Rough Rider Quotes

Seriously? There was a condom brand called Rough Rider? Why not just go with F**k Her Hard and be done with it?

Jack: "For Christ's sake, it wasn't like I was on vacation. I've been in Iowa, in cornfield hell! Keely: Did you just say you got cornholed in Iowa?

You actually fucked her? What, did her forked tongue feel exceptionally good on your dick or something?" —Keely to Jack after meeting his ex-girlfriend.

Sometimes you're so nice, I can't believe I ever hated you." —Keely to Jack

No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.

I half expected you to whip out your dick and pee on me as you snarled at him and marked your territory.

Umm. Wow. Did it grow? Because it looks bigger." "Kissin' your red-hot love flower made this stem grow big and hard just for you, baby doll." AJ managed to meet his eyes. "Love flower?" "Thought maybe you wanted some kinda sweet-talkin' love words first.

You're playing with fire askin' that question, darlin'." "Why's that?" "'Cause my very explicit answer would make you blush like a virgin and run screamin' for the Black Hills.

Let me grab my toothbrush and toothpaste and I'll go. Get your eyes off my junk and you'll see that I have your toothbrush and toothpaste in my hand. Oh shit. She raised her gaze only high enough to see, yes indeed, Chase was holding her oral hygiene supplies.

Trojan, Durex, Lifestyles, Trojan Magnum (oh yeah, my three foot cock definitely needed those), Contempo, Vivid and Rough Rider. Seriously? There was a condom brand called Rough Rider? Why not just go with Fuck Her Hard and be done with it? I stood in the "Family Planning" aisle of the grocery store, trying to decide which condom brand was more effective. Family Planning…give me a break. How many people came to this aisle because they were planning a family? They came to this aisle to AVOID planning a family. --Carter

Now we do what parents with little kids do. We fall into bed, exhausted, with thoughts of raunchy, hot sex the furthest thing from our minds.” “That’ll work. But if you snore, I’m punching you in the nose.

I missed you, you dickhead. I missed you so goddamn much. Don't you ever ever ever take off and leave me like that again, do you hear me?

Back off, perv! I have a black belt in taekwondo and I will fuck you up if you take another step toward me.” Chase raised his hands in surrender, trying really, really hard to keep his eyes on hers. “Whoa, there, crouching tiger. Let’s just take this down a notch.

She’d rather be anonymous in a big city than infamous in a small town.

You ever heard the phrase 'nice guys finish last'? It's true. Been true my whole life. So, maybe it'd be nice for me for a change, if someone thought I was worth fightin' for.

That I’m gonna have your sweet little body every which way I’ve fantasized about? Absolutely. That I’m make you forget any other man who’s ever touched you? Without apology. That I’m gonna cause your body to sing and sigh and weep with pleasure? Guaranteed. That I’d ever hurt you? No. That I’d ever share you? Bring another lover into our bed? Hell no. Fuck no.” His lips were a whisper away; his eyes flashed a dangerous glint. “You’re only ever mine. My hands on you. My mouth on you. My cock in you. Understood?

And if you share that humiliation, there’s the chance the person will use it against you at the first opportunity. Or they’ll cut you out of their life entirely. So how do you ever trust someone? Without giving them the power to destroy you?

Channing, come back here.” “No,” she tossed off over her shoulder. “I’m warnin’ you, girl, you don’t want to make me mad.” “Tough shit, tough guy. Suck it up and walk it off.” People around them stopped and stared, nudged each other and chuckled, giving Colby a wide berth. “Last chance,” he yelled. Channing flipped him the bird without turning around. In fact, she ran away from him like her boot heels were smoking. He was going to paddle that sassy little ass but good.

Should I tell her that I can’t sleep, I can’t eat and I miss talkin’ to her? Or just sittin’ with her? That I miss the secret way she smiles at me? That I constantly think about the way she smells, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her skin, and the sound of her laughter?

I know it’s stupid, but I’m just so crazy in love with her I wanted everyone to know it. To see how lucky I am. To brag that this…perfect woman is mine. That she picked me. That she loves me.” “What do you care that the whole world knows that?” Colt said. “Jeez, Carter, the only important thing is you know.” Colby and Cord both gave Colt an odd look.

