone got in? Right? Okay, the symbols you see highlighted are the ones I believe I have a rudimentary translation for. Those that are in gray, your guess is as good as mine.” “How do you propose we proceed?” asked Brock. “Speaking as an experienced field researcher, I would suggest one of us photographs and documents this first chamber thoroughly while the rest of us split up and do the same with other chambers, periodically reporting back here after each excursion. We should have one central person remain here to monitor the progress of everyone in the event they get into trouble. I would think that would be you, Commander Mirtos, since you are the best at rescue. Does anyone have any objections?” R.J. leaned over. “I believe this is a non-hostile takeover. Are you going to step in?” “Not until she says something I disagree with.” Delanda continued. “So, if no one has any objections the first order of business will be to photograph every wall symbol we find along with any artifacts possibly associated

So why deny ourselves… pleasure?” he whispered. Christina’s internal temperature soared. Her fear of him and her lust for him were fighting each other in her body—and lust, wanting, desire were suddenly winning. His hot words and his magnetic presence were wrapping themselves around her like a boa and squeezing the breath out of her. She was beginning to breathe harder—and faster—and she saw his eyes rivet to her chest as he watched her breasts underneath her blouse rising and falling to the rhythm of her increased breathing rate. “I… I think… you should go,” her voice came out in a breathy whisper. His gaze quickly came up to rest on her beautifully flushed face. “Okay, if that’s what you want.” “It is,” she breathed a sigh of relief at having him finally agree. “I’ll go then, but first let me at least give you this? I bought it just for you.” He held the diamond necklace out to her again. “Please?” Christina had been prepared to tell him ‘no’, but the soft, gentle way he had said the word ‘please’ did her in. He sounded like a little boy who had spent all day at school drawing a picture for the girl he liked and then she had rejected him and his gift. Okay—so she’d let him give her the necklace and then he’d leave. What harm was there in that? Bill took a few steps forward and Christina remained rooted to the spot. Slowly, he continued to approach her—as if she were a skittish colt who would bolt if he made any sudden moves. He reached her then—and stopped a foot away. Leisurely, he lifted the necklace and unclasped its opening. His slow, deliberate movements were mesmerizing Christina. Whether it was her fatigue at being up all night or her strong physical attraction to him or her love for him she didn’t know, but she was falling under his spell. Christina let her hands drop from her blouse, causing it to fall open and revealing her lacy pink bra. She then lifted her hair up off her neck and turned her back to him. She didn’t see him bridge the last few inches between them but she felt him. She saw his powerful arms come around from behind her and felt the weight of the cold, heavy necklace as he placed it around her neck. He snapped the clasp and from behind, he lowered his lips to her ears. “You look beautiful, my little spitfire,” he whispered and his breath erotically fanned the delicate insides of her ear. Christina briefly closed her eyes as she felt an intense longing for him shoot through her body. God—she wanted him so badly—and her lack of sleep had removed all her inhibitions, excuses, defenses and rationale against making love to him. Why hadn’t she wanted to make love with him before? She

The bra market took off in 1917 when the U.S. War Industries Board called on women to make the switch from corsets in order to save metal. This freed some 28,000 tons of metal, or enough to build two battleships.

Leaning back until I was lying on the bed, I rolled us over and hovered over her body. She dragged her hands through my hair and giggled when I bent low and kissed her stomach over and over. “What does it feel like?” “Nothing,” she said on a laugh as her fingertips continued to trail across my head. “You haven’t really been sick, have you? I remember that day last week, but I can’t think of anything else.” I felt shitty for not noticing, if she had been. I should have picked up on this, shouldn’t I? “Not really. There’s been times here and there, but from the horror stories I’ve heard, I don’t have it bad at all.” I nodded and kissed her stomach again before reaching over to the nightstand. Grabbing the ultrasound picture, I laid it down on the bottom of her stomach and hopped off the bed, looking for my pants. After I found them, and took my phone out of the pocket, I walked back over to Rachel and opened up the camera app. “What are you doing?” “Letting everyone know about my present.” That soft smile was back, before her eyes went wide in horror. “No! I’m in my bra and underwear!” “Calm down, Sour Patch. I’m not about to let anyone see the rest of you. You’re mine, not theirs.” All that you could see in the picture was her torso and the ultrasound picture. As soon as she gave me the okay, I set up a text to go to Mason, Candice, Maddie, Eli, and all our parents. Above the picture I typed out: MY WEDDING PRESENT, and underneath, I did a twist on Rachel’s words from the envelope: BABY RYAN 1 AND BABY RYAN 2 WILL BE HERE IN MARCH. Once

