Combine Grunt Quotes

Why did you defect now? Why here? There are other troll tribes and hundreds of cities that aren't at war with your King." "But only the Trylle have Wendy." Loki's smile returned but his eyes ere pained. "And how could I pass on that?" "She is married, you know," Finn said. "So it might be a good idea if you stopped trying to flirt with her. She's not interested." "It's up to her to decide who she's interested in," Loki said, with an edge to his voice. "And it's not exactly like you're following your own advice." "I am her tracker." Finn sat up in bed, but this time I didn't try to stop him. His eyes were burning. "It's my job to protect her." "No, Duncan is her tracker." Loki pointed to where Duncan stood in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at their confrontation. "And Wendy's stronger than the both of you combined. You're not protecting her. You're protecting yourself because you're a lovesick ex-boyfriend." "You think you have everything figured out, but you don't know anything," Finn growled. "If it were up to me I'd have you sent back to the Vittra in a flash." "But it's not up to you!" I snapped. "It's up to me. And this conversation is over. Finn needs to rest, and you are not helping anything, Loki." "Sorry," Loki said and rubbed his hands on his pants. "Why don't you go back to your room?" I asked Loki. "I'll be over to talk to you in a minute." He nodded and got up. "Feel better," Loki said to Finn, and he actually sounded sincere. Finn grunted in response, and Loki and Duncan left. I wanted to reach out and touch Finn, comfort him in some way, because I felt like he needed it. Maybe I needed it too. "Get some sleep," I told Finn, since I could think of nothing better to say to him. I got up, but he reached out and grabbed my wrist. "Wendy, I don't trust him," he said, referring to Loki. "I know. But I do." "Be careful," Finn said simply and let go of me.

Sudden loud noise triggers a cluster of split-second protective reflexes known as the startle pattern. You blink to protect your eyes, while your upper body swivels toward the sound to assess the threat. The arms bend and retract to the chest, the shoulders hunch, and the knees bend, all of which combine to make you a smaller, less noticeable target. Snapping the limbs in tight to the torso may also serve to protect your vital innards.‡ You are your own human shield. Siddle says hunching may have evolved to protect the neck: a holdover from caveman days. “A big cat stalking prey will jump the last twenty feet and come down on the back and shoulders and bite through the neck.

When I start to feel him slide in, I gasp. I knew he was going to feel big---because he is big. I didn't know he'd feel this good, this quickly, though. I close my eyes and savor the way he stretches me, the immediate intensity I feel. When he starts that slow slide, my mouth falls open. Soon I'm clawing at the bedsheets like I'm crazed. I'm certain I'll go hoarse at the end of this, but I don't care. I could lose my voice for a year and it would be worth it, this feels so freaking incredible. Max eases to a slower pace, then leans over me and kisses my shoulder. "Damn it, Joelle. You are...god, you're..." My eyes roll to the back of my head as I smile to myself. His inability to finish a sentence while inside me is the highest compliment. My vision focuses, and I take in just how gorgeous he is in this moment: eyes glazed over with arousal, jaw clenched, brow dotted with sweat, lips swollen from kissing me. Seeing Max so turned on combined with just how good he feels has me tingling between my thighs once more. He digs his fingers into my hips and picks up the pace. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this with you?" he growls. I moan. "No" and push my hips up higher. "A long fucking time." "Same," I rasp. "Same, same, same." He goes harder and faster until my vision begins to go starry. And then he slips a hand between my legs and works the most sensitive part of me with the pads of his fingers. The intensity deepens until my legs start to shake. I reach around and grip a handful of his delectably rock-hard ass. "I'm gonna need to get a good look at this up close very, very soon," I say. He chuckles between pants. I babble that I'm close. "Thank fuck." And then Max puts it into some high gear I didn't know he was capable of. He goes harder and faster than I thought was humanly possible. It's enough, though. Because moments later I'm bursting once again. He isn't far behind. He tenses against me before shuddering, then grunting. He lightly bites the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. The soft scrape, so sweet and carnal at once, has me grinning in ecstasy. We collapse on the bed, him on top of me, and stay that way for nearly a minute. I close my eyes and breathe in the mint-spice scent on his bedsheets, relishing the weight of his body on top of mine.