It was a pleasure to deal with a man of high ideals, who scorned everything mean and base, and who possessed those robust and hardy qualities of body and mind, for the lack of which no merely negative virtue can ever atone.

Kiss me. I love the way you kiss me. Like I'm the only thing in the world. When I'm kissin' you, sweetheart you are the only thing in my world

I'd feed you the cake just to watch your lips wrap around the fork. Then I'd watch your beautiful throat muscles work swallowing the sticky sweetness, fantasizin' about smearin' chocolate frosting down your neck so I could lick it off. Slowly. And when I finished feedin' you, I'd press my mouth to yours for a thorough taste of you and the cake.

A dirty and mean sense of humor first thing in the morning. I may learn to like you yet.

Lord, I’m gettin’ addicted to your kisses, AJ. I feel plain, damn drugged when you’re kissin’ me. I feel plain, damn lost myself when you ain’t around.

At the very least he should have to suffer somehow, right? I mean, months of being sick, being hormonal, being fat, being so desperately horny and then wanting to chop off Brandt's hand or his dick if either so much as touched me again.

Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. Literally. It might fall and crush you.

You looking for a firsthand demonstration of my heterosexual prowess, cowgirl? Because I'm more than up for a challenge.

God, she loved this man. She loved his gruff, sweet, thoughtful sides. And his edgy side. She wasn’t in love with the perfect Cord McKay she’s been fantasizing over forever, but the real flesh and blood man. The real man. Flaws and all.

Right now, AJ. I wanna pin you against the wall and fuck you hard enough to rattle the stalls. Then I want to bend you over the railing’ and take you from behind, sinkin’ my teeth into that spot at the base of your neck that makes you scream my name.” AJ swallowed. “Um. Let’s start with just one and work our way down the wish list, okay?

Depends on if this is an ass chewing session or a rational discussion. I've had enough shit flung at me today that I'm feeling like a monkey.

That bitch fate had a nasty sense of humor.

Why the fuck would I marry you? I don't even like you.

You shouldn't ask questions like that, sweetheart. You'll never get the truth out of a man with a hard-on.

You told me, girlfriend. Will your boyfriend be jealous we're tossing bitchy banter back and forth?

I’d rather be alone and be happy with my own company than be somebody I’m not so I can fit in with people whose company I despise.

I'm here. Right here, right beside you where I've always been and where I'm always gonna be. I ain't goin' nowhere. I love you. Come back to me. Please.

Credit should go with the performance of duty, and not with what is very often the accident of glory.

Not until Theodore Roosevelt resigned his prestigious position as assistant secretary of the navy in 1898 to fight with the Rough Riders in the Cuban dirt would there be a rich man as weirdly rabid to join American forces in combat as Lafayette was. The two shared a child’s ideal of manly military glory. Though in Lafayette’s defense, he was an actual teenager, unlike the thirty-nine-year-old TR.

Why, Jack-off... You actually have a sense of humor! You should share that playful side more often. Guys really go for it.

Everyone who was ever a guest of Theodore Roosevelt was astonished at the range and diversity of his knowledge. Whether his visitor was a cowboy or a Rough Rider, a New York politician or a diplomat, Roosevelt knew what to say. And how was it done? The answer was simple. Whenever Roosevelt expected a visitor, he sat up late the night before, reading up on the subject in which he knew his guest was particularly interested.

It's hard to have a serious conversation with you when you're wearin' lighted cocks on your head." AJ defiantly thrust out her chin and the penises bobbled. "We aren't having a conversation. You're give me tough-guy attitude. If you won't acknowledge me in public, you don't have the right to chastise me for anything I do in public or in private. And now you lost the right to do anything to me in private either, bucko." "Quit bein' so goddamm childish." Her eyes narrowed to silver slits. "Quit bein' such a goddamn dickhead." "You're the one with dicks on your head, baby doll." "Yeah? I can take mine off any old time I please, but you wear your dickhead like a second skin. Or should I say as a second foreskin?