I got you some stuff,” he said gruffly and set the food and drinks down at his feet before walking over to stand directly in front of me. I watched as he opened the first bag and began pulling out deodorant, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush and ponytail holders, girly shampoo, conditioner, a razor, and soap—since whatever I’d been using was definitely meant for men. The next bag opened and he pulled out large packs of men’s undershirts and boxer-briefs. I raised an eyebrow at first when he sat them down next to me, but I didn’t say anything. “There’s no way in hell I was going to be able to pick out a bra for you, and women have too many different kinds of underwear. This was easiest, but they might be too big on you.” I couldn’t even complain. My throat was closing up, my eyes were burning, and it was taking everything in me not to reach out and run my hands over it all. I hadn’t brushed my teeth since the night before I was taken, and I hadn’t put deodorant on or brushed my hair since the same time. Even though I was able to take showers every day, I had to put my old underwear, sleep shirt, and little shorts on once I was done; and it felt like I was never getting clean. If I could have clean clothes, even men’s clothes, I didn’t care. The last bag opened, and a shaky smile crossed my face for the first time since I’d had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting Taylor, as he pulled out different colored nail polishes. “I don’t know if you like these colors, but I watched you pick off what you had on your nails. So . . . here.” A package of pens followed, and the smile fell as confusion set in; but then he brought out a journal, and my stomach dropped. “I had to watch you for a long time, I don’t know what you wrote about, but I know you used to write every day. Anyway, that’s it,” he said and took a step away from the mattress. I picked up the journal and ran my hand over the front of it as tears fell down my cheeks. I knew sometime later I would be creeped out and put Taylor in the same zone Blake had been in, since Blake had people following me, and somehow had gotten cameras into our apartment. But right now, all I could think about was that I was going to be able to write to my parents again. It’d been over four and a half years since my parents died, and for four years I’d been writing in journals to them every day. Not being able to talk to them had been about as hard as not being with Kash. My

Do you ever think about makin’ love to me?” He slides off a sock before I even answer his question. “Yes,” she answers. “Do you think about making love with me?” I lie awake most nights, fantasizing about sleeping next to her…loving her. “Right now, muñeca, makin’ love to you is the only thing on my mind.” I check my watch. I’ve got to go soon. Drug dealers don’t give a shit about your personal life. I can’t be late, but I want Brittany so damn bad. “Your coat’s next. You sure you want to keep goin’?” I slip off my other sock. The only things preventing me from being naked are my jeans and briefs. “Yes, I want to keep going.” She smiles wide, her beautiful pink lips glistening in the light. “Turn off the lights before I…take my coat off.” I turn off the shop lights, watching as she stands on the blanket and unbuttons her coat with trembling fingers. I’m in a trance, especially when she looks at me with those clear eyes shining with desire. As she opens her coat slowly, my eyes are fixed on the present inside. She walks toward me, then trips on a discarded shoe. I catch her, then place her on the soft blanket and settle atop her. “Thanks for breaking my fall,” she says breathlessly. I brush a strand of hair from her face, then move beside her. When she wraps her arms around my neck, all I want to do is protect this girl for the rest of my life. I ease her jacket open and lean away. A pink lace bra stares back at me. Nothing else. “Como un ángel,” I whisper. “Is our game over?” she asks nervously. “It’s definitely over, querida. ’Cause what we’re gonna do next is no game.

thanks to Kayla. We walk around the mall with Julie in front of us. “So what was the deal with her?” I ask Kayla, bringing her hand to my lips and kissing it quickly. I can’t seem to keep my hands and lips off her. If we can’t be intimate in the way I want, I’ll take whatever I can get. “She’s just growing up. She wanted us to spend some girl time together today. She thinks she needs a training bra and wants to start wearing makeup.” Kayla giggles. “What?” I yell. Kayla nudges me and tells me to shut up. Julie turns around and eyes us suspiciously. She keeps walking when I fake a smile at her. “She’s frickin’ eight years old, Kayla!” “I know. I’m just going along with it to amuse her. Trust me, okay?” “Fine. But my eight-year-old sister better not end the day looking like a whore.” “Oh my God!” Kayla laughs out loud. “I can’t believe you just said ‘eight-year-old sister’ and ‘whore’ in the same sentence.” “Shut up! I’m not kidding.” We walk around for a bit longer before Julie decides to walk into a store. I don’t pay attention until we’re inside, and I’m surrounded by lingerie. “What the f—” A hand covers my mouth. “Shut up, Jake,” Kayla whispers fiercely. “Just play along, please.” “Fine, but I’ll wait outside.” They

On VIDEO: We zoom toward her as she takes off her bra clumsily. She’s obviously embarrassed, but she’s gone this far and there’s no turning back. She stands there with her breasts exposed, trying to look defiant, but she’s achingly vulnerable…

Once, ten years ago, at a Sunday-afternoon party in some apartment that she remembered now as being labyrinthine, although it probably had only four bedrooms, as opposed to the place she shared with her brother and her father that had two, Mike Shea had seized her by the wrist and pulled her into a dim room and plastered his mouth against hers before she could catch her breath. She had known him since high school, he was part of the crowd she went with then, and he had kissed her once or twice before—she remembered specifically the train station at Fishkill, on a snowy night when they were all coming back from a sledding party—but this was passionate and desperate, he was very drunk, and rough enough to make her push him off if he had not, in the first moment she had come up for air, gently taken off his glasses and placed them on a doilied dresser beside them, and then, in what seemed the same movement, reached behind her to lock the door. It was the odd, drunken gentleness of it, not to mention the snapping hint of danger from the lock, that changed her mind. And after two or three rebukes when he tried to get at the buttons that ran up the back of her dress, she thought, Why not, and although her acquiescence seemed to slow him down a bit, as if he was uncertain of the next step, she was enjoying herself enough by then to undo the last button without prompting and then to pull her bare shoulder and arm up out of the dress—first one then the other—and to pull dress and slip (she didn’t wear a bra, no need) down to her waist in a single gesture. And then—was it just the pleasure of the material against her bare flesh, his shirt front, her wool?—she slowly pushed dress and slip and garter belt and stockings down over her narrow hips until they fell to her feet. And then she stepped out of her shoes. (“Even the shoes?” the priest had whispered in the confessional the following Saturday, as if it was more than he could bear, or imagine—as if, she thought later, he was ready to send her to perdition or ask her for a date.)

