Idol Kristen Callihan Quotes

A person can get…stuck, for lack a better word, in a life. It’s surprisingly easy, really. Hours bleed into days; days fade into months. Before you know it, years have passed, and you’re just this person, someone your younger self wouldn’t even recognize.

Music can be your friend when you have none, your lover when you’re needy. Your rage, your sorrow, your joy, your pain. Your voice when you’ve lost your own. To be a part of that, to be the soundtrack of someone’s life, is a beautiful thing. —Killian James, lead singer and guitarist, Kill John

Baby doll, I could assert my manly dominance, thump my chest, and declare you’re mine. But it wouldn’t mean a damn thing if I’m not yours in return.

I will never laugh at you,” he promises fiercely. “Ever. I’m your safe place, Libby. You’ve got to know that.

God, she’s gonna feed me. I’d like this girl just for that. But I’ve got to hold myself together.

Love breaks your heart, fucks you up— perfect, all-consuming chaos.” … He wraps me up in his arms, his eyes on mine. “But it’s also this. Peace, and warmth, and so fucking beautiful, you’ll risk anything to keep it.

I find myself wanting to study his lower abdomen, where the muscles are like stepping stones leading the way down to Mr. Happy.

I’m your safe place, Libby. You’ve got to know that.

You’re my reason, the answer to all questions.

Babe, if I’ve learned anything about opportunity, it’s that you make it happen. Fear will only hold you back. You can have the world. Just reach for it.” “I don’t need the world,” she whispers. “What do you need?” I ask just as softly. Her hands slide up to my neck, her lips nuzzling my jaw. “You.

You’re fighting the urge to look down and check, aren’t you?” I say in the dark. My dick stirs, like he knows he’s about to become a conversation piece and wants to look his best.

Just because you encountered some grit doesn’t mean you gotta quit.

There are times when a girl needs sexy. That's the thing no one ever tells you. Sexy can be both a weapon and a wall of defense.

... she opens her mouth. Then it's one long stream of colorful bitch.

I’m trying to show you how much I care, that your dreams mean something to me! They’re not things to be swept under the rug or given lip service. They fucking matter, Libby. You matter.

You know what? Fuck it. Here’s the truth: I wasn’t happy — until I met you.” I literally rock back on my heels, nearly blown away by his candor. His hands fist as he takes a step closer. “I’ve been here for nearly two months. I never stay in one place that long. And why do you think I’m still here? The scenery? No. It’s you that I don’t want to leave.

He's going to kill me. They'll find me lying on the floor, my heart burt wide open, too full of him to stay in my chest.

I’m new to the area. I could get lost. Next thing you know, I’m half-starved, and in my weakened condition, I could be eaten by wild, rabid bunnies.” “Bunnies?” I hadn’t wanted to laugh but did anyway. “Of all the animals, you go with bunnies?” “Have you ever looked in a bunny’s eyes, Libs? They’re just waiting for their chance to dominate. Why do you think they’re always so twitchy?” “Because they’re freaked something’s going to eat them for dinner?” “Nope. They’re plotting. It’s just a matter of time before they make their move. Mark my words.

God, that voice. I've been trying to ignore it because it's the kind of voice that can pull you under, make you lose your train of thought. Low and deep and powerful. He talks, and it's a melody.

You’re bringing me back to life.

What do we have, Killian?” I ask softly. His eyes meet mine. “I don’t know. But it’s real. It’s the only real thing I have right now.

You’re it. My present, my future, my everything.

Your voice is so fucking beautiful, Liberty Bell. Like sex on Sunday.

Part of me regrets ever meeting him. Because this hurts too much.

Tell me you want this too, baby doll.” “Want what?” I can’t think, my head is heavy, my limbs fumbling. His dark eyes meet mine. “Everything.” My finger shakes as I trace the dark line of his brow. His lids lower, his head tilting to follow my touch. I lean in, kiss the corner of his eye. “Only with you.

You look like you swallowed a goat.” “A goat?” I laugh. “How the hell does that look?” “Faintly ill and fighting a gag.” “You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself, Rye.