I love you, Caro. I ain't an easy man to love. I'm grateful every damn day that you see past what's on the surface and know the man I am down deep. It's never scared you - even when it's scared me. You give me more happiness and love in one day than I ever thought I'd have in a lifetime. Thank you.

Every woman wants a cowboy.

Cause you got the sweet face of an innocent and the body of a high-priced whore.

Her skin beaded from his steady, gentle touch.

Yeah. But it feels like I've been waitin' for her forever.

Your father would never hurt me. Fighting revs him up. I know how to handle him and what he needs.

Then there was Micah Jenkins, the Captain of Troop K, a gentle and courteous South Carolinian, on whom danger acted like wine. In action he was a perfect gamecock.

A sitting president—the man who led the Rough Riders on a suicidal charge, who hunted bears, who had conquered a crippling childhood illness, who had beaten depression and grief and a million other obstacles—was scared of what people might think.

Most of the men had simple souls. They could relate facts, but they said very little about what they dimly felt.

Again, it was proposed that we should go up the mountains and make our camps there.

You are so bossy, Mr.McKay.

You're about to meet the business end of my shotgun, comin' on McKay land and insulting me and mine.

They included Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Roosevelt and his Rough Riders,

Love...love is the only thing that doesn't hurt. So many people are afraid of it. I think I was five years ago. Afraid that loving you would hurt me, one way or the other. But love doesn't hurt. Abuse hurts, and loneliness hurts, and jealousy hurts, and lies hurt. But love? Love heals. Love puts back together things that were broken before. Which is what you've done for me. So promising you, that's easy. I don't want to be anywhere else but with you. No matter what.

And then…he cupped her face with both hands, lowered his own and paused. Hesitated. His mouth hovering a hair's breath away. His soft, warm breath caressing. Teasing. And she held her own. Waiting. Willing him to commit himself while the kiss hung between them, a sweet promise suspended in time.

There are lay ers to loving me. In the beginning, I am quite easy to love. My surface is smooth, my smiles tender. But as time undresses, my insides are revealed to be rough and ragged. It will become awfully difficult to love me. At times, borderline impossible. Many have left; for people would rather see a car accident unfold from afar, than be the shotgun rider. Until you. Only you can see all you see, know all you know about me, and still look at me like this.

What will your family think, me showing up on their doorstep with my suitcase in hand?" "I'll carry your suitcase," he said.

I was going to say I don't have a way into the house, but I have you." She grinned. "Oh Master of lock picking.

We did everything possible to keep up the spirits of the men, but it was exceedingly difficult because there was nothing for them to do.

Like you were a work of art that I wanted to lock away because no one would ever appreciate your rare beauty like I would?

your

Of course, really, those that stayed were entitled to precisely as much honor as those that went.

Claiming her as his. He was rough, demanding and possessive. He wanted her to feel his brand of love. Complete. Encompassing. Reverent. Carnal.

The amazing thing about being a bike rider is that you always know from the first turn of the pedals what sort of a day you are going to have.

Oh yeah?” Grady pulled out another chuck of wintergreen Skoal and stuffed it under his lower lip. “There ain’t a bull in the world that can’t be rode, sweetheart—” “Or a cowboy that can’t be throwed,” Janice finished with a smirk of her own. Although one of the top contenders, Grady needed to be taken down a peg or two and Janice hoped Dirk would be the one to do it. -ROUGH RIDER

Then imagine”—he told her, pushing harder, half hoping she shoved him off and walked away, half hoping she told him to take her right then—“because I talk as dirty as I fight, and I fuck as hard as I play.

The cat purred and stared at him. "You like that idea, don't you? Yes, you do, kitty kitty." "You are totally cooing at my cat right now." "Am not" "It's turning me on." "I'm totally cooing at your cat.

As the room slowly empties, the adrenaline drains from me, leaving me exhausted and discouraged. One thing they never tell you about this job is how much it’s like your first roller-coaster ride—thrilling highs, lows lower than a snake’s belly. Then it’s just me, staring at the Rough Rider portrait above the fireplace and hearing footsteps as Carolyn, Danny, and Jenny gingerly approach the wounded animal in the cage.