She no longer cared about her virginity, or anything else. She wanted to live for once and for all, finally! She wanted this, wanted to feel and finally put an end to the ache she felt deep down. She felt Blake’s hands come around under her shirt, pulling it up and off, tossing it on the floor, his mouth was kissing her neck, biting her gently as Derek’s fingers rid her of her bra, unleashing her massive breasts in his mouth and hands. She felt a sense of embarrassment

Someone undressed me, took off my stinky vomitty dress and my underwear, and put a nightie on me while I was unconscious. Somehow, that realization is particularly hard to bear, the thought of my naked body flopping around, all my squishy bits on full display as someone--Catia? Kelly?--pulled off my bra and knickers. The humiliation just never stops.

Fennel Spell Hang fennel from doors and windows to ward off evil energy and entities. Fiery Wall of Protection Spells Fiery Wall of Protection is among the most famous classic condition formulas. Its name invokes the power of Archangel Michael’s protective flaming sword. The formula may be consecrated to the archangel. Fiery Wall’s basic ingredients include such powerful protective agents as salt, frankincense and myrrh. Its red color, the color of protection, derives from dragon’s blood powder. See the Formulary for specific instructions: the dried powder may be used as incense or magic powder. When the powder is added to oil, Fiery Wall of Protection Oil is created. Fiery Wall of Protection Spell (1) Candle Carve a red or white candle with your name, identifying information, hopes, and desires. Dress it with Fiery Wall of Protection Oil and burn. Consecrate the candle to the Archangel Michael if desired. Fiery Wall of Protection Spell (2) Extra-strength Mojo Place a handful of Fiery Wall of Protection Powder in a charm bag. Drizzle it with Fiery Wall of Protection Oil and Protection Oil. Add a medallion depicting Michael the Archangel and/or a tiny doll-sized sword: a fancy tooth pick works well. Carry it in your pocket. Replace the powder weekly, dressing with fresh oil. Cleanse, charge, and consecrate the charms as needed. Fiery Wall of Protection Spell (3) Incense Protect against a threatened curse by burning Fiery Wall of Protection Powder as incense. To intensify the protection, add powdered agrimony and/or vervain. Fiery Wall of Protection Spell (4) Powder Circle Cast a circle of Fiery Wall of Protection Powder around yourself, your home, or whatever needs protection. Envision a circle of enchanted flames magically surrounding and protecting you, something like the magic fire encircling The Ring of the Nibelung’s valkyrie swan-maiden Brunhilde: the flames are cool and won’t harm those whom they protect yet serve as a burning boundary preventing the entrance of all evil. Stay within the circle for as long as necessary. Carry the powder within a charm bag so that circles and boundary lines may be spontaneously cast as needed. Fiery Wall of Protection Spell (5) Quick Fix Soak a cotton ball in Fiery Wall of Protection Oil and carry it in your pocket or tucked into your bra.

Why is it called a Wonder Bra? A. When she takes it off, you wonder where her tits went.

Right so, I like girls. And I’ve liked ‘em all my life. I was a marine. I’ve shot a gun. I own five of them, guns that is. I watch the Nuggets, Avs, Broncos and Rockies. I’ve never in my life worn a skirt. I wear a sports bra because with these babies,” she circled her bosoms with a pointed finger before dropping her hand to the checkout desk, “I got no choice. God saw fit to grant me an A cup, no way. Since I’m a C, I’m fucked. I have never worn mascara. I do not own a blow dryer. And I get off on goin’ down on chicks. Now which one, you or me, has more in common with Chace Keaton?

I just want to hold you tonight. It’s not that I don’t want to tear your bra and panties off and dominate you with my manhood until you’re screaming my name … because I do.” He presses his erection into my backside to illustrate his point. “Goddammit, I do. But I just want tonight to be about us and this insane, unstoppable need I have to be near you. Around you. To be your friend. To make you smile. To make you laugh. To make you happy. To protect you. I want to learn everything about you, Scout. Your past. Your present. Your future. But there’s time for that tomorrow and the day after that. Tonight I just want to fall asleep with you. And tomorrow morning I want to wake up with you. I’m working on the whole living in the moment thing, and now … this moment, that’s all I want.

In her hurry, though, she’d forgotten to grab her pajamas, which was a dilemma. She could either go out and get them and return to the bathroom to change, or she could go out there and put them on. If Sean didn’t like it, he didn’t have to watch. After leaving the bathroom, she turned off the overhead light in the bedroom, but it didn’t do much good. The night was clear, the moon was bright, and she knew she was all too visible when she undid her jeans and shimmied them down over her hips. “What the hell are you doing?” “Changing into my pajamas.” “You always do that in the bathroom.” His voice was low and rough, but she noticed he didn’t look away. “I forgot them, and there’s no point in going back in there.” She kicked off the jeans and was going to pull on the shorts before changing shirts, but then she remembered his stupid answers to the stupid questions in that game and changed her mind. “The point is that you don’t do it in front of me.” “Oh, did you forget? Being watched turns me on.” And she pulled her T-shirt over her head. She had to bite down on a surprised yelp once she was free of it because suddenly Sean was standing in front of her, wearing nothing but blue boxer briefs and a scowl. “You said I had no imagination.” “And having no imagination is so much worse than your best friend’s family thinking you’re an exhibitionist.” “And we’re not ever going to talk about the other thing you said. Ever.” He was crowding her personal space, so she put her hands on his chest to push him back, but he caught her wrists. Standing there with her palms pressed against his naked skin, she could feel his heart beating at a quickened pace that matched her own and she knew she had two choices. Walk away or end up in bed with him. She leaned her body a little closer and splayed her fingers across his chest. “Which thing aren’t we talking about? The fast-food-joint bathroom or—” “Don’t push me too far, Emma. It’s been a long time for me.” “How long?” “Too damn long.” He lifted her hands from his chest, but didn’t let go of her wrists. “And I never even got to scope out the dating situation here before you showed up at my door with this half-assed scheme.” “And since we… You haven’t…” “The last thing I need is to get caught cheating on a woman I can’t tell anybody I’m not really in a relationship with.” His gaze dropped from her face to her lacy white bra and he sighed. “You’re killing me.” “Lying awake on the couch every night, wondering what it would be like to slide into bed with you has been killing me for two weeks.” “Yeah.” He let go of her wrists and slid his hands up the back of her neck and into her hair. “I’ve thought about that, too. A lot. Pretty much constantly, actually.

