Dimple Love Quotes

He scanned my face with careful hope in his eyes. “You love me?” “It’s the tattoos,” I shrugged. A wide smile stretched across his face, making his dimple sink into his cheek.

You wanted to lick my face the first time you saw me? Is that usually what you do when you’re attracted to guys?” I shake my head. “Not your face, your dimple. And no. You’re the only guy I’ve ever had the urge to lick.” He smiles at me confidently. “Good. Because you’re the only girl I’ve ever had the urge to love.

If there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples. I'll love your face no matter what it looks like. Because it's yours.

But he grins, so brilliantly, not even paying attention. “I love it when you say my name,” he says. “I don’t even know why.” “Warner isn't your name,” I point out. “Your name is *****.” His smile is wide, so wide. “God, I love that.” “Your name?” “Only when you say it.” “*****? Or Warner?” His eyes close. He tilts his head back against the wall. Dimples.

I love it when you say my name,” he says. “I don’t even know why.” “Warner isn’t your name,” I point out. “Your name is Aaron.” His smile is wide, so wide. “God, I love that.” "Your name?” “Only when you say it.” “Aaron? Or Warner?” His eyes close. He tilts his head back against the wall. Dimples.

You’re sorry? I damn near drank myself to death, I could barely get out of bed, I shattered my phone into a million pieces on New Year’s Eve to keep from calling you … and you’re sorry?” I bit my lip and nodded, ashamed. I had no idea what he’d been through, and hearing his say the words made sharp pain twist inside my chest. “I’m so … so sorry.” “You’re forgiven,” he said with a grin. “Don’t ever do it again.” “I won’t. I promise.” He flashed his dimple and shook his head. “I fucking love you.

I love those dimples." He hated the damn things, but if they made her happy, he'd be sure to smile like a dipshit more often.

It was the dimples. Empires have swiveled on less.

The back is one of my favorite parts of a woman’s body. I love to trace and lick the shallow line of her spine, from the top and all the way down to the twin dimples at the base of her lower back.

When there is love, scars are as pretty as dimples.

Not your face, your dimple. And no. You’re the only guy I’ve ever had the urge to lick.” He smiles at me confidently. “Good. Because you’re the only girl I’ve ever had the urge to love.

He grimaced and went after her. “I’m not a trainer. Just spent a lot of time working out.”  “Misspent youth, clearly.” She held the door open, standing just outside.  “My application to princess school was rejected.” Callan exited the building and fell into step alongside her. “Working out was how I coped.” Sunlight peeked out from behind striped clouds and lit the early-morning sky. Autumn weather chilled the perspiration on his skin.  “Such a shame.” Meridian glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye.  “What is?”  “That you didn’t go to princess school. Could have learned some manners.” Her blue-green eyes sparked in the sunlight. And her mouth . . . Her lips set in some smart-looking, lopsided grin, with a small dimple.  I should definitely kiss that look off her face. “Overrated. Inefficient. And I look terrible in a tiara.

Her Yankees-loving, bottle cap-giving, dimpled smile other half was gone, and there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to turn back time.

Many a man who falls in love with a dimple makes the mistake of marrying the whole girl.

Willa’s big blue eyes, Willa’s dimpled-cheeked smile. Tiffin’s shaggy blond mane, Tiffin’s cheeky grin. Kit’s yells of excitement, Kit’s glow of pride. Maya’s face, Maya’s kisses, Maya’s love. Maya, Maya, Maya . . .

But you have such dimples," said Anne, smiling affectionately into the pretty, vivacious face so near her own. "Lovely dimples, like little dents in cream. I have given up all hope of dimples. My dimple-dream will never come true; but so many of my dreams have that I mustn't complain. Am I all ready now?

If there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples. - Japanese Proverb

She wept for her hardheadedness, and for a world that couldn't just let her be both, a woman in love and a woman with a career, without flares of guilt and self-doubt seeping in and wreaking havoc.

I love you.” For one second, he looks startled, his blue eyes going wide and wild as they search my face for I don’t know what. But then that damn dimple of his comes out to play as he grins and grins and grins. But all he says is, “I know.

You hand fits in mine like its made to be but bear this in mind it was meant to be and im joining up the dots with the freckles on you cheeks and it all makes sense to me. I know you've never loved the crinkles by your eyes when you smile you've never loved your stomach or your thighs and the dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine but I love them endlessly.I won't let these little things slip out of my mouth but if i do its you oh its you they add up to and Im in love with you and all your little thing. You can't go to bed without a cup of tea and maybe thats the reason that you talk in you sleep and all those conversations are the secrets that I keep though it makes no sense to me. I know you've never loved the sound of your voice on tape you never want to know how much you weigh you still have to squeeze into to your jeans but you're perfect to me. I won't let these little things slip out of my mouth but if its true its you its these they add up to and Im in love with you and all you little things. You'll never love yourself half as much as I love you and you'll never treat yourself right darlin' but I want you to if I let you know I'm here for you then maybe you'll love yourself like I love you ohhhhh. And I've just let these little things slip out of my mouth cause its you oh its you its you they add up to and Im in love with you and all your little things I wont let these little things slip out of my mouth but if its true its you its you they add up to and im in love with you and all your little things. <3

But why me? Because, idiot, you... are funny and smart and you have a giant heart that you can't even pretend to hide. And you love your friends and your mum, and you held my hand and made me sing when I was so scared I thought I was going to die. I knew you understood, right from the beginning, this thing inside, the stuff in your head that you need to make real. You get that.... And you wear stupid Superman pyjamas without any irony, and your face lights up when you talk about the movies you love.... And... you protect my dwarf. You always have her back. And you have a dimple when you smile that's so cute I almost died the first time I saw it.

But more than anything… thank you for loving me. Thank you for your dimpled smile and your bottle caps.