Kenzie Denune pedaled the bicycle harder, her thighs burning from the exertion. Thanks to a car that refused to start, she was going to be late for her job interview at Iverson Loch Manor. Grunting and pounding from the shrubs ahead, near the road's edge, snagged her attention. Naked shoulders glistened in the afternoon sun. Back muscles bulged and undulated with every thrust. “Bloody hell. Come fer me. Come.” In all of Mathe Bay in the Scottish Highlands, only one deep masculine voice had the power to raise the hair on her arms like this. A man with braided russet-colored hair that brushed broad shoulders inked with a bear's claw marks, woven into an intricate tribal design - Bryce Matheson. Damn him to hell. Who's he shagging in broad daylight? Out in the open, no less. Has he no shame? ... “I canna keep pounding at ye like this all bloody day. Me back is about to give out.” Bryce moaned and groaned again, obviously in the throes of ecstasy. The bear-shifting bastard. She eased up on the brakes to whiz past his love nest of bushes and brambles. “I'll not give up until I get ye wild cherry. Let me push both me thumbs and most of me fingers in here and....." My God, what's he doing to her? Kenzie couldna resist one fleeting glance over her shoulder. Her front wheel plunged into a pothole and the bike pitched... as she toppled across the grit. The force of the impact, combined with the slant of the narrow road, caused her to roll toward Bryce and his current conquest. No! No, God, no!

Tom kissed him fiercely. Because he didn’t really need Proph to answer anyway. Prophet didn’t have to ask for what he wanted, because he knew Tom would know how—and when—to give it to him. And that kind of trust? Tom wouldn’t have it any other way. Finally, he broke the kiss, patted Prophet’s ass, noting his legs were trembling. “Come on. Couch. On your hands and knees, bébé.” Prophet half turned his face so Tom could see the clench in his jaw. “You started this, Proph. I’m just trying to finish it. Unless you don’t want to finish . . .” His voice must’ve held the right amount of lust and warning, because Prophet grunted, then grudgingly walked around to the front of the couch and carefully climbed on, the barely reattached arm groaning against his weight. On his hands and knees, head bowed, Prophet managed to look vulnerable and in control at the same time, the muscles on his back bunching under his tanned shoulders. Tom’s fingers itched to draw again as much as his cock wanted to come. The eternal fight between sex and art, he supposed. Which is why he’d always liked combining them. He satisfied himself momentarily by tracing the now-familiar patterns on Prophet’s skin after climbing onto the cushions behind him. The dreamcatcher he envisioned under the right shoulder blade that would run along his side to feather on his ribs . . .

I know you don't like mangoes." A faint curl of humor danced on his lips. "You know?" How? How did he know this? "I've been feeding you this whole time, remember?" With his hot buttered voice, it sounded dirty, illicit. "I remember." I sounded far too breathless. He clearly noticed, that small private smile moved to his eyes. "You never eat the mango slices when I put them in any meals." Understanding hit me, and I recalled that while I'd had breakfast fruit trays with mangoes, they'd stopped being included after the second time. Wide eyed, I silently gaped back at him. Lucian's long clever fingers delicately picked up a cream puff. "Which is why I made some of these with vanilla-ginger cream." Had I been gaping before? My mouth fell wide open. Behind me, I heard Dougal sigh, as if impressed. But I could only stare at Lucian, who looked smug but oddly shy as well. "You did that for me?" I croaked. His broad shoulder moved under his jacket. "That, and the combination of vanilla, ginger, and mango mirrored what Delilah and Saint had wanted in their original cake." I could fall for this man. Fall hard. Maybe I already had, because my heart was too big, beating too fast. He gave me another small, barely there smile, his pale eyes gleaming with something soft and intent. "Come now, honeybee," he murmured. "Try my cream." I sputtered out a shocked laugh, and my face flamed, but as he'd commanded, I opened my mouth. Lucian's nostrils flared. His hand shook a little as he lifted the cream puff and placed it one the edge of my lips. I opened my mouth wider, my tongue flicking out for that first sweet taste. Rich, almost nutty caramel, the gentle crust of pastry, a burst of smooth light cream with a hint of vanilla and ginger spice. Slowly, I chewed, my eyes locked with his, my body tight, and my mouth in heaven. He stayed with me, feeding me another bite, cream getting on his thumb. My tongue slipped over the blunt end, and he grunted. Hard.

The collapse of society was the western front, that conflict augmented by a lack of preparation, limited physical resources, and a severe shortage of human assets. A dark, ominous cloud of uncertainty was the enemy’s primary weapon. Levi was certain that this was going to be a war of attrition. On the eastern front loomed old age. Twenty years ago, Levi would have feared no man. While he’d never spoiled for a fight in any theatre, when one came his way, he had always felt up to the task. Years of military schools and courses had instilled this confidence. Numerous engagements on the battlefield had proven him worthy. That man, however, had been a different Levi York, both physically and mentally. Now, Father Time was employing a strategy that seemed destined to make him fail. He knew the outcome of this battle was inevitable. Ultimately, he had no chance of winning. He was a ball player intentionally fouling his opponent, merely wrangling to prolong the game, desperately trying to stop the clock from counting down to zero. “Aren’t we all fighting for more time?” he reflected as he prepared for his shift on patrol. “Isn’t that what this is all about? I’ve fought insurgents, radicalized religious zealots, power-hungry holy men, and indoctrinated crazies,” he proclaimed to the mirror. “In every single case, we gave better than what we received. I controlled the field at the end of day, each and every time. Is it finally my turn to fall? Will the combination of foes we’re facing finally take me out of the fight?” he ranted. As he pondered his own questions for several moments more, Levi’s spine stiffened, his shoulders squaring off. “Doesn’t matter,” he grunted. “You’re not going down without leaving your best on the field. You’re not going to fade quietly into the night. To the end, you’re going to give it your best, old man.