Sean walked over to her, so close she wondered if he was going to try to shake some sense into her. “Then there’s just one more thing to do.” “Oh, crap. What did I forget?” Considering how much time she’d spent going over everything in her mind instead of sleeping, she couldn’t imagine what it would be. When he rested his hand at her waist for a few seconds before sliding it around to the small of her back, she felt her muscles tense and her cheeks burn. “You can’t be doing that,” he said in the same low, husky kind of voice a man would use to tell a woman he wanted to take off her clothes. Her mind was frozen, all of her attention on that warm pressure against her T-shirt, and it took a few seconds to form a coherent sentence. “Doing what?” “You’re as jumpy as a virgin at a frat party.” He ran his fingers up over her spine until he reached the small bump of her bra strap, and then back down to her waist. “We’ve been dating a year and a half, and living together for a year of it, but you still blush and tense up when I touch you?” He had a point, but there was no way to fix that before Gram got off her plane. “Maybe you’re just that good.” It was the worst thing to say if she was trying to back him off and settle her overheating nerves. The grin he gave her would have been potent enough to get her out of her clothes if the situation was different. “That’s a story I can get behind,” he said. “Thought we were trying to keep the lies to a minimum.” The grin only widened. “Who says it’s a lie?

As he said it, the girl’s door opened and Larkin stepped out. She was puffy with sleep, and still wore only the bra and the tiny green thong. She didn’t look so wild. Pike touched his lips with a finger. Shh. Larkin blinked sleepily at him, then went into the bathroom. Bud said, “You’re killing me, Joe. Jesus, where are you?” “We’re good. Why is everyone so upset?” Pike, having fun. “You dropped off the world, is why! You’re supposed to take care of her, yes, but you can’t just disappear. The feds, they’re—” Pike interrupted. “How many people know I have her?” “What are you asking? What are you saying, asking that?” “You, your boys in their nice silk suits, the feds, her family? Someone hit my home this morning, Bud, so your leak is still leaking. Trust is in short supply.

A young guy is playing golf when a golf ball hits him in the groin and he passes out. His friends take him to the doctor. When he regains consciousness, he asks, “Well, doc, what do you think?” “We’re going to have to put in a support for about a week.” He then takes four tongue depressors, positions them around the man’s penis, and ties the whole bundle together with string. The man is devastated. “But tomorrow is my wedding!” he tells the doctor. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to cope.” The next night, the man and his new bride are in bed. She takes off her bra and caresses her breasts. “No one has ever seen these before,” she says, seductively. At which point the man drops his pants and says, “Well, mine’s still in the crate!

She peered down and rotated her hips, trying to look behind her. “What about me? Is it the shorts? Did I not trim enough off? I skipped the underwear so I wouldn’t have any lines. It’s the bra, isn’t it? I went for support so I wouldn’t jiggle when I ran, but you’re right. It’s got to go.” And it did. A shimmy, a wink and a wiggle later, a black lace confection went whipping towards his face. He caught it, stunned. “You’re completely and utterly psycho.

Before he knew his own mind, he ripped her shirt open and upclasped her bra, growling as those rosy-peaked, bad-girl tits popped free. “I’m going to suck them. Need to suck them.” He bent his head and dragged her right nipple into his mouth, drawing on it with a loud moan. “Move around on my dick while I suck you, Kenna. I’m so hard. You make me so hard to be inside you. How is that possible when I don’t even know what it feels like?

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.

Suddenly energized, she jumped to her feet and bounced up and down on the couch. Clean clothes went flying off the pile. Maybe she should feel bad because she'd just seen what a huge flaw she'd uncovered in herself. But she didn't. She felt free and alive. Up to now, she hadn't really been living. Not fully and completely. That had to change. Immediately. "What are you doing? I'm hearing weird sounds." "I'm pulling a Tom Cruise. And I;m also waving a bra around. HUnter, this is amazing? YOu've changed everything. We should have talked like this long ago." "You're freaking me out, sis. Do I need to call someone?

She reached behind her to unfasten her bra, then stopped. “Do you need me to take all my clothes off, or just from the waist down?” “This isn’t a visit to the gynecologist, Rachel. Everything must go.” His voice was lightly mocking.