Like the most of you, I was raised among people who knew - who were certain. They did not reason or investigate. They had no doubts. They knew that they had the truth. In their creed there was no guess — no perhaps. They had a revelation from God. They knew the beginning of things. They knew that God commenced to create one Monday morning, four thousand and four years before Christ. They knew that in the eternity — back of that morning, he had done nothing. They knew that it took him six days to make the earth — all plants, all animals, all life, and all the globes that wheel in space. They knew exactly what he did each day and when he rested. They knew the origin, the cause of evil, of all crime, of all disease and death. At the same time they knew that God created man in his own image and was perfectly satisfied with his work... They knew all about the Flood -- knew that God, with the exception of eight, drowned all his children -- the old and young -- the bowed patriarch and the dimpled babe -- the young man and the merry maiden -- the loving mother and the laughing child -- because his mercy endureth forever. They knew too, that he drowned the beasts and birds -- everything that walked or crawled or flew -- because his loving kindness is over all his works. They knew that God, for the purpose of civilizing his children, had devoured some with earthquakes, destroyed some with storms of fire, killed some with his lightnings, millions with famine, with pestilence, and sacrificed countless thousands upon the fields of war. They knew that it was necessary to believe these things and to love God. They knew that there could be no salvation except by faith, and through the atoning blood of Jesus Christ. Then I asked myself the question: Is there a supernatural power -- an arbitrary mind -- an enthroned God -- a supreme will that sways the tides and currents of the world -- to which all causes bow? I do not deny. I do not know - but I do not believe. I believe that the natural is supreme - that from the infinite chain no link can be lost or broken — that there is no supernatural power that can answer prayer - no power that worship can persuade or change — no power that cares for man. Is there a God? I do not know. Is man immortal? I do not know. One thing I do know, and that is, that neither hope, nor fear, belief, nor denial, can change the fact. It is as it is, and it will be as it must be. We can be as honest as we are ignorant. If we are, when asked what is beyond the horizon of the known, we must say that we do not know. We can tell the truth, and we can enjoy the blessed freedom that the brave have won. We can destroy the monsters of superstition, the hissing snakes of ignorance and fear. We can drive from our minds the frightful things that tear and wound with beak and fang. We can civilize our fellow-men. We can fill our lives with generous deeds, with loving words, with art and song, and all the ecstasies of love. We can flood our years with sunshine — with the divine climate of kindness, and we can drain to the last drop the golden cup of joy.

Have I told you,” I said, bending low to whisper in his ear, “how beautiful you are when you smile?” He smiled then, the kind of smile that dimpled his cheek and set my heart on fire. “Tell me.” “Sometimes when I look at you, I can’t breathe.” My hand moved to his belt. “I can’t think. I can’t function until you look back. And when you give me this smile”—I brushed my knuckle against his dimple—“it’s like a secret just for the two of us. I don’t think I ever love you more than when you smile at me.

She doesn’t want our help, Dimples.” “We can’t just leave her in there alone, Freckles. You know that.” “We lied to her. She hates us now.” “It’s simple to love someone on the days that are easy. But you find out what your love is made of on the days that are hard.

I’m…pretty sure I’m in love with Travis,” My eyes still focused on the pavement, I handed Travis his phone, and then reluctantly peered up at his expression. A combination of confusion, shock, and adoration scrolled across his face. He scanned my face with careful hope in his eyes. “You love me?” “It’s the tattoos,” I shrugged. A wide smile stretched across his face, making his dimple sink into his cheek. “Come home with me,” he said, enveloping me in his arms. My eyebrows shot up. “You said all that to get me in bed? I must have made quite an impression.” “The only thing I’m thinking about right now is holding you in my arms all night.” “Let’s go,” I smiled.

She didn't see him at first. She was watching the dancers. Her color was high, and there were deep dimples at the corners of her mouth. She looked nine miles out of place, but he had never loved her more. This was Willa on the edge of a smile.

I like my women soft and round. His blue gaze burned into hers. I don't lie, Becca. I love your body, every single curve, every dimple, every scar.

Maybe you can talk about how... I don't know, how his laughter sounds. If it's rougher in the mornings, or lower on the phone, or how he always tips his head back when he finds something funny. How—how you can only see his dimples when he smiles at something real. How you're jealous of everyone who loves him, who knew him before you did.

She pressed her lips together and nodded. "I'll just do what Dr. Aslan always says." "And what's that?" "Carry myself with the confidence of a mediocre white man." He grinned, and there they were. The heart-stopping dimples. "It will be fine, Olive." His smile softened. "And if not, at least it will be over.

She set her book carefully down, dog-earing a corner of her page with love.

She wanted the pain to end. She wanted to forget his dimpled smile, his brilliant blue eyes, the way he called her Little Fox. And suddenly, her chest was tight at the thought she might never heard that nickname again. And she didn't want to forget. She didn't want to forget at all. She didn't want the memories erased or rewritten; she wanted more of them.

Georgie pretended to dance. She clung to Neal's shirt. They rubbed their noses together. "You're my wife," Neal said, and then he laughed, and she tried to catch his dimples with her teeth. (Like if she caught them she might get to keep them.) "Yours," she said.

when you love someone, you threw them up into the sky to fly, Dimples. You don’t just open your hand to let them go. Because you know who they are, and they know who you are, and that’s all that matters. You don’t hold back someone you love.

You know,' she confessed, 'I've always loved your dimples.' 'I know.' He smirked. 'You were so obvious with your love at first sight.' 'It was not love at first sight.' She huffed. 'I only said I like your dimples at the start.' She dropped her hand from his cheek. 'I didn't even like you. I thought you were terrible.' 'And yet.' He grabbed her hand again and wrapped it around his neck. 'You kept staring.' Well...' She wrapped her other hand around his neck before sliding her fingers back into his hair. She really loved his hair. 'I might not have liked you, but you were always ridiculously handsome.

I’m so…so sorry.” “You’re forgiven,” he said with a grin. “Don’t ever do it again.” “I won’t. I promise.” He flashed his dimple and shook his head. “I fucking love you.