His lips brushed over hers. She let out a sigh of relief and joy and pleasure. He pulled her tighter against him, taking her mouth with his own. She melted into him and the kiss, heart pounding, desire sparking along her nerve endings like a string of lit dynamite.

You’re going to let me fuck you with my hands. You’re going to let me fuck you with my mouth. You’re going to let me fuck you with my cock.” He paused. “You’re going to let me fuck you with any other random thing I decide will bring you screaming orgasmic pleasure.

(Speaking about ponies engaging in a game of running around and chasing a ball with "imaginary riders") Along with everything else about it, it seemed to be a parable for life. Going forwards and backwards and round in circles, striving ever forward only to have to run like crazy backwards to get the ball again, realizing that your enemy is after the same goal and you're actually helping him toward it and getting roughed up and possibly killed while you're at it but still feeling the comradeship of being in the game all together.

Hell...” His voice was thick, rough. “Mallory, you’re...” “What?” I whispered, feeling my body burn for two very different reasons. “You’re beautiful.” His gaze dipped, tracking the lacy edges of the bra. “Never thought I’d see you like this. So freaking glad I have. You’re so beautiful, Mallory.

Maverick texted her throughout the day making sure she was okay, and who knew that the word fuck could sound so sweet? I'm fucking worried about you. He'll fucking pay if he hurts you. IS IT 5OFUCKINGCLOCK YET? That one came complete with a winky face.And when a big tough biker dude sent you shouty caps and a winky face, it could make you smile.

Hank Knight asked questions about Jesse Rose and an item that was taken from her crib the night she was kidnapped. His questions led our lawyer to believe Hank had knowledge about the crime and possibly where Jesse Rose is now. I think he got too close to the truth. Too close to the kidnapper's accomplice. And if I'm right then you can help me prove it.

I ended my statement to the colored soldiers by saying: "Now, I shall be very sorry to hurt you, and you don't know whether or not I will keep my word, but my men can tell you that I always do;" whereupon my cow-punchers, hunters, and miners solemnly nodded their heads and commented in chorus, exactly as if in a comic opera, "He always does; he always does!

Lord, I don't know what came over me, sweetheart. I hope I wasn't too rough with you." He inched her away from him and searched her rosy face. "Stop babbling, Mr. Sinclair. I loved every minute of it." Her lips curved in a seductive smile that made Rider's Mr. Happy rear to attention again. "Lord, woman, you keep this up and I'm going to die a young man." "But a very,very happy young man!

When I was a kid an older guy sat out front of a gas station in Old Town, FL. His favorite story involved roughing up a couple of guys because "you could tell they weren't from around here." The gruesome details were implied as he'd pull out a straight razor and a plastic bag containing Red Devil lye. "Deliverance", the end of "Easy Rider", and every "wrong turn" horror movie would later make more sense because of those childhood stops for gas and a Yoo-hoo.

Major General Leonard Wood Leonard Wood was an army officer and physician, born October 9, 1860 in Winchester, New Hampshire. His first assignment was in 1886 at Fort Huachuca, Arizona where he fought in the last campaign against the fierce Apache warrior Geronimo. He was awarded the Medal of Honor for carrying dispatches 100 miles through hostile territory and was promoted to the rank of Captain, commanding a detachment of the 8th Infantry. From 1887 to 1898, he served as a medical officer in a number of positions, the last of which was as the personal physician to President William McKinley. In 1898 at the beginning of the war with Spain, he was given command of the 1st Volunteer Cavalry. The regiment was soon to be known as the “Rough Riders." Wood lead his men on the famous charge up San Juan Hill and was given a field promotion to brigadier general. In 1898 he was appointed the Military Governor of Santiago de Cuba. In 1920, as a retired Major General, Wood ran as the Republican candidate for the presidency of the United States, losing to Warren Harding. In 1921 following his defeat, General Wood accepted the post of Governor General of the Philippines. He held this position from 1921 to 1927, when he died of a brain tumor in Boston, on 7 August 1927, at 66 years of age after which he was buried, with full honors, in Arlington National Cemetery.