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

He went for a clean, dry T-shirt and towels and came back to her, kneeling in front of her. “Come on, Mel. Let’s get you dry.” She lifted her head and looked at him with eyes that were both terribly sad and exhausted. She was listless. Spent. And her lips were blue with cold. He peeled off her jacket, tossing it on the floor. Then her blouse. He was undressing her like one might a baby, and she didn’t resist. He wrapped a towel around her and keeping her covered, reached beneath and undid her bra, slipping it off without exposing her. He pulled the T-shirt over her head, holding it for her arms, and once it covered her to her thighs, he yanked out the towel. “Come on,” he said, pulling her upright. She stood on shaky legs and he unbuttoned and pulled down her trousers before sitting her back down. He removed her boots, socks and pants; he dried her legs and feet with the towel. Though still drenched himself, he used the towel to attempt to dry her curling hair, blotting the locks between folds of the towel. He wrapped the throw from the couch around her shoulders, then went to his bureau and found a pair of clean, warm socks. He rubbed her cold feet vigorously, warming them, and put on the socks. When she looked up at him, some sanity had seeped into her eyes, and this made him smile a small smile. “Better,” he said softly. He

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.”

Uh…” Liv laughed nervously. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to jump you like that.” She tried to get off his lap but he pulled her back down. “What’s the rush, Lilenta?” “I…I just…” The words wouldn’t come. Liv had been carefully avoiding getting too close to him for most of the week but now that she was in contact with him again, almost full body contact, whispered the naughty little voice in her head, she was finding it hard to think about anything but how good it felt to have his arms around her and how incredible he smelled. “You just what?” Baird seemed mildly amused. “You just thought you’d come out here dressed in next to nothing and tease me?” “I never thought that!” Liv felt a hot blush climbing her cheeks as she tried again to push away from him. Baird let her sit back a little but he kept her firmly planted in his lap. “Of course you didn’t.” He made a show of looking her up and down, his hot golden gaze taking in everything from the way she was nearly falling out of the grey satin bra cups to the skimpy satin panties that completed the set. “You know, Olivia, I can only think of two reasons you would wear something like this. One, you’ve finally decided to give in and let me bond you.” Liv’s throat finally unlocked. “What’s option number two?” she asked, wishing her voice didn’t sound so squeaky. Baird’s eyes hardened. “Two would be that you thought you could come out here, flash a little skin and then get me on breach of contract and improper touching when I went for you. You think you’re the first bride to have that idea? Hate to break it to you, Lilenta, but it’s been done before to other Kindred. I was wondering when you were going to try it.” “I…I would never…” Liv was mortified that he had seen through her plan so easily. Baird

My lady?” He came inside just in time to catch her as her legs collapsed. “Kat!” He looked at her anxiously. “Are you all right? I could feel your pain and distress—it worried me.” Kat smiled at him weakly. “Just the same old thing. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.” She sighed. “Where’s Deep?” Lock’s handsome features tightened. “I don’t know and I don’t care to know.” “What? So you two really are fighting?” she asked as he carried her back to the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. “It goes beyond that.” Lock stripped off his shirt and climbed into the bed beside her. Kat sighed in relief when she felt his warm hand on her arm. She didn’t even protest when he pulled her blouse gently over her head, leaving her bare from the top up except for her bra. “We should call him, even if you are fighting,” she said as Lock pulled her close, pressing his broad chest to her back. “Don’t want to hurt you.” “The pain is nothing,” Lock assured her gently. “It’s more than worth it to be near you, my lady. Especially when…” His voice faltered for a moment. “When I’m going to lose you so soon.” “Oh, Lock…” Kat could feel his sorrow welling up, a sense of loss so great it nearly smothered her with its intensity. Still, she didn’t draw back or try to get away. Instead, she turned in his arms so she was facing him and drew him into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his shoulder. “So sorry.” “So am I.” It sounded like Lock might be crying. His large form shook against hers and Kat held him tighter, wishing she could comfort him better. “I love you, Kat,” he whispered brokenly. “And the idea of being torn apart from you tomorrow—of losing what little bond we have between us—it feels like death to me. Like the end of everything.” “I love you too,” Kat admitted. “And…I feel like I could love Deep. If only he would let me. If only he wanted me to.” Lock stiffened in her arms. “He won’t. He doesn’t. There’s no point in even considering it. No hope.” A low growl rose in his throat. “Gods, I wish I wasn’t tied to him.” “Don’t say that,” Kat said softly. “You’re brothers—twins. You ought to be close.” “How can I want to be close to him when he’s killing the only relationship that ever mattered to me?

I’m feeling better now,” she said cautiously, raising her head to look at him. In the dim otherworldly glow from the luminescent moss he looked like a dark angel. “I…I should probably be all right for a little while now.” He shook his head. “Can’t wait to get away from me, can you?” “It’s not that,” Kat protested. “But I know this is hurting you. Every minute you touch me without Lock touching me too—he told me it was like an electrical shock running through you. That can’t be comfortable.” “It’s not,” he said shortly. “And yet, I would hold you a little while longer, if you’ll permit it.” “Oh, uh…okay.” Kat tried not to let the surprise show on her face but clearly he could feel it through their link. “It surprises you?” Deep asked, settling her more firmly against him. “That I would want to touch you—to be near you—for any kind of nonsexual reason?” “It’s not sexual?” she blurted. “I mean, you do have your shirt off and I’m wearing a really thin dress with no bra—” “Does this feel sexual to you?” He shifted his hips, pressing up against her. The intimate contact made it obvious that he wasn’t hard. “Uh no,” Kat admitted. “No, I guess not.” “It can’t be sexual—not without Lock. And I don’t want it to be,” Deep said softly. “Don’t want you to think that’s all there is—to think that’s all I want from you.” “What do you want?” Kat looked up at him, honestly confused. “Right now? Just to hold you.” He kissed her gently on the forehead. “But the pain—” “Believe me, little Kat, the pain of not holding you is much worse than any discomfort I get from a little skin-to-skin contact.” Deep stroked her back. “Do you believe me?” “Yes.” She nodded slowly. “I don’t understand but…I do believe you.” “Thank you. Now relax and be still.” They