Are you fucking kidding me? I was just trying to make it easier on you! Do you know how miserable I’ve been?” I frowned. “You looked just fine after break.” “That was for you! I was afraid I’d lose you if I didn’t pretend to be okay with being friends. I could have been with you this whole time? What the fuck, Pigeon?” “I….” I couldn’t argue; he was right. I had made us both suffer, and I had no excuse. “I’m sorry.” “You’re sorry? I damn near drank myself to death, I could barely get out of bed, I shattered my phone into a million pieces on New Year’s Eve to keep from calling you…and you’re sorry?” I bit my lip and nodded, ashamed. I had no idea what he’d been through, and hearing him say the words made a sharp pain twist inside my chest. “I’m so…so sorry.” “You’re forgiven,” he said with a grin. “Don’t ever do it again.” “I won’t. I promise.” He flashed his dimple and shook his head. “I fucking love you.

If you ask all the cells in my body, they only answer your name. Follicles push the hair upwards so they may brush against your skin. Nails grow faster as well. Lungs breathe rapidly in hopes of inhaling your scent. Toes curl to smile and knees form dimples when you are near. Brain fireworks. Stomach fills with flies of butter and swallows, and swans swoon. Cattle, rhinos, and walruses too— there’s a stampede when you are near. I love you from the bottom of my liver to the tip of my lashes. One wink from you and heart stops, like a sneeze. Bless you. I cannot even begin to tell you what happens to soul, for soul is off flying with its mate.

It was sort of nice that she didn’t need to explain the hovering, how it really came from a place of love. Rishi got that this was just what moms and dads did in their world. Dimple

It's been 12 years now, and I think he still can read my smiles. The way my lips stretch, making my eyes look smaller than they already are. The way my cheeks turn a little red, forming new wrinkles near my eyes. The way the dimple on my face makes a visit whenever I smile meeting someone I haven't seen in ages. It's been 12 years now, and I haven't smiled at him even once.

No more boys taking you on trips, you hear?” His voice was gravelly. “You can take your own self from now on. Last thing you need is some boy distracting you and making this whole situation even more complicated. Promise me you'll stay away from that son of Pharzuph.” I opened my mouth but the words stuck in my dry throat. How sweat beaded up on my forehead. “I tried that once, John,” Patti warned him. “It didn't work out so well for me.” “Have you seen the way he looks at her?” He focused on Patti, but pointed at me. “Yes, and I've seen the way she looks at him. Truthfully, I think they need each other.” “Those two need each other like a bullet needs a target. Trust me. I've seen Nephilim kids killed for falling in love and letting it get in the way of their work.” “Well, you don't have to worry, because we're not in love,” I chimed in. “He doesn't like me like that.” Dad puffed out a breath of air. “Well, he must feel something, 'cause he sure doesn't want that other kid near you.” “Is there someone else you're interested in?” Patti asked. I rolled my colors back up, tucked them inside, and yanked the barrier back into place. Then I entertained the image of Kopano's sweet dimple for a brief second before pushing it away. “I'm not ready to think about that,” I answered. My father tilted his head up to the ceiling and pressed his giant hands to his face, muffling his speech. “I'm way too old for this.

Love at infancy is the strongest and puriest of all, it is mixed with infatuation and deep happiness. Persistent smile brings out hollow dimples, and persistent frowns brings out hollow wrinkles.

Michael tousled my hair and said, "Remember, no more skateboards, right?" And then this gem: "If you ever break your arm skateboarding again..." He paused, flashing me a dimpled Charles Ingalls grin, which then suddenly disappeared. "I'll break the other one.

Kyle’s shrill voice interrupted their moment. “Figured you two would turn this into a scout meeting. Will you get your asses up here? People are waiting. I mean Beckett here has maybe a few hours before he’s bent over a metal toilet getting it up the ass from a guy named Bubba. Do you want him to have fun now or not?” The streetlight illuminated Beckett as he appeared next to Kyle. “Why would I be the bitch? I don’t think that’s a fair f*cking assumption.” Kyle refused to look at him and crossed her arms. “Of course you’d be the bitch. You have dimples. Bitches have dimples. And I bet your ass is soft like two pillows. Bubba’s going to love bouncing off of you.” Beckett stormed away, dragging Kyle with him. “I’ll be the f*cker,” he told her. “Not the f*ckee. The f*cker.” “Fine, a$$hole, you’re the f*cker,” Kyle’s voice faded away as they returned to the party.

He smiled his dimpled smile. "Well, I've found something in my heart, my love, and it's you. You fill it up so completely that I don't need anything else." His gaze turned solemn. "I don't want to be the river anymore. I want to be the earth that the tree roots in. And I believe that I can, if you'll be my tree. Will you?" It was too much. She began to cry, though she smiled so he'd know that they were happy tears. "That proposal...is vastly superior...to your last one," she choked out between sobs. "I would very much love to be your tree." -Jarret and Annabel

Sometimes when I look at you, I can’t breathe.” My hand moved to his belt. “I can’t think. I can’t function until you look back. And when you give me this smile”—I brushed my knuckle against his dimple—“it’s like a secret just for the two of us. I don’t think I ever love you more than when you smile at me.

Please forgive me for fighting against us, Gavin. Please forgive me for not fighting for us when I knew we were supposed to be together. Forgive me for being the weak mess I am. But more than anything… thank you for loving me. Thank you for your dimpled smile and your bottle caps. I’ll never be able to look at one without thinking of you. Thank you for your stupid Yankees and your wiseass remarks. Thank you for wanting late night drives and sunset-watching with me. Thank you for wanting the good, the bad, and the in-between.

All that mattered in life, that someone loved you even though you had faults.

Love is not about the Dimples on the Cheeks but it is about the Heart that Beats

Where are we going?' she asked. A dimple appeared just below a cut on his cheek. 'We can go wherever you want, Little Fox.

