Shoulder Pump Quotes

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may tread me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries. Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

It happens when I get really excited. The more excited I get, the more I vibrate.” “Now there’s a thought,” Lor says. “If you mean what I think you mean, you want to shut the fuck up and never think it again,” Ryodan says. “Just saying, boss,” Lor says. “You can’t tell me you didn’t think it, too.” I never understand half of what these dudes are talking about and don’t care. “You can touch me if you want to,” I say to Lor magnanimously. I’m so pumped on adrenaline and excitement that I’m feeling downright sociable. I poke one of my shoulders toward him. “Check me out. It feels really cool.” All heads swivel my way, then they look back at Ryodan. “He doesn’t own my fecking shoulder. Why you looking at him?

Leif gripped Benny's shoulders to hold him back, but he broke free and chased the truck, pumping his tiny arms and legs with great furry. "I love you!" he called out, when he was just ten feet away. I gripped the metal bars, my throat choked with emotion. "I love you!" Silas cried, as he followed. They both kept after us, sprinting wildly behind the cage. I watched their mouths moving, saying those words over and again, as the truck bounded through the woods and their small bodies disappeared, unreachable, behind the trees.

She came to Neil last and stayed with him, feeling the line of his shoulder armor through his jersey. "How are you doing?" Neil drained both cups before answering. "I'm fine." Nicky fist-pumped in triumph. "Thank you for being so predictable, Neil. You just scored me ten bucks with two words." Matt looked up. "Are you serious? Who the hell bet against you?" Nicky jerked a thumb at Kevin. "There's a sucker born every minute.

When he heard light, rushing footfalls, he turned his head. Someone was racing along the second-floor balcony. Then laughter drifted down from above. Glorious feminine laughter. He leaned out the archway and glanced at the grand staircase. Bella appeared on the landing above, breathless, smiling, a black satin robe gathered in her hands. As she slowed at the head of the stairs, she looked over her shoulder, her thick dark hair swinging like a mane. The pounding that came next was heavy and distant, growing louder until it was like boulders hitting the ground. Obviously, it was what she was waiting for. She let out a laugh, yanked her robe up even higher, and started down the stairs, bare feet skirting the steps as if she were floating. At the bottom, she hit the mosaic floor of the foyer and wheeled around just as Zsadist appeared in second-story hallway. The Brother spotted her and went straight for the balcony, pegging his hands into the rail, swinging his legs up and pushing himself straight off into thin air. He flew outward, body in a perfect swan dive--except he wasn't over water, he was two floors up over hard stone. John's cry for help came out as a mute, sustained rush of air-- Which was cut off as Zsadist dematerialized at the height of the dive. He took form twenty feet in front of Bella, who watched the show with glowing happiness. Meanwhile, John's heart pounded from shock...then pumped fast for a different reason. Bella smiled up at her mate, her breath still hard, her hands still gripping the robe, her eyes heavy with invitation. And Zsadist came forward to answer her call, seeming to get even bigger as he stalked over to her. The Brother's bonding scent filled the foyer, just as his low, lionlike growl did. The male was all animal at the moment....a very sexual animal. "You like to be chased, nalla, " Z said in a voice so deep it distorted. Bella's smile got even wider as she backed up into a corner. "Maybe." "So run some more, why don't you." The words were dark and even John caught the erotic threat in them. Bella took off, darting around her mate, going for the billiards room. Z tracked her like prey, pivoting around, his eyes leveled on the female's streaming hair and graceful body. As his lips peeled off his fangs, the white canines elongated, protruding from his mouth. And they weren't the only response he had to his shellan. At his hips, pressing into the front of his leathers, was an erection the size of a tree trunk. Z shot John a quick glance and then went back to his hunt, disappearing into the room, the pumping growl getting louder. From out of the open doors, there was a delighted squeal, a scramble, a female's gasp, and then....nothing. He'd caught her. ......When Zsadist came out a moment later, he had Bella in his arms, her dark hair trailing down his shoulder as she lounged in the strength that held her. Her eyes locked on Z's face while he looked where he was going, her hand stroking his chest, her lips curved in a private smile. There was a bite mark on her neck, one that had very definitely not been there before, and Bella's satisfaction as she stared at the hunger in her hellren's face was utterly compelling. John knew instinctively that Zsadist was going to finish two things upstairs: the mating and the feeding. The Brother was going to be at her throat and in between her legs. Probably at the same time. God, John wanted that kind of connection.

She was wearing a skirt and a big-shouldered jacket of a royal blue that was fashionable in France, a blue-and-white-striped silk blouse, and electric-blue lizard pumps with white calf caps on the toes.

The activity has pumped out his chest and hardened his abs, and I can't believe I'm even noticing or appreciating it. His smile is naughty, the muscles in his shoulders thick and ripped, undulating with his movement when he adjusts his position for me to get an eyeful.

Olive felt her shoulders sag with relief and had to resist the urge to fist-pump. Take that, you stupid rom-coms. She may have fallen for the dude she’d begun to fake-date like some born-yesterday fool, but at least she wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him any time soon.

His mouth comes down on mine, harder now, more demanding, a raw, hungry need in him rising to the surface. “You belong to me,” he growls. “Say it.” “Yes. Yes, I belong to you.” His mouth finds mine again, demanding, taking, drawing me under his spell. “Say it again,” he demands, nipping my lip, squeezing my breast and nipple, and sending a ripple of pleasure straight to my sex. “I belong to you,” I pant. He lifts me off the ground with the possessive curve of his hand around my backside, angling my hips to thrust harder, deeper. “Again,” he orders, driving into me, his cock hitting the farthest point of me and blasting against sensitive nerve endings. “Oh … ah … I … I belong to you.” His mouth dips low, his hair tickling my neck, his teeth scraping my shoulders at the same moment he pounds into me and the world spins around me, leaving nothing but pleasure and need and more need. I am suddenly hot only where he touches, and freezing where I yearn to be touched. Lifting my leg, I shackle his hip, ravenous beyond measure, climbing to the edge of bliss, reaching for it at the same time I’m trying desperately to hold back. Chris is merciless, wickedly wild, grinding and rocking, pumping. “I love you, Sara,” he confesses hoarsely, taking my mouth, swallowing the shallow, hot breath I release, and punishing me with a hard thrust that snaps the last of the lightly held control I possess. Possessing me. A fire explodes low in my belly and spirals downward, seizing my muscles, and I begin to spasm around his shaft, trembling with the force of my release. With a low growl, his muscles ripple beneath my touch and his cock pulses, his hot semen spilling inside me. We moan together, lost in the climax of a roller-coaster ride of pain and pleasure, spanning days apart, and finally collapse in a heap and just lie there. Slowly, I let my leg ease from his hip to the ground, and Chris rolls me to my side to face him. Still inside me, he holds me close, pulling the jacket up around my back, trailing fingers over my jaw. “And I belong to you.

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may tread me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries. Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

Still I Rise - 1928-2014 You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

He pumped her roughly, filling the room with the sounds of their breathing and the smell of their sin. She felt drunk, this man’s harsh energy as intoxicating as ten bottles of wine. She stroked his chest and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. Spurs, telling him to make it rougher.

To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Triumph" Consider Icarus, pasting those sticky wintgs on, testing that strange little tug at his shoulder blade, and think of that first flawless moment over the lawn of the labyrinth. Think of the difference it made! There below are the trees, as awkward as camels; and here are the shocked starlings pumping past and think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well: larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings! Feel the fire at his neck and see how casually he glances up and is caught, wondrously tunneling into that hot eye. Who cares that feel back to the sea? See him acclaiming the sun and come plunging down while his sensible daddy goes straight into town.

You added the feeding pillow to the list?” he asks as we turn down the nursing aisle. “I told you I did.” I look down at the iPad though to make sure I really did. (I did.) When I look up again, he’s holding up the two pumps from a double electric breast pump on display to his chest. “Please, please, please can we get these?” I roll my eyes. “Oh my God. Are you twelve?” I don’t mention his second slip of the word “we.” “This is like having a video game on your chest.” He pretends to shoot the pumps in my direction. I snatch one out of his hand. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it’s like.” “I’d never leave my house.” He’s examining the remaining pump, as if trying to figure out how he could make one of his own. “You’d never leave the house if you had breasts, period.” I grab the second one from him and return it to the shelf. He stands over my shoulder to look at the screen of the registry iPad. “Put it on the list. Put it on. Put. It. On.” Shaking my head, I add it to the list.

Picture it. Nineteenth-century man with his horses, dogs, carts, slow motion. Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera. Books cut shorter. Condensations. Digests, Tabloids. Everything boils down to the gag, the snap ending.” “Snap ending.” Mildred nodded. “Classics cut to fit fifteen-minute radio shows, then cut again to fill a two-minute book column, winding up at last as a ten- or twelve-line dictionary resume. I exaggerate, of course. The dictionaries were for reference. But many were those whose sole knowledge of Hamlet (you know the title certainly, Montag; it is probably only a faint rumor of a title to you, Mrs. Montag), whose sole knowledge, as I say, of Hamlet was a one-page digest in a book that claimed: now at last you can read all the classics; keep up with your neighbors. Do you see? Out of the nursery into the college and back to the nursery; there’s your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more.” Mildred arose and began to move around the room, picking things up and putting them down. Beatty ignored her and continued: “Speed up the film, Montag, quick. Click, Pic, Look, Eye, Now, Flick, Here, There, Swift, Pace, Up, Down, In, Out, Why, How, Who, What, Where, Eh? Uh! Bang! Smack! Wallop, Bing, Bong, Boom! Digest-digests, digest-digest-digests. Politics? One column, two sentences, a headline! Then, in mid-air, all vanishes! Whirl man’s mind around about so fast under the pumping hands of publishers, exploiters, broadcasters that the centrifuge flings off all unnecessary, time-wasting thought!” Mildred smoothed the bedclothes. Montag felt his heart jump and jump again as she patted his pillow. Right now she was pulling at his shoulder to try to get him to move so she could take the pillow out and fix it nicely and put it back. And perhaps cry out and stare or simply reach down her hand and say, “What’s this?” and hold up the hidden book with touching innocence. “School is shortened, discipline relaxed, philosophies, histories, languages dropped, English and spelling gradually gradually neglected, finally almost completely ignored. Life is immediate, the job counts, pleasure lies all about after work. Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pulling switches, fitting nuts and bolts?

Still I rise" You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

Bill suited the action to the word, getting up and leaning over the handlebars and pumping the pedals at a lunatic rate. Looking at Bill's back, which was amazingly broad for a boy of eleven-going-on-twelve, watching it work under the duffel coat, the shoulders slanting first one way and then the other as he shifted his weight from one pedal to the other, Richie suddenly became sure that they were invulnerable...they would live forever and ever.

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may tread me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries. Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise.

Delilah cried out, lifting her head. The only truth that mattered right now was how much she needed him. Powerful thighs flexed against her own as he began to move. He reached for her, pulling her up, against his chest, his hands clasping her breasts, mouth open on the back of her neck. He drew hard, pumping up into her relentlessly, meeting her rocking motion back to him. Her head fell back on his shoulder, her own hands latching over his. Their fingers wove together, their bodies moving as if they’d been lovers for years. As if they’d been made for each other.

Two young men drinking beer on the steps of a closed bookstore across the street fixed their eyes on Savannah. Even from that distance Gregori could see their instant fixation, the obsession she so easily produced in men.It was in the way she moved, her flowing hair and enormous eyes, her aura, at once innocent and sexy. There as no hope that they would not recognize her. She embodied magic and fantasy. Gregori sighed heavily,his gut tightening. She was going to drive him crazy and maybe get some innocent drunk killed. The two men had risen, whispering excitedly, working up their courage to approach her. He could hear them pumping each other up. He fixed his silver eyes on them and concentrated briefly. He wiped their thoughts away and planted in them an urgency to leave the area immediately. "Do me a favor,cherie. Try to look plain and uninteresting." Savannah laughed softly in spite of her growing sense of dread. "Get over it already," she suggested. "You are more than disrespectful, woman. I cannot remember a single time in my existence when anyone spoke to me as you do." She rubbed her cheek along his shoulder in a small caress. Gregori's breath seemed to still in his throat. "That's why I do it.You need someone to give you a little trouble." Her teasing tone slid over him, into him, the tiny threads that tied them together multiplying every moment. "I would not mind a little trouble. You are big trouble.

Alec isn't worried. He isn't bothered by his actions or who he hurts." She came closer, her long blond hair curling around her neck and shoulder. "And worst of all, he is content with his actions. You?" She smiled around an airy laugh. "You're running from yourself. From anyone who sees good in you. Because you're struggling with it, with the belief that you're the same, that you've done bad things. That guilt, that shame? That should be your compass, Cole. But I don't need a compass to know you're not the same as Alec. And I wish my belief in you was enough to convince you. The actions of man speak to what's in his heart." She pressed a hand to his chest, right over the four-valved organ pumping blood through his veins. And it seemed in a hurry right now. "Read what's there, Cole.

Yanking wildly, he freed them both of clothing and scorched her knees with his hot hands and drew them apart. With his lips on her throat and his hands on her breasts, he entered her. "Wait," she said even as she wrapped her arms around him. "I'm not on birth control," she informed him. "Good, I want my child inside of you." He bit her shoulder, then pumped hard into her to enjoy her slick heat.

Still I Rise You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may tread me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries. Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

Charlotte groaned feverishly, a tension building within her core that begged for release. Grunting, he lifted his hips slightly, expertly angling his body so that part of him pressed against the nubbin of flesh. She called out his name, clasping his shoulders. Her hips pumped furiously now, a building, pulsing ache growing and growing, winding tighter and tighter still. Until it exploded. And then they both cried out, surging upward and down, their bodies shaking with pleasure.

Now," Tick-Tock said, returning his gaze to Jake, "you say the American city you came form--this New York--is much like Lud." "Well...not exactly..." "But you do recognize some of the machinery," Tick-Tock pressed. "Valves and pumps and such. Not to mention the firedim tubes." "Yes. We call it neon, but it's the same." Tick-Tock reached out toward him. Jake cringed, but Tick-Tock only patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, yes; close enough." His eyes gleamed. "And you've heard of computers?

And I'm not sensitive at all, Philip. Just mean." He smiled down at her. "Have you ever considered having an affair with a younger man?" She laughed, taking the compliment as it was meant. "You're a charmer. Since you amuse me, I'll give you a little advice. Charm doesn't work on Addy. Patience might." "I appreciate it," Philip said. He was watching Adrianne when she lifted a hand to her throat and found it bare. He saw her instant of surprise and confusion, then the tightly controlled temper as she zeroed in on him. With a smile he sent her a nod of acknowledgment. Her necklace of faux diamonds and sapphires was resting comfortably in his pocket. The bastard. The low, slimy bastard. He'd stolen from her. He'd lifted the necklace right off her throat without her feeling a thing but the pumping of her pulse. Then he'd taunted her. He'd looked right at her and grinned. He was going to pay for it, Adrianne thought as she tossed her gloves into her shoulder bag. And he was going to pay for it tonight. She knew it was reckless.

Trembling, Phoebe turned her mouth from his. Her body didn't seem to belong to her. She could hardly stand on her own. She couldn't think. Her forehead leaned on his shoulder as she waited for the wild pumping of her heart to subside. West buried a quiet curse into the mass of her pinned-up hair. His arms relaxed gradually, one of his hands wandering over her slender back in an aimless, soothing pattern. When he'd managed to moderate his breathing, he said gruffly, "Don't say that was nice." Phoebe pressed a crooked smile against his shoulder before she replied, "It wasn't." It had been extraordinary. A revelation. One of her hands crept up to his lean cheek and shaped to it gently. "And it must never happen again." West was very still, considering that. He responded with a single nod of agreement and turned his lips to the center of her palm with urgent pressure. Impulsively she stood on her toes and whispered in his ear, "There's nothing wicked about you, except your kisses." And she fled the room while she was still able.

Still I Rise You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries. Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

My balls tighten up just watching her. She takes a deep breath and grips my shoulders. Hard. “Oh, Bl-Blake,” she pants. My name on her lips makes me feel like a superhero. I’m so close it hurts. Grasping her hips, I pump her body harder onto mine. Jess gives a little shout of pleasure, followed by a whimper. The sounds she makes just knock me over. Every breathy little pant and throaty moan goes straight to my happy dick. And then she’s groaning and shuddering, clenching my cock like a vise. “Fuck, yeah.” I lever my body off the seat and pound into her. Release breaks over me like a wave. With a growl I impale her once. Twice. Boom!

i am something very gentle, very jealous of the selfless way my heart pumps blood for my ungrateful body, of how the bones in my spine uplift my head, despite how i insist we're crumbling, we're crumbling, always crying over spilled milk, when i could be strong like stainless steel or spider silk, when i could be kevlar instead of the honeycombed human digging out bullets, when i could be the tornado instead of Dorothy missing Kansas, when i could be a bone-dry Martini instead of the one retching, when i could be something like you, the shoulder to lean on and not the one reeling, the one picking up eggshells and never the one breaking.

Zane turned his attention to the bus. Phoebe got a bad feeling when she caught sight of the worn sandals, tie-dyed T-shirts and woven hats on the next couple to disembark. “Hey,” the man said. “I’m Martin Lagarde and this is my wife, Andrea.” The woman, a thirtysomething brunette with freckles and glasses, shook hands with Zane. “We’re so excited to be here. Martin and I just love being in the outdoors. We’ve hiked all over, and last year we did a week at a meditation retreat in Hawaii, but we’ve never done anything like this.” She continued to pump his hand as her expression turned earnest. “We really want this opportunity to be one with the land. To experience a different kind of life. The Old West.” She finally released Zane’s hand. “We’re vegetarians. I hope that won’t be a problem.” Zane considered them for a moment, then said, “Not for me.” He jerked his head toward the compartment beneath the bus that the driver had opened. “Collect your gear and head inside. Chase will show you where you’ll bunk tonight.” “Sure thing,” Martin said. He held up his hand for a high five. When Zane simply stared at him, Martin grabbed Zane’s wrist and pulled it until it was level with his shoulder, then slapped his hand against Zane’s. When he walked away, Zane turned to look at her. “Two starving kids and tree-hugging vegetarians. I’m going to kill Chase.

Someone stop them!” I yell. No one does. I think about Porter surrounded by people that horrible day on the beach years ago, when no one would help him save his dad from the shark. If strangers won’t help when someone is dying, they’re definitely not going to stop two kids from running out of a museum. Pulse swishing in my temples, I race around the information booth, pumping my arms, and watch them split up again. Polo is heading for the easy way out: the main exit, where there’s (1) only a set of doors to go through, and (2) Hector, the laziest employee on staff. But Backpack is headed for the ticketing booth and the connecting turnstiles. Freddy should be there, but no one’s entering the museum, so he’s instead chatting it up with Hector. The turnstiles are unmanned. Like a pro hustler who’s never paid a subway fare, Backpack hurdles over the turnstiles in one leap. Impressive. Or it would have been, had his backpack not slipped off his shoulder and the strap not caught on one of the turnstile arms. While he struggles to free it, I take the easier route and make for the wheelchair access gate. I unhitch the latch. He frees the strap. I slip through the gate, and just as he’s turning to run, I lurch forward and— I jump on his back. We hit the ground together. The air whooshes out of my lungs and my knee slams into tile. He cries out. I don’t. I freaking got him.

He needs to be talked to." "This is funny, but I know how to talk, too." Brian swore under his breath. "He prefers singing." "Excuse me?" "I said,he prefers singing." "Oh." Keeley tucked her tongue in her cheek. "Any particular tune? Wait, let me guess. Finnegan's Wake?" Brian''s steely-eyed stare had her laughing until she had to lean weakly against the gelding.The horse responded by twisting his head and trying to sniff her pockets for apples. "It's a quick tune," Brian said coolly, "and he likes hearing his name." "I know the chorus." Gamely Keeley struggled to swallow another giggle. "But I'm not sure I know all the words.There are several verses as I recall." "Do the best you can," he muttered and strode off.His lips twitched as he heard her launch into the song about the Dubliner who had a tippling way. When he reached Betty's box, he shook his head. "I should've known. If there's not a Grant one place, there's a Grant in another until you're tripping over them." Travis gave Betty a last pat on the shoulder. "Is that Keeley I hear singing?" "She's being sarcastic, but as long as the job's done. She's dug in her heels about grooming Finnegan." "She comes by it naturally.The hard head as well as the skill." "Never had so many owners breathing down my neck.We don't need them, do we, darling?" Brian laid his hands on Beetty's cheek, and she shook her head, then nibbled his hair. "Damn horse has a crush on you." "She may be your lady, sir, but she's my own true love.Aren't you beautiful, my heart?" He stroked, sliding into the Gaelic that had Betty's ears pricked and her body shifting restlessly. "She likes being excited before a race," Brian murmured. "What do you call it-pumped up like your American football players.Which is a sport that eludes me altogether as they're gathered into circles discussing things most of the time instead of getting on with it." "I heard you won the pool on last Monday nights game," Travis commented. "Betting's the only thing about your football I do understand." Brian gathered her reins. "I'll walk her around a bit before we take her down. She likes to parade.You and your missus will want to stay close to the winner's circle." Travis grinned at him. "We'll be watching from the rail." "Let's go show off." Brian led Betty out.

For most of their relationship, Eric avoided paying his due because he knew Alice would pay when he didn't. If he paid only 10 units, she would come up with the other 30. If he didn't feel like driving over to her house then she would come to his. if he didn't wish to break a deadlock after an argument, he could count on her to play the mediator. But he miscalculated just how far he could push Alice. her share of the 40x began to slowly decline, leaven him to make up the shortfall. Only small amounts were at first involved, but they suffered remorseless inflation until the full weight of the relationship came to descend on this delicate shoulders. Alice had in a myriad of ways imply ceased to care, and Eric realized that unless he continued to pump around 30x into the situation, Alice and he would inevitably collide and break up.

Kane reassuringly patted his eldest brother on the shoulder and trained his eyes on his forbidden fruit. “Don't you associate yourself with whatever those three have planned, Aideen.” “I wouldn't dream of it, Germinator.” Ha! Kane snapped his fingers at Aideen. “My bullshit meter is off the charts, Collins.” Aideen didn't reply and Kane looked lost at her lack of retaliation. “Why aren't you cussing at me or telling me off?” he asked warily. Aideen yawned. “Because I'm puttin' me energy into helpin