I have identified seven elements essential to Apple’s software success: Inspiration: Thinking big ideas and imagining what might be possible Collaboration: Working together well with other people and seeking to combine your complementary strengths Craft: Applying skill to achieve high-quality results and always striving to do better Diligence: Doing the necessary grunt work and never resorting to shortcuts or half measures Decisiveness: Making tough choices and refusing to delay or procrastinate Taste: Developing a refined sense of judgment and finding the balance that produces a pleasing and integrated whole Empathy: Trying to see the world from other people’s perspectives and creating work that fits into their lives and adapts to their needs There weren’t any company handbooks describing these elements. Nobody outlined this list in a new-employee orientation. There weren’t any signs affixed to the walls of our Cupertino campus exhorting us to “Collaborate!” On the contrary, we felt, on an instinctive level, that imposing a fixed methodology might snuff out the innovation we were seeking. Therefore, our approach flowed from the work. This happened from the top down, stemming from the unquestioned authority and uncompromising vision of Steve Jobs, and it happened from the ground up, through the daily efforts of designers and programmers you’ve never heard of, people like me and my colleagues, some of whom I’ll tell you about.

Inspiration: Thinking big ideas and imagining what might be possible Collaboration: Working together well with other people and seeking to combine your complementary strengths Craft: Applying skill to achieve high-quality results and always striving to do better Diligence: Doing the necessary grunt work and never resorting to shortcuts or half measures Decisiveness: Making tough choices and refusing to delay or procrastinate Taste: Developing a refined sense of judgment and finding the balance that produces a pleasing and integrated whole Empathy: Trying to see the world from other people’s perspectives and creating work that fits into their lives and adapts to their needs

Fuck me, Corbin,” I repeat from a moment ago, and he doesn’t waste any time. He sets a punishing rhythm. In. Out. My back presses into the wall, scraping back and forth with his harsh movements, but I tilt my head up, letting him take me. He wraps his lips around the front of my throat, his teeth grazing my windpipe, and I thrust myself further toward him. God, his teeth. When they touch my skin, it ignites me. He pulls us off the wall, walking backward until his legs meet the bed. He sits, and I land with a grunt on top of him. “Ride me,” he says. I lean back, my hands fisting his thighs, digging into the soft hairs coating them. I press my breasts into the air, my long hair dusting my ass as I slowly work my hips back and forth, teasing, while he watches me with hooded eyes. His hands are looped behind his head as he enjoys the show. I work my hips faster, pumping his cock up and down inside me, my breasts puckered and bouncing. It feels incredible—to be what this gorgeous guy is focused on, is hard for. I relish the power and control I have as I sit astride him. His groans urge me on, and when he bites down on his bottom lip, I feel my control slipping. My movements become jerkier as I stare at him, memorizing the way he looks in this very moment. I lean forward, gripping his chest with my fingers, and I lower my head, nipping his chin, his nose, his forehead. He holds my sides, keeping me steady before rapidly thrusting up into me, and I love the sensation, his pubic bone rubbing against my clit with each pound. “Yes, right there. Oh God. Yes, keep doing that.” My words come out in a huff with each thrust, and I dig my fingers into his pecs as a second orgasm rips through me, pulling me under and holding me captive while Corbin never lets up. Suddenly, I’m wrenched from his lap as he throws me onto my back. After pulling my legs over his shoulders, he plants one hand in the valley between my breasts, guiding himself back inside with his other. The pressure on my chest, combined with the never-ending sensations overtaking my sensitive pussy, sends warmth through me. I’m floating, and I never want to come back down.

The most talked about—around Natick—example of sartorial rank-pulling was the Universal Camouflage Pattern used on the Army Combat Uniform beginning in 2005. The idea had been to develop a single camo pattern that would provide concealment for troops in desert, urban, and woodsy settings. The Natick Camouflage Evaluation Facility came up with thirteen pattern and color combinations, duly sent overseas for field tests and feedback. Before the data was in and the study completed, a highly placed general went ahead and picked a pattern. It was not even one of the ones being tested.