And yet, I would hold you a little while longer, if you’ll permit it.” “Oh, uh…okay.” Kat tried not to let the surprise show on her face but clearly he could feel it through their link. “It surprises you?” Deep asked, settling her more firmly against him. “That I would want to touch you—to be near you—for any kind of nonsexual reason?” “It’s not sexual?” she blurted. “I mean, you do have your shirt off and I’m wearing a really thin dress with no bra—” “Does this feel sexual to you?” He shifted his hips, pressing up against her. The intimate contact made it obvious that he wasn’t hard. “Uh no,” Kat admitted. “No, I guess not.” “It can’t be sexual—not without Lock. And I don’t want it to be,” Deep said softly. “Don’t want you to think that’s all there is—to think that’s all I want from you.” “What do you want?” Kat looked up at him, honestly confused. “Right now? Just to hold you.” He kissed her gently on the forehead. “But the pain—” “Believe me, little Kat, the pain of not holding you is much worse than any discomfort I get from a little skin-to-skin contact.” Deep stroked her back. “Do you believe me?” “Yes.” She nodded slowly. “I don’t understand but…I do believe you.” “Thank you. Now relax and be still.” They

And after it’s off, is it off for the night?” “You know it is,” she confided. “A friend will call drunk and wanting a ride, and I’ll say, ‘Honey, I got my bra off. Get yourself a cab.

her mind. Get away from here and sweat. That was all. Then she’d be all right. Then she could think straight again. Oh, God, please . . . Her hands shook violently as she twisted her hair up onto her head. Trying in vain to turn off the questions pounding through her brain, she stripped out of her clothes to don jogging bra, long-sleeved T-shirt, shorts and running shoes. Then, on impulse, she walked into her den, ignored the stacks of work and checked her e-mail. Maybe Kelly had sent her a message . . . She was surprised she hadn’t thought of it before. She clicked on her mailbox but saw nothing other than the usual offers of low-mortgage rates, discreet Viagra or a free peek at some porn site. Nothing from Kelly. ‘‘Damn.’’ She clicked off the computer and with Oscar at her heels, hurried downstairs, where she peeked out the front blinds and saw no trace of reporters on the street. Still, she’d be careful. She slapped a pair of sunglasses over her eyes and added a baseball cap to her disguise, as if she were some high-profile celebrity, for God’s sake, then clicked on Oscar’s leash. She

12:40 p.m.: start making the plan. Remember when you could be roused from a night being spent on the couch in your pajamas, curled around a pint of Chubby Hubby, and goaded into joining your friends at the bar even though you’d already taken off your bra? Yeah, I can’t either, but I know those days existed. I have the liver damage to prove it. Now when I go out I have to start gearing up for that shit at least three days in advance, and if I’m actually going to go through with it, it has to include both an ironclad reservation and a reliable seating arrangement. Showing up at a restaurant and hoping for the best is a young person’s game. If I’m going out, I need to know that there is a table with my name on it and a comfortable seat pulled up to it. I’m too old to hover anxiously near the door, sweating under my coat in my good outside clothes, watching people who actually planned ahead be ushered to their awaiting tables and served the foods I am dying to eat. I’m not that organized, though, so I spend a long time scrolling through OpenTable to try to find a reservation for 7 p.m. at a place that has more than a few high-tops left and won’t attempt to put us outside. It’s slim pickings.

I never said I was tired. I said I wanted to go to bed. I’ve been desperate to fuck you since I got home eight hours ago. Now take off your clothes and spread those legs wide so I can see my beautiful pussy.” “You’re so bossy,” she pouts but she sits up and pulls her dress off over her head before taking off her bra and panties. Then she lies back and looks up at me while I finish undressing

True to my word, it only takes me a moment to kick off my shoes, drop my bag on the floor, yank my bra off, and plop my ass on the couch with a lapful of noodles.

I said naked,” Mikey growls as he goes on staring at me. His eyes are dark and dangerous and I swallow hard as I unhook my bra and let it fall from my arms before peeling off my panties. As I pull them off my feet, Mikey holds out his hand to me and I press the damp material into his palm. He holds it to his nose and takes a huge sniff that makes my cheeks flush pink. “You smell so fucking good.

The time was already creeping up on three o’clock. Faith had been awake since three this morning. All she could think about right now was walking through her front door, taking off her bra and reading escalator fatality stories until it was dark enough to go to bed.

You know Elyse Taylor’s work?” Luke stepped up beside me. “I’m a fan. We have a couple of other pieces, along with the one at the studio.” I flushed hot, suddenly wishing I had more than a bra on under my hoodie so I could take it off. “I do know her work,” I said. “Very well. I can’t believe you have so many of her pieces. It’s…” There were no words for it. And I couldn’t lie to them if we were really doing this, so I finally looked at Luke. “Thank you.” The confusion crossed his face. “Thank you—” his eyes went wide. “Really?” It wasn’t incredulous, it was awed. I nodded. “What did I just miss?” Rylan asked, looking between us. Fidgeting with the cuffs on my hoodie, I looked at the painting again, and then back at Rylan. “I’m Elyse Taylor. Or rather, that’s the name I sell my art under.