Approaching the trail, he broke through the thicket a short distance ahead of the Empath. Causing the Empaths horse to startle as the surprised rider jerked on the reins. Cap was equally surprised to find a young girl before him instead of an older, experienced male Empath. Cap brought his horse to a quick halt. The young girl pulled a small knife from her boot and cautioned him. "I don't know where you came from, but I'm not easy prey.” Her voice shook slightly with fear as she raised the knife. Not sure how to proceed, they stared silently at each other. Cap had always believed that Empaths didn't carry weapons. This pretty, chestnut haired girl couldn't be more than 18 years old. Her long straight tresses covered the spot on her jacket where the Empathic Emblem was usually worn, causing Cap to doubt she was the one he sought. Not wanting to frighten her any more than he already had, Cap tried to explain. "I'm Commander Caplin Taylor. I’m looking for an Empath that is headed for the Western Hunting Lodge.” "My name is Kendra; I am the Empath you seek.” She answered cautiously, still holding the blade. A noise from the brush drew her attention as a small rodent pounced out, trying to evade an unseen predator. Cap was just close enough to lurch forward and snatch the dirk from her hand. Her head jerked back in alarm. "Bosen May has been mauled by a Sraeb, his shoulder is a mass of pulp." Cap spoke quickly not wanting to hesitate any longer. That was all Kendra needed to hear. She pushed her horse past him and headed quickly down the trail. "Wait!" Cap called after her, turning his horse around. Reining in the horse, she turned back to face him annoyed by the delay. "Are you a good horseman?" Cap asked, as he stuffed her dirk in his jacket. "I've been in the saddle since I was a child." She answered, abruptly. "Okay so just a few years then?" Cap's rebuke angered her. Jerking the horse back toward the trail, she ignored him. "Wait, I'm sorry!" Cap called after her. "It's just that I know a quicker way, if you can handle some rough terrain." "Let’s go then." Kendra replied, gruffly, turning back to face him. Without another word, Cap dove back into the brush and the girl followed.

He had been a timid child in New York City, cut off from schoolboy society by illness, wealth, and private tutors. Inspired by a leonine father, he had labored with weights to build up his strength. Simultaneously, he had built up his courage “by sheer dint of practicing fearlessness.” With every ounce of new muscle, with every point scored over pugilistic, romantic, and political rivals, his personal impetus (likened by many observers to that of a steam train) had accelerated. Experiences had flashed by him in such number that he was obviously destined to travel a larger landscape of life than were his fellows. He had been a published author at eighteen, a husband at twenty-two, an acclaimed historian and New York State Assemblyman at twenty-three, a father and a widower at twenty-five, a ranchman at twenty-six, a candidate for Mayor of New York at twenty-seven, a husband again at twenty-eight, a Civil Service Commissioner of the United States at thirty. By then he was producing book after book, and child after child, and cultivating every scientist, politician, artist, and intellectual of repute in Washington. His career had gathered further speed: Police Commissioner of New York City at thirty-six, Assistant Secretary of the Navy at thirty-eight, Colonel of the First U.S. Volunteer Cavalry, the “Rough Riders,” at thirty-nine. At last, in Cuba, had come the consummating “crowded hour.” A rush, a roar, the sting of his own blood, a surge toward the sky, a smoking pistol in his hand, a soldier in light blue doubling up “neatly as a jackrabbit” … When the smoke cleared, he had found himself atop Kettle Hill on the Heights of San Juan, with a vanquished empire at his feet.

I suck at this spillin’ my guts stuff. I always have. You know that probably better’n anyone.” “Yeah, well, it’s a lousy excuse. It always has been.” Trevor slowly lifted his head and gave Edgard an incredulous look. “How is that smartass answer supposed to help me?” “Oh, so now you want my help?” “Well yeah, since it’s obvious I f**ked up and it’s obvious you think you know how to fix it.” “Fine.” Edgard pointed to the cell phone clipped on the dash. “Call her. Say, ‘Baby, I’m sorry I was an ass**le. I love you’, but for Christsake don’t qualify it.” “Qualify it, meanin’ what?” “Don’t tack on, ‘I was an ass**le because I’m under stress’, just apologize. Period.” They stared at each other. “That’s it?” “Sometimes the smallest gestures have the biggest impact.” “Can’t be that easy,” Trevor muttered, snatching the phone. He faced out the driver’s side window but didn’t lower his voice.