When the finally pulled apart, Rishi's mouth tingling still, Dimple smiled shyly and looked down at their hands, entwined between them on the bench. "So," she said softly. "That was unexpected." He leaned over and kissed her forehead, like it was the most natural thing to do. Was this going to be their thing now, casual kissing? He hoped so. "Unexpected but awesome." Rishi paused. "Right?" She laughed and looked up at him. "Definitely." He grinned, his heart soaked in happy.

Though the face before me was that of a young woman of certainly not more than thirty years, in perfect health and the first flush of ripened beauty, yet it bore stamped upon it a seal of unutterable experience, and of deep acquaintance with grief and passion. Not even the slow smile that crept about the dimples of her mouth could hide the shadow of sin and sorrow. It shone even in the light of those glorious eyes, it was present in the air of majesty, and it seemed to say: 'Behold me, lovely as no woman was or is, undying and half-divine; memory haunts me from age to age, and passion leads me by the hand--evil have I done, and with sorrow have I made acquaintance from age to age, and from age to age evil shall I do, and sorrow shall I know till my redemption comes.

(We loved Mother too, completely, but we were finding out, as Father was too, that it is good for parents and for children to be alone now and then with one another...the man alone or the woman, to sound new notes in the mysterious music of parenthood and childhood.) That night I not only saw my Father for the first time as a person. I saw the golden hills and the live oaks as clearly as I have ever seen them since; and I saw the dimples in my little sister's fat hands in a way that still moves me because of that first time; and I saw food as something beautiful to be shared with people instead of as a thrice-daily necessity.

I lock onto his beautiful blue eyes, memorizing his face. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, the way they flash blue when he's happy and grow dark when he's sad. I'll miss his flop of dark hair and his dimples when he smiles.

Do you ride?” That sounded sort of dirty, and the way he looked at me felt sort of dirty, too. No one ever looked at me like that. “Why ‘Ghost’?” I asked. Grasping the top of the car door, he leaned over it and spoke in a dramatic, foreboding voice. “Because she’s so fast she disappears down the streets at night.” “That sounds dangerous.” His dimple appeared. “The best things in life are.

I'm sorry Donatella wounded you so badly,' Evangeline said. And she meant it. She imagined Jacks was probably leaving a few things out, but she believed his hurt was genuine. 'Maybe the stories have it wrong and there's another true love waiting for you.' Jacks laughed derisively. 'Are you saying this because you think you can be her?' He eyed Evangeline through the bars, gaze bordering on indecent. 'Do you want to kiss me, Little Fox?' Something new and terrible knotted up inside her. 'No, that's not what I'm saying.' 'You don't sound too sure about that. You might not like me, but I bet you'd like it if I kissed you.' His eyes went to her lips, and the heat that swept across her mouth felt like the beginning of a kiss. 'Jacks, stop it,' she demanded. He didn't really want to kiss her. He was just teasing her to deflect the pain. 'I know what you're doing.' 'I doubt it.' He smiled, flashing his dimples as he ran his tongue over the tip of a very sharp and long incisor, looking suddenly thoughtful. 'Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to stay like this. I rather like these.' 'You also like daylight.' Evangeline reminded him. 'I could probably live without the sun if I could trade it for other things.' He cocked his head. 'I wonder... if I were to become a true vampire, perhaps my kiss wouldn't be fatal anymore.' His fangs lengthened. 'You could let me bite you and we could try it out.' Another piercing lick of heat, this time right beneath her jaw, then her wrist, and a few other intimate places she'd have never thought anyone would bite. Evangeline blushed from her neck down to her collarbone. 'We're not talking about biting,' she said hotly.

I ground my teeth. "Just when I thought I was getting a handle on this whole Dark One/demon lord/imp thing, you go and throw knockers into the mix. I'm going to have to request that you stop, Adrian. I'm about at my limit of how many impossible things I can believe before breakfast." He flashed a heart-stoppingly roguish grin at me, his dimples just about bringing me to my knees. "Your middle name wouldn't be Alice, would it?" he asked. "No, it's Diane, and you're no White Rabbit, so let's just stop pretending we're in Wonderland, OK?" He laughed and pointed across the tiny square at our destination. I watched him for a moment, seeing a glimpse of the charming, charismatic man he must have been before the demon lord cursed him and leeched away all the softer emotions.

She wept for her hardheadedness, and for a world that couldn’t just let her be both, a woman in love and a woman with a career, without flares of guilt and self-doubt seeping in and wrecking havoc. No one she knew had balanced both. There was either work or love. Wanting both felt like a huge ask, it felt like wishing for hot ice cream or a bitter sugar cube.

Logan. Fucking. Matthews. I hate him. I hate his stupid smug ass of a face and that perfectly messy brown hair. I hate those stupid green eyes and those perfect teeth, and that hot as fuck panty-dropping smile. I hate his stupid deep dimples that show whenever he smirks from being an asshole—which is all the fucking time. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him so fucking much, I want to push him up against the wall and punch him in the face. And then I want to lick it. Then rip his fucking shirt off and finger his abs while he does that annoyingly manly chuckle that I love. I hate him. Stupid Fucking Logan Fucking Matthews. Shit. I'm drunk. And I've turned into Lucy.

Tucker doesn't see me right away. He smiles the way he does when he delivers the punch line for a joke, a wry, knowing little flash of teeth and dimple. I melt seeing that smile, remembering the times when it's been aimed at me.

It’s not goodbye, Sam. It’s see you in two days. I promise…” she said stroking his hair away from his dimpled cheek. “I’m counting on it. You will be missed,” he said as he put her hand on his chest near his heart. “You will be missed right here…

My love lies across linen sheets, snow white beneath cream coloured flesh an expanse of gentle curves,two rosy buds a dimple of a navel a dark thatch of curls I can describe her beauty And spill precious ink to tell of her goodness But to express my love... Come to my arms, and I'll whisper words I dare not write. How you could damn ore save me with just a word Let me love you with my body the sacred dance of one My Julia

But he grins, so brilliantly, not even paying attention. "I love it when you say my name," he says. "I don't even know why." "Warner isn't your name," I point out. "Your name is Aaron." His smile is wide, so wide. "God I love that." "Your name?" "Only when you say it." "Aaron? Or Warner?" His eyes close. He tilts his head back against the wall. Dimples.