I lower myself to the rug, sitting off to the side of him, and I can’t help it if he gets a glimpse of cleavage and bra. It’s not my fault that the fabric of this jumpsuit isn’t glued to my skin. I’m not the boss of gravity.

I pull her down to the dusty floor and kiss her hard and deep. She makes an urgent noise deep in her throat and moves to pull off my shirt. I unhook her bra as she cradles my hips in her hands. I kiss down her stomach, and together, on that dust-coated floor, we make our own kind of haunted love. And it strikes me, on the floor of this abandoned mouth of a house, during the wildest Texas haboob known to man—violent wind crashing against the Victorian again and again like a smashing fist—that right now, I finally have everything I’ve ever wanted, even though the world is ending all around us.

What would Father Mike think of my bra burning and the events that led up to it? What would he think of the men? The selfishness? He wiped the tears off his cheeks with both hands, then boomed, “Dear girl, I need you in the choir immediately.

A push-up bra makes it possible for a woman to show off great breasts … she does not have.

What the hell?" Too late, she remembered she was wearing her Iron Man bra, a red and gold mask covering each breast, silver eye slits glaring into the great beyond---or in this case, at the man who had dared take off her clothes. Liam barked a laugh. "Is that meant to scare dudes away?" "You know I like the Avengers." She shrugged. "I just wasn't expecting to be... sharing the visual." "So I see." His hands closed over her breasts. "I'm going to cover his eyes. I can't perform if Iron Man is watching." "Afraid you won't measure up?" "More like I'm afraid he might break down the door and take me out.

With no other options, I yanked my hoodie off and stuck the phone lengthwise into the front of my bra, right across my cleavage. Made for a better phone holder than anticipated. Nicely done, boobs.

He can hardly look his cousin in the face. I’ve never seen him so off kilter. “I did not want to see that, Kore. Jesus, haven’t you ever heard of a bra?

I think being yourself—your true, entire self—is always going to feel like you’re swimming upstream.” “Yeah,” she said. “But if the last few years with you have been any indication, I think it also feels like taking your bra off at the end of the day.” ― Taylor Jenkins Reid, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

My breasts. They're so heavy, Cere. They're killing me. Nothing takes the pain away. They want a mouth and there's no mouth to relieve them. They feel like they're gonna burst open. I wish they would, I wish they would spill onto everything, turn everything to milk. Sweet milk. My baby's sweet mouth, I miss my baby. (Her breasts run.) Look at me. I'm a mess. They're dripping all over me. (She grabs a bunch of tissues, continues stuffing them into her bra, taking them out and stuffing more in.) Every time I think of her, they run. Nobody told my body my baby is dead. I still hear her crying and my breasts bleed fucking milk. I remember the smell of her skin and they bleed again. My body got used to being a mother, Cere. And then it's cut off... like that! A child's not supposed to die before her mother. It's not natural. It's not right. That's why you hear about women throwing themselves in front of speeding cars, blocking bullets to save their kid. I get it now. It's not about sacrifice. It's instinct. (She pulls at her breasts.) I want to rip them off of me. They feel like tombstones on my chest!

Now it’s time to flash. If you’re a man, put on an overcoat, pull your cock out, find a stranger, and open the coat. If you’re a woman, take off your bra, put on a T-shirt, find me, lift up your shirt, and show me your breasts.

I have to say I’m truly shocked at what men deem appropriate behavior in the modern dating world.” “You,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “YOU are shocked.” “I am. I’m not sure how you women put up with it.” “The struggle is real. Go on.” “Your emails all include emoticons, usually hearts and smiley faces, and your Netflix queue consists mostly of romantic comedies. Oh, and you’re a 34C. That’s just the stuff I can remember off hang. I’m sure there’s more.” She was horrified. “How do you know my bra size?” “I scrolled through your order history at Victoria’s Secret.” “Well, that’s not at all creepy,” she deadpanned. “Did you know there are items in your shopping cart? Sweaters. Lots of thick, long, skin-covering sweaters. Frankly, it confused me.” “”Maybe I already own plenty of lingerie. Considering I walk to work, sweaters are more practical. Plus, they’re awfully cute.” “I added a few things to your cart and checked out for you. I paid for it with my credit card. Expedited the shipping too, so you should have it by Monday.” “You ADDED a few thing?” “One hint: not sweaters.” “How wildly inappropriate.” “Kid in a candy store. Couldn’t help myself.” “How?” “Excuse me?” “You obviously hacked into my computer. How did you do it?” “I came in your backdoor.” “I’m certain you did not.” “I assure you that I did.” “Without even discussing it with me first? No preparation? No warning? Don’t you think that’s incredibly bad form?” He grinned. “Are we still talking about your computer? Because I find you utterly delightful right now?” ….. “Get out of my computer immediately, I’m willing to move past the fact that you hacked me, but it ends now.” “No more backdoor?” “No more backdoor.” He appeared crestfallen. “Ever?” “Never,” she said firmly. “Not even on my birthday or like a special occasion?” “Are we still talking about my computer?” she asked. “You probably are." ~ Heart-Shaped Hack: Kate and Ian #1