His vocals are the stuff of legend—strong, clean, and powerful with a rawness that hooks into your soul and gives it a tug. He sings, and you feel he’s doing it just for you, taking your pain, frustration, joy, rage, sorrow, and love and giving it a voice.

Mama always said a man was led by his stomach and his cock,” she says from the rocking chair at my side, while she idle strums her guitar. “It was just a matter of figuring out which one needs the most appeasing at the moment.

You woke me back up, Libby. You have to know that.

It's like she's embarking on a mission of doom.

You are the best part of my day, Killian.

You’re crazy pants, you know that?” Her scowl is kind of cute.

The worst thing you can do in life is ignore an opportunity out of fear.

Beautiful,” I croak past the lump in my throat. “You’re beautiful.” I know with an eerie calm that I’ll never see anything or anyone more stunning in my life. Everything has changed. Everything.

Don’t know if you noticed,” I say with false lightness, “but it’s raining cows and chickens out there.” Her snort buffets my skin. “Cows and chickens?” “This here is farm country, Libs,” I drawl “Ain’t no cats and dogs filling these skies.

Music can be your friend when you have none, your lover when you’re needy. Your rage, your sorrow, your joy, your pain. Your voice when you’ve lost your own. To be a part of that, to be the soundtrack of someone’s life, is a beautiful thing.

More folk to my rock.

his cream-colored three-piece suit, gray silk tie, and sky blue shirt. He’s wearing

the urge

In that instant, I am God. Omnipotent. Endless.

I hate small talk, always have. Hate the awkward, too tight effect it has on my skin, my throat.

Mmm…” He nips my chin, makes his way down my neck. “Pet him, kiss him, keep him warm at night, entertained during the day.

I have to pause here,” I say. “You, Jax Blackwood, Mr. Too Cool Rocker, just referenced Barbara Streisand.

That's the thing with endless things in real life. You never really know when they're going to happen

You can have the world. Just reach for it.

Killian can’t control his dick. So noted.

I need to talk. I need to be heard. Just once. And maybe, just maybe, I won’t feel like I’m falling apart anymore.

Music can be your friend when you have none, your lover when you’re needy. Your rage, your sorrow, your joy, your pain. Your voice when you’ve lost your own. To be a part of that, to be the soundtrack of someone’s life, is a beautiful thing. —Killian James,

Have you ever looked in a bunny’s eyes, Libs? They’re just waiting for their chance to dominate. “Why do you think they are always so twitchy?” “Because they’re freaked something’s going to eat them for dinner?” “Nope. They’re plotting. It’s just a matter of time before they make their move. Mark my words.

God, she was gorgeous. Pure and cleanly beautiful. From the rounded crests of her cheeks to the delicate sweep of her jaw, she had the kind of face sculptors memorialized in marble and the rest of us gazed upon for centuries to come. Of course she was beautiful. She was an actress. Meant to be idolized on the screen. Emma Maron, a.k.a Princess Anya, future queen and conqueror on Dark Castle. The guys and I used to watch the show while traveling between games. Anya was a favorite. Particularly since... I'd seen her breasts. It hit me like a puck to the helmet, and my ears began to ring. I'd seen those perfect creamy handfuls with sweet pink tips that pointed upward, defying gravity and begging to be sucked. I had watched her on hands on knees, perky tits bouncing as Arasmus slammed into her from behind. I actually blushed. Me. The guy who'd had dozens of women throw themselves at him every night since high school. I'd had sex so many times and in so many ways it had become a blur. Nothing shamed me or made me uncomfortable. Yet I started to get hot under the collar, my cheeks burning. After nearly a year of being disinterested in all things sexual, my dick decided to make its presence known and start rising. Now, of all times. Now, when I was stuck in a damn truck less than three feet from a woman, I finally got a hard-on. Lovely. I felt like a damn lecher. "At least it's a beautiful drive," she said, breaking through heated thoughts of creamy breasts with cotton candy nipples.

But when you smile? You kind of glow.

Maybe hell doesn't burn. Maybe it's perpetual downing.