The movement of her beautiful back , shallow line of her spine, and the twin dimples at her lower back is a soft invitation to madness ...

Peter flashes an impish grin, the kind that turns up slightly on one side as he tilts his head. The action that makes produces dimples and makes me swoon.

Can dimples wink? Because I felt like his just did.

Oh, sweetheart,” he said softly, looking over his shoulder, the annoying dimple winking at me. “You were always the little one, not me.

You play those dimples like an exquisite orchestra, Mr. Boomer.

Holy hell, did she love her a good dimple. And this one was deadly. She needed to get him to stop smiling. Now.

LYSISTRATA By the Goddesses, you'll find that here await you Four companies of most pugnacious women Armed cap-a-pie from the topmost louring curl To the lowest angry dimple. MAGISTRATE

Ah! my poor Bahorel, she is a superb girl, very literary, with tiny feet, little hands, she dresses well, and is white and dimpled, with the eyes of a fortune-teller. I am wild over her.

The first thing I saw was a handsome stranger. He was leaning over me and I luxuriated in his cool, radiantly blue eyes, glittering like diamonds. How could someone be so perfect? Drops of water glistened on his dark hair. There was a small dimple on his chin, covered with light stubble that lent his otherwise stern face a boyish attitude. I realised I was losing myself in his gaze

His smile grew, and the dimple appeared and … and I kissed him. I rested my body against him, at an angle so I didn’t squish the cat, and thought, Here is my happiness. Here is my reason to survive. Here is my home.

Mrs. Allan's face was not the face of the girlbride whom the minister had brought to Avonlea five years before. It had lost some of its bloom and youthful curves, and there were fine, patient lines about eyes and mouth. A tiny grave in that very cemetery accounted for some of them; and some new ones had come during the recent illness, now happily over, of her little son. But Mrs. Allan's dimples were as sweet and sudden as ever, her eyes as clear and bright and true; and what her face lacked of girlish beauty was now more than atoned for in added tenderness and strength.

You’re sorry? I damn near drank myself to death, I could barely get out of bed, I shattered my phone into a million pieces on New Year’s Eve to keep from calling you … and you’re sorry?” I bit my lip and nodded, ashamed. I had no idea what he’d been through, and hearing his say the words made sharp pain twist inside my chest. “I’m so … so sorry.” “You’re forgiven,” he said with a grin. “Don’t ever do it again.” “I won’t. I promise.” He flashed his dimple and shook his head. “I fucking love you.” º

Ohhhhh." A lush-bodied girl in the prime of her physical beauty. In an ivory georgette-crepe sundress with a halter top that gathers her breasts up in soft undulating folds of the fabric. She's standing with bare legs apart on a New York subway grating. Her blond head is thrown rapturously back as an updraft lifts her full, flaring skirt, exposing white cotton panties. White cotton! The ivory-crepe sundress is floating and filmy as magic. The dress is magic. Without the dress the girl would be female meat, raw and exposed. She's not thinking such a thought! Not her. She's an American girl healthy and clean as a Band-Aid. She's never had a soiled or a sulky thought. She's never had a melancholy thought. She's never had a savage thought. She's never had a desperate thought. She's never had an un-American thought. In the papery-thin sundress she's a nurse with tender hands. A nurse with luscious mouth. Sturdy thighs, bountiful breasts, tiny folds of baby fat at her armpits. She's laughing and squealing like a four year-old as another updraft lifts her skirt. Dimpled knees, a dancer's strong legs. This husky healthy girl. The shoulders, arms, breasts belong to a fully mature woman but the face is a girl's face. Shivering in New York City mid-summer as subway steam lifts her skirt like a lover's quickened breath. "Oh! Ohhhhh." It's nighttime in Manhattan, Lexington Avenue at 51st Street. Yet the white-white lights exude the heat of midday. The goddess of love has been standing like this, legs apart, in spike-heeled white sandals so steep and so tight they've permanently disfigured her smallest toes, for hours. She's been squealing and laughing, her mouth aches. There's a gathering pool of darkness at the back of her head like tarry water. Her scalp and her pubis burn from the morning's peroxide applications. The Girl with No Name. The glaring-white lights focus upon her, upon her alone, blond squealing, blond laughter, blond Venus, blond insomnia, blond smooth-shaven legs apart and blond hands fluttering in a futile effort to keep her skirt from lifting to reveal white cotton American-girl panties and the shadow, just the shadow, of the bleached crotch. "Ohhhhhh." Now she's hugging herself beneath her big bountiful breasts. Her eyelids fluttering. Between the legs, you can trust she's clean. She's not a dirty girl, nothing foreign or exotic. She's an American slash in the flesh. That emptiness. Guaranteed. She's been scooped out, drained clean, no scar tissue to interfere with your pleasure, and no odor. Especially no odor. The Girl with No Name, the girl with no memory. She has not lived long and she will not live long.

I'll do what Dr. Alsan always says.' 'And what's that?' 'Carry myself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.' He grinned, and- there they were. The heart-stopping dimples. 'It will be fine, Olive.' His smile softened. 'And if not, at least it will be over.

Joel sat back in his chair and laughed at what seemed to be an inside joke, one in which I wanted very much to be let in on. An amiable smile stretched across his lips quoted by perfect dimples. I stared at him wanting nothing more than to indulge myself in that smile.