After a while, Trevor said, “Know something funny? Chassie wants us to talk. She thinks it’ll help if we get everything out in the open.” “So she doesn’t realize that was our issue? That we couldn’t be open?” Trevor frowned. “First time you’ve said ‘we’ in that old argument, Ed. You always blamed me for us not holdin’ hands and shit.” “I’ve learned the hard way maybe you were right about the kinda baggage other people hide when they’re showing a different face to the world.” When Edgard didn’t elaborate, Trevor demanded, “You gonna explain that comment? Or you gonna sit there with that smug-ass look and make me guess?” “Trying to explain it when you’re in a piss-poor mood would be a waste of breath.” Edgard gave Trevor a cool once-over. “And for the record, I’m not acting smug. I’m just as screwed up about all this with Chassie as you are.” “Right. I’m sure you’re happy as shit.” Seething, Edgard snapped, “You never had the balls to tell me how you felt when we were together every goddamn day, so don’t you ever f**king presume to tell me anything about the way I feel now when you haven’t seen me for three and a half f**king years.” “I didn’t mean—

I mean it. We will not be havin' sex." "Fine. I get it. Hands off. No hugs, no kisses, no holding hands, no hot looks, no copping a feel. No chance for a hard, fast, sweaty, screaming, raunchy ****fest against the wall, or on the floor, or in the shower, and definitely not on the bed.

It'd be a long goddamn drive without her. No, it'll be a long goddamn life without her.

I was on my freshman spring break, and my family was living in Honolulu again, so Domenic and I had reconvened there. Both of us had, like everyone who grew up on surf mags, dreamed since childhood of surfing Honolua Bay. But it was odd, in a way, that we were here, waiting on waves, since we had both quit surfing years before. It happened when I turned sixteen. It wasn’t a clean break, or even a conscious decision. I just let other things get in the way: car, money to keep car running, jobs to make money to keep car running. The same thing happened with Domenic. I got a job pumping gas at a Gulf station on Ventura Boulevard, in Woodland Hills, for an irascible Iranian named Nasir. It was the first job I had that wasn’t devoted exclusively to the purpose of paying for a surfboard. Domenic also worked for Nasir. We both got old Ford Econoline vans, surf vehicles par excellence, but we rarely had time to surf. Then we both fell under the spell of Jack Kerouac and decided we needed to see America coast-to-coast. I got a job working graveyard shifts—more hours, more money—at a grubby little twenty-four-hour station on a rough corner out in the flatlands of the San Fernando Valley. It was a place where Chicano low riders would try to steal gas at 5 a.m.—Hey, let’s rip off the little gringo. I got a second job parking cars at a restaurant, taking “whites” (some kind of speed—ten pills for a dollar) to stay awake. The restaurant’s patrons were suburban mobsters, good tippers, but my boss was a Chinese guy who thought we should stand at attention between customers. He badgered and finally fired me for reading and slouching. Domenic was also stacking up money. When the school year ended, we pooled our savings, quit our gas station jobs, said good-bye (I assume) to our parents, and set off, zigzagging east, in Domenic’s van. We were sixteen, and we didn’t even take our boards.

All—Easterners and Westerners, Northerners and Southerners, officers and men, cowboys and college graduates, wherever they came from, and whatever their social position—possessed in common the traits of hardihood and a thirst for adventure. They were to a man born adventurers, in the old sense of the word.

Cody, Wyoming, 1977. Buffalo Bill Museum. Buffalo Bill Historical Center, Peter H. Hassrick, Director, N.D. "Buffalo Bill's Wild West." Wyoming Horizons. August 1983. Buffalo Bill's Wild West and Congress of the Rough Riders of the World, show programme. Copyrighted by Cody and Salsbury, Chicago, IL, 1893. Doherty, Jim. "Was He Half Hype or Sheer Hero? Buffalo Bill Takes a New

I’m sorry your rider died saving my brother.” “We will no longer speak of the one who came before.” Tairn’s voice is rough.