Let’s play a game,” he said, easing out of the embrace so only one arm hung loosely around my shoulders. “If you win, I’ll give you a hundred bucks. If I win, we go back to your place and you lose the shirt and bra. Full second base action, but nothing more.” “Why would I agree to that?” “Duh, so you could win a hundred bucks. That’s like a week of tips from a twenty minute game.” Lowering my head, I thought about what he was offering. While I wouldn’t mind getting closer to Cooper, I wasn’t ready for such intimacy. “Why do you assume you’ll lose?” he asked, fixing the balls and setting them back in the middle of the table. “I’m good, but I’m not pool shark good. A hundred bucks is easy money and I’ll just have to find another way under your shirt.” Cooper inhaled and studied me as if thinking hard. “I can imagine a few ways to get that shirt off, but we’ll leave them for later.” “Okay. I trust if you win you won’t do more than second base. My pants remain on and you’ll respect that. I trust you.” “If you say how you trust me a few more times, it’ll sound like you really mean it.” Rolling my eyes, I took the stick. “Can I start?” “Sure, baby. I’ll just sit back here and watch you bend over.” “Making pervy comments won’t distract my concentration. I’m accustomed to freaks cheating.” “Whatever you say, but I’m mostly interested in the view. A hundred bucks is shit to me.

I’m not leaving the bathroom. Nothing out there is as sexy as in here.” “Hell yeah,” he groaned. “Don’t tease though. I’m this close to turning the water to cold.” “Or you could fix your problem.” Cooper squinted at me. “Really?” Pulling off my shirt, I lowered my bra. Standing closer to the shower door, I stretched. “Here’s your visual inspiration. I could lick my lips a lot if you think it’d help?” “Fucking A,” he said, stroking himself. “Say my name.” “Cooper,” I moaned softly, rolling my nipples between my thumbs and index fingers like he always did. “Oh, Cooper, I’m yours. I need you. I wish you were inside me, Cooper.” His gaze held mine as I teased myself and he stroked his cock. I eventually just looked at where he worked himself closer to relief. Soon, I licked my lips while thinking about making him feel good using my hand. While I didn’t know how long Cooper had been in a state of heat, it didn’t take him long to find relief. I doubted it would take him long to need more relief. To prolong his comfort, I immediately dressed and left the bathroom. Cooper appeared buck naked a few minutes later and I wondered if lunch should wait. Somehow, I’d gotten myself into a state of heat. “Some of it’s genetics,” he teased, retrieving boxers from his dresser. “The rest is hard work.” “I have a response, but I don’t want you getting worked up again.” “Give it five minutes and the memory of you touching yourself and… Fuck it, I didn’t need five minutes.

To my girls, Georgia and Claire, the biggest things that ever happened to me, the central force of my life. Let me just say this: nobody will ever be as interesting or beautiful to me as you are. I joke that “the best moment of the day” is taking off my bra, but of course it’s seeing you come down in the morning.

Oh my GOD. Mr Cunningham had my bra on his head, like he was pretending to be Princess Leia. He yanked it off and threw it across the garden, gagging. He wasn't the only one.

When they finished dressing, Jimena wore racy red hot pants, a silky blouse with a star-burst pattern, and crazy ankle boots with thin chains draped around her ankles. "Too cool." Serena admired Jimena's outfit, then she twirled to show off her own shoulder-baring top that exposed her midriff. She had pasted a crystal in her belly button. Kendra's bell-bottoms had been too long, but when she stepped into a pair of gold 70's platform shoes the length became just right. Catty wore a backless halter top and a pair of lacy bell-bottoms. She held up some stencils. "Kendra is going to start selling these at the shop. Anyone want to try one?" She had two dragons in one hand and a lacy snowflake pattern in the other. Jimena and Serena started to examine them, when Vanessa walked into the room. She was wearing a pinstripe shirt unbuttoned over a black leather bra top. Kendra's mini-skirt was too big and the waist fell around Vanessa's hips. Her skin looked golden bronze and she had applied one of the snowflake stencils on her stomach. "Wow," Serena said. "Talk about going for the jugular," Jimena teased. "You like it?" she asked and took off the shirt. "It's too hot to wear.

I lower my hands and then I unbutton the rest of my shirt slowly. When it’s halfway open, I see a deep red stain on my stomach. Blood? Is it… my fingers turn frantic, make quick work of the buttons left and I pull off my shirt and my bra curtains apart.

A beautiful young woman wants to meet Santa Claus, so she puts on a robe and stays up late on Christmas Eve. Santa arrives, climbs down the chimney, and begins filling the stockings. He is about to move on to the next house when the gorgeous redhead says in a sexy voice, “Oh, Santa, please stay. Keep the chill away.” Santa replies, “HO HO HO, gotta go, gotta go. Gotta get the presents to the children, you know.” The girl drops her robe to reveal a sexy bra and panties, and says in her most flirtatious tone, “Oh, Santa, don’t run a mile; just stay for a while...” Santa begins to sweat but replies, “HO HO HO, gotta go, gotta go. Gotta get the presents to the children, you know.” The girl takes off her bra and says, “Oh, Santa... please... stay.” Santa wipes his brow but replies, “HO HO HO, gotta go, gotta go. Gotta get the presents to the children, you know.” She loses the panties and says, “Oh, Santa... please... stay....” Santa, trembling, says, “HEY HEY HEY, gotta stay, gotta stay! Can’t get up the chimney with my pecker this way!!!

She took off her blouse, her trousers, her bra, her panties, and stood before him naked.