Her smile turned to one of joy and something he could not quite define. “You really do love me.” “I do.” He couldn’t help but smile back at her, at the note of wonder in her voice as if she were the lucky one. His finger traced the small dimple in her cheek. “But I doubt you will ever be able to understand how much. My world was a very dark place before you came into it. I am at home in the darkness, and you will likely see traces of it still lingering in the years to come. Intrigues abound in Venice, and I will be vigilant about protecting you. There will likely be times when you see a side of me that is … unpleasant, although hopefully not as unpleasant as the day we encountered the mercenaries.

I didn’t fuck Beau. I made slow, tantalizing love to him. Hey, first time for everything. We went slowly. My dick was rock hard. He used his hands to stroke his cock. My fingers were wrapped around his ankles so hard they might leave bruises. And yet we maintained eye contact. Even as the first threads of orgasm pulled at me. I watched his face. I memorized those dimples, the wide brown eyes, slightly flat nose, and his sharp jaw.

Dear old Jane is a jewel,” agreed Anne, “but,” she added, leaning forward to bestow a tender pat on the plump, dimpled little hand hanging over her pillow, “there’s nobody like my own Diana after all. Do you remember that evening we first met, Diana, and ‘swore’ eternal friendship in your garden? We’ve kept that ‘oath,’ I think…we’ve never had a quarrel nor even a coolness. I shall never forget the thrill that went over me the day you told me you loved me. I had had such a lonely, starved heart all through my childhood. I’m just beginning to realize how starved and lonely it really was. Nobody cared anything for me or wanted to be bothered with me. I should have been miserable if it hadn’t been for that strange little dreamlife of mine, wherein I imagined all the friends and love I craved. But when I came to Green Gables everything was changed. And then I met you. You don’t know what your friendship meant to me. I want to thank you here and now, dear, for the warm and true affection you’ve always given me.

Let’s do something about that mouth of yours, hm?” The corners of my mouth lifted into a playful smile, causing dimples to appear on either side of my cheeks. I saw her amused expression change, slowly becoming redder as she visibly swallowed. She blushed. Anastasia Lenkov just fucking blushed.

Do you like my smile?” he asks, walking towards me.
 I kick off my heels, so that when he stands before me, I am suddenly much shorter than a moment ago. “It’s the best I’ve seen,” I say honestly. And, of course, he smiles at me. “You see these…” I reach up and touch his cheeks where dimples form when he’s happy, “…these are adorable. These…” I lightly touch his lips, “…well, I’d better not tell you what I’d like to do with these…” His smile widens. “And these…” I touch the edges of his eyes, “…they smile, too.

With those dimples flashing, he murmurs, “I love you.”  His eyes continue holding mine as he releases those three sweet words into the cold air of the rink. In answer, a huge smile blooms across my face as I drop my bag and fly back into the warm confines of his arms before he wraps them tightly around me, picking me up and swinging me around in a tight circle.  “I love you, too,” I whisper

I had wanted to hate you that day. Believe me, I had. And then suddenly, staring at me incredulously, your extra half-tooth had blurted out aloud, ‘You get dimples on both cheeks!’ your immaculate lisp intact, on both the ‘s’es. I remember that second, the way your hair fell, the nankhatais on my tongue and the strains of Akhtar’s melody in the air. I had fallen in love with you then. I miss that second.’ ('Left from Dhakeshwari')

Joe and Carter and Kelly were coming out of the woods, finishing up their run as I came back from the garden. They were laughing and shoving each other the way brothers do. I loved all three of them. Except. Except. Joe wore a pair of low-slung shorts. Just the smallest things. And that was it. He was almost as big as I was now. We were eye level, or so close that it didn’t matter, which put him a couple of inches over six feet. There was a sheen of sweat over his torso. A spattering of wet blond hairs curling on his chest that looked to be cut out of granite. The soft definition of muscles on his stomach. A line of sweat that hit his happy trail and soaked into the waistband of his shorts. He turned, saying something back to Carter, and I saw the dimples above his ass. The way his legs flexed and shifted as he hopped from one foot to the other. He pointed wildly at something back in the woods and there was a blue vein that stuck out along his bicep and I wanted to trace with my fingers because when had that happened? And those hands. Those big fucking hands and I— Joe had grown up. And somehow, I hadn’t really seen it until it was on full display. Right in front of me. He

It’s destiny; the stars have aligned perfectly to bring us together as friends. You cannot argue with what’s meant to be, once the stars have spoken, it is absolute,” he uttered, all smug and knowing. Shocked that he used the word destiny, I cocked my head and shot him a look—for the first time actually seeing Parker. He was pretty…too pretty to be a guy; streaky blond hair—as if each streak had been strategically placed—dark eyes, pale skin, and a charming smile that dimpled in one cheek. “Destiny has already found me, with a clearly marked path for my future,” I retorted. “Then you are doubly fortunate, to have it find you twice.” Parker smiled again, his eyes eerily piercing into mine. Parker and Danielle

Does this feel like I don’t love every goddamn thing about your body, Chelcie?  Hmm?  Because let me tell you, Sunshine.  I see your body and I want to throw you over my shoulder every damn time.  I see your tits and I want to take them in my hands.  I want to watch your pink nipples harden at my touch right before I suck them deep in my mouth.  I see the stomach you say isn’t firm enough and, honestly, I could care less, babe.  I see your stomach and I remember how hot you looked carrying our boy.  Then I can’t help but get hot thinking about putting another baby in there.  And that ass.  Jesus Christ, you don’t even want to know how many times I’ve had to go to the bathroom at work because I’ll picture that fine ass and all of a sudden my cock is begging for release.  I see those thighs you say are getting dimples and all I can think about is getting my hands on them—spreading your legs and digging my fingers in while I devour that sweet pussy with my tongue.

You are not your age Nor the size of clothes you wear, You are not a weight, Or the colour of your hair. You are not your name, Or the dimples in your cheeks, You are all the books you read, And all the words you speak, You are your croaky morning voice, And all the smiles you try to hide, You're the sweetness in your laughter, And every tear you've cried. You're the songs you sing so loudly, When you know you are all alone, You're the places that you've been to, And the one that you call home, You're the things that you believe in, And the people that you love, You are the photos in your bedroom, And the future you dream of. You are made of so much beauty, But it seems that you forgot, When you decided that you were defined, By all the things you are not

I don’t want you involved in any of that.” “Because you care about me?” “Of course.” I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t want to worry about you getting hurt.” He stepped in and his other hand settled just above my hip. “Because you want to be with me?” “Yes.” That word was easy to speak. Rider smiled then and the right dimple appeared. “You want to be my girlfriend.” I opened my mouth and then I laughed. It sounded strange after the seriousness of our conversation, but the statement was sweet and silly. His cheeks pinked. “Not sure how I feel about that laugh,” he teased. “But I do love the sound of it.” My breath caught at the word. Love. Oh, gosh, was that what was happening here? “So do you? Want to be my girlfriend?” he asked, and then chuckled. “Probably should’ve brought this up before I kissed you, but I want...I want to see where this goes, Mallory. I feel like we got a second chance, you know? I’ve been thinking that since I sat down in speech and saw you sitting there. We have a second chance. And who gets second chances?” I searched his gaze, feeling a rightness deep in my chest. I had thought the same thing before, about second chances. “I don’t want to pass that up.

What I feel? Like how I want to take your pain away and yet throttle you at the same moment? How your stupid dimples are infuriating, look for them every time you smile because I know that's a real smile. I don't know why I look forward to arguing with you, but I do. You're clever, and you are kinder than even you realise- even though I know you have earned the title of the Dark One. You are a puzzle I want to figure out, but at the same time, don't. And when I realised You have so many masks- so many layers, I kept wanting to peel them back, even though I fear it will only hurt more in the end.' I shook my head as I curled my fingers around the collar of my tunic. 'I don't understand any of this. Like how do I want to stab you and kiss you at the same time? And I know you said that I deserve to be with someone who didn't kidnap me, or someone I don't want to stab-' 'Forget I said that,' he said, closer to me when I looked up. 'I have no idea what I was talking about. Maybe I didn't even say that.' My lips twitched. 'You totally said that.' 'You're right. I did. Forget it.

My eldest daughter, Suldana, is in love with another woman. She is eighteen and she spends her days working at our kiosk selling milk and eggs, and at night she sneaks out and goes down to the beach to see her lover. She crawls back into bed at dawn, smelling of sea and salt and perfume. Suldana is beautiful and she wraps this beauty around herself like a shawl of stars. When she smiles her dimples deepen and you can’t help but be charmed. When she walks down the street men stare and whistle and ache. But they cannot have her. Every day marriage proposals arrive with offers of high dowries but I wave them away. We never talk about these things like mothers and daughters should; but I respect her privacy and I allow her to live.

A Little Love from Karena I have a confession: I have cellulite. Yup. Dimples on the derriere, lumps and bumps on the back of my thighs. A lot of women have this, whether they’re in killer shape or not. Ever since I met Kat, who has the best booty EVER, I’ve worked hard to get it to look like hers. But no matter how many deadlifts or lunges I do, it still doesn’t. Does it look better? Absolutely. Is it perfect? No way (who’s defining “perfect,” anyway?). But I’ve learned to work with what I have. I dry brush and use self-tanner to make my rear view look the best it possibly can, and then I just go with what I’ve got. Up until 7 years ago, I would never wear short shorts because I was afraid of what people would think. Now I rock them because I have the confidence that comes from taking care of myself . . . plus a healthy dose of fierce self-acceptance. Sometimes you’ve just gotta say, “So what?” So take it from me: Flaunt it, no matter what. If someone is judging you, that’s their problem, not yours! You’re healthy, you’re in shape, and you’re taking fantastic care of yourself, inside and out. You’re Fit, Fierce, and Fabulous, and anyone who has a thing to say about a dimple on the back of your thigh clearly just doesn’t get it!

guess I’ll maybe see you after my talk, then?” “Of course.” “And after yours. Good luck. And congrats. It’s such a huge honor.” Adam didn’t seem to be thinking about that, though. He lingered by the door, his hand on the knob as he looked back at Olive. Their eyes held for a few moments before he told her, “Don’t be nervous, okay?” She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I’ll just do what Dr. Aslan always says.” “And what’s that?” “Carry myself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.” He grinned, and—there they were. The heart-stopping dimples. “It will be fine, Olive.” His smile softened. “And if not, at least it will be over.” It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she was sitting on her bed staring at the Boston skyline and chewing on her lunch, that Olive realized that the protein bar Adam had given her was covered in chocolate.

Chase took a long breath. “There’s no way around saying this, other than just coming straight out with it. I’ve been an idiot—an ass. Time and time again, I’ve done the wrong thing by you.” Her mouth dropped open. “And this whole time I’d been trying to do the right thing by not being with you. I didn’t want to betray Mitch by hooking up with his little sister. I didn’t want to somehow mess up our friendship either, because you have been such a huge part of my life.” He took a deep breath. “And I never wanted to be like my father—to treat you like he treated my mom. And it was stupid—I get that now. Chad was right. Father never loved our mother, but it’s different for me—it’s different for us. It always has been.” The whole time he spoke, he never looked away from her. She opened her mouth to say something but he rushed ahead. “But all I’ve managed to do is screw things up. That night in the club…I wasn’t drunk.” Madison shifted uncomfortably. “I know.” “It was a lame excuse, and I’m sorry. That night—I should’ve told you how I really felt. And every night thereafter,” he said, taking a step forward. “I should’ve told you how I felt the night in that damn cabin, too.” Her heart swelled as hope grew in a tangle of emotions she could never unravel. All of this seemed surreal. Tears rushed her eyes as she reached behind her, grasping the edges of her desk. “And how do you feel?” Chase’s smile revealed those deep dimples she loved, and when he spoke, his voice was husky. “Aw hell, Maddie, I’m not good at this kind of stuff. You…you are my world. You’ve always been my world, ever since I can remember.” At Bridget’s soft inhale, Madison placed a trembling hand over her mouth. Stepping forward, he placed a hand over hers, gently pulling it away from her mouth. “It’s the truth. You are my everything. I love you. I have for longer than I realized. Please tell me my boneheadedness hasn’t screwed things up beyond repair for us.

Love isn’t easy, but it shouldn’t be this complicated. I hate the fact that I’m falling in love with him. I hate the fact that once this is over with, I will be just a memory to him, and he will live for thousands of years.” Sarah “Sarah deserves better; a human, not a ghoul who has all these problems. It’s pathetic to depend on magic to get rid of your demons.” Eric “Every time I am around Eric, I feel more acutely attracted to him. I don’t know if that’s part of his powers, but I don’t want him having that effect on me.” Sarah “Death affects us in so many ways. When you want to move on from the person you mourn, it feels like you are trying to forget about them.” Sarah “I miss Sarah’s laugh, the scent of her, the dimples in her cheeks, her drilling me with questions about everything, and I even miss her getting mad at me for trying to get her to try new stuff. I remember the first night we spent together when I made her jump off the cliff with me. I knew she was mine; I knew I wanted to bond with her. I just regret the fact I didn’t do it sooner.” Eric

Did you have any yourself?" she said. "Just one." Harold thought of David, but it was too much to explain. He saw the boy as a toddler and how his face darkened in sunshine like a ripe nut. He wanted to describe the soft dimples of flesh at his knees, and the way he walked in his first pair of shoes, staring down, as if unable to credit they were still attached to his feet. He thought of him lying in hit cot, his fingers so appallingly small and perfect over his wool blanket. You could look at them and fear they might dissolve beneath your touch. Mothering had come so naturally to Maureen. It was as if another woman had been waiting inside her all along, ready to slip out. She knew how to swing her body so that a baby slept; how to soften her voice; how to curl her hand to support his head. She knew what temperature the water should be in his bath, and when he needed to nap, and how to knit him blue wool socks. He had no idea she knew these things and he had watched with awe, like a spectator from the shadows. It both deepened his love for her and lifted her apart, so that just at the moment when he thought their marriage would intensify, it seemed to lose its way, or at least set them in different places. He peered at his baby son, with his solemn eyes, and felt consumed with fear. What if he was hungry? What if he was unhappy? What if other boys hit him when he went to school? There was so much to protect him from, Harold was overwhelmed. He wondered if other men had found the new responsibility of parenting as terrifying, or whether it had been a fault that was only in himself. It was different these days. You saw men pushing buggies and feeding babies with no worries at all.

I...I haven’t done a lot of this.” His cheeks flushed pink and my eyes widened. “I mean, I’ve done some stuff, but not a lot. I haven’t...had sex.” For the longest moment I couldn’t respond. All I could do was stare at him. “You’re a virgin?” One side of his lips kicked up. “Yeah. You sound surprised.” “I am. I thought... I don’t know. You were with...Paige. I just assumed you had sex before.” “That would be a negative,” he replied, picking up my hand. “You’re looking at me like you don’t understand how it’s possible.” He could really read minds. “It’s gotten close, but I just never— I haven’t wanted to go that far.” He shrugged a bare shoulder. “I haven’t done it, either,” I blurted out. “I mean, that’s super obvious since...you’re the first boy I’ve kissed, but yeah, I don’t even know...what I’m saying and I’m just going to shut up.” Rider chuckled. “Don’t. I love it when you ramble.” “Only you would enjoy that.” I curled my fingers through his. “Do you want to...go that far with me?” His lashes swept up and his eyes, with their greenish flecks, met mine. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Someday.” Warmth swept across my cheeks as I whispered, “I...I want that, too. Someday.” The dimple in his right cheek appeared. “Then we’re on the same page.

It’s destiny; the stars have aligned perfectly to bring us together as friends. You cannot argue with what’s meant to be, once the stars have spoken, it is absolute,” he uttered, all smug and knowing. Shocked that he used the word destiny, I cocked my head and shot him a look—for the first time actually seeing Parker. He was pretty…too pretty to be a guy; streaky blond hair—as if each streak had been strategically placed—dark eyes, pale skin, and a charming smile that dimpled in one cheek. “Destiny has already found me, with a clearly marked path for my future,” I retorted. “Then you are doubly fortunate, to have it find you twice.” Parker smiled again, his eyes eerily piercing into mine.

Oscar pushed a strand of her loose raven hair behind her ear, and Camille knew she hadn’t completely failed. The man she loved, and who loved her, was alive when, under all normal circumstance, he shouldn’t be. How could that be seen as failure? “You know, and I know.” Oscar paused to take a breath. “William would never have approved of us being together.” He held his eyes level with hers, as if trying to detect any flicker of doubt or apprehension in her. “We won’t be tying bait bags for a living, will we?” she asked, willing to give up her wealth, her good name, but never her dignity. Oscar laughed. “No bait bags.” “Well, of that my father would at least approve. And even if he didn’t,” she said with a sly grin, “I do.” She rose to the tips of her toes and kissed him. “Oy, lovebirds!” Ira shouted from the ground. He and Samuel had reached the base and now looked into the sunlight, shielding their eyes with the planes of their hands. “Should I build a campfire and start sending smoke signals? Here we are, beasties! Come have lunch!” Oscar’s familiar sarcasm slipped back into place. “No smoke signals needed, Ira, the shouting will do just fine.” He released his arms from around her waist, and Camille reluctantly let him go, too. He descended the first boulder. “I’ll go first, in case you slip.” Oscar’s eyes came level with Camille’s ratty wool stockings. He looked up at her, his dimples as irresistible as the first time she’d seen them. “Well, at least it’s an improvement from bare feet,” he said. Camille wiggled her toes, laughing. She started down the mound of boulders toward the world that lay ahead, her footing sure and steady.