Gabs, can we talk a second?” He clears his throat. Nothing good ever follows that statement. I brace myself for what’s sure to be an awkward conversation. “I just want to apologize for our… misunderstanding freshman year.” I’m silent for a moment, but the rush of anger that spikes my pulse has me responding before I think better of it. “You’d call it a misunderstanding, huh?” I roll my eyes. “Funny, I didn’t think I misunderstood anything, but if you want to mansplain it to me now, go for it.” Why make this easy for him? It’s always been difficult for me to make friends, but for some reason, Rider slipped through my defenses. I was assigned to tutor him in English. I remember meeting him in the library, and the shy smile he gave me. He was embarrassed to need help. It was the most endearing thing I’d ever seen, and I swear when he leveled me with those big gray eyes, the ground fell out beneath me. I’m a practical girl, but foster care made me cynical, and ending up with my aunt did nothing to help my outlook on life. But Rider was funny and sweet, not to mention ridiculously good-looking, and I went over faster than a felled log in a forest. This was before he was the golden boy of the football team. When he was just this guy Rider from some speck-of-dust small Texas town like me. Even though he rode the bench, I went to all of his games, and we’d grab pizza afterward and talk until late in the night. Although he didn’t outright say it, I knew he had a rough home life. He mentioned that his father was an ass. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and make it better. And I thought I meant something to him. That what we had was special. Until he became the starting quarterback.

Dirk clenched and unclenched his fists under the table. “In case you haven’t noticed, she ain’t interested in you.” “Only cause I haven’t properly applied myself. I can be Prince-Fucking-Charming when I apply myself.” -ROUGH RIDER

I don't know how Tate or Joe will feel about me, and I can't control that.' He lifted his gaze to Mia's and cupped her face. "What I do know if that I can' face a future without you loving me.

Guys. It’s three things with you. My dick is bigger than yours, I make more money than you and I can beat the fuck outta you.” Add in I can outdrink you, outdrive you and whip your ass at cards and that’s the brain of a man.

Will you tell me what you have on under your dress tonight?” She licked the tip of his thumb. “I could, but that would ruin the surprise.

I don’t… I can’t… Never felt anything so good.” “You haven’t felt my mouth on you yet. You haven’t felt me filling you yet. You haven’t felt me driving into you yet. You haven’t felt me making you come over and over and over yet.” Unable to find or form words, Eden whimpered. “There are so many amazing things I want to make you feel.

He was losing the battle. He felt the last threads of control slipping from his grasp. And Rafe’s mind transitioned from denial to damage control. But that tiny shift opened the floodgates on a desire unlike any he’d ever known before. “What…what about your brother?” She laughed. “He’s not my type.” “Mia.” She glanced around the empty elevator. “Do you see my brother? I don’t see my brother.

I’m certainly not going to tell him about this. And neither are you. None of us needs the useless stress that would create. Don’t even get me started on the topic of how many of my friends he fucked during visits home after I left for college. Besides, we’re grown adults, Rafe. We can fuck whoever we want to fuck. I certainly don’t tell him who to—” “Please stop saying that.” He couldn’t breathe.

He needed to push her back and walk away. He needed to pull her closer and hold on. “I want you to fuck me, Rafe.” Her voice was husky and dripping lust. “And I want you to fuck me like you mean it. Like you want it. Like you love it. I want you to fuck me like you’re hungry for it. Like you can’t get enough. I want you to fuck me so perfectly, I’ll never need you to fuck me again. I want us to fuck and forget.

Want me to shave?” His question brought her gaze up. Such a simple question. And so direct. Yet so incredibly intimate it tightened her throat. “Would you?” “Hell yes.” “No.” Her smile deepened. She shook her head, licked her lip, then dragged it between her teeth. She met his gaze and lowered her voice. “There’s good reason for the phrase ‘Bearded for her pleasure.’ I want to feel it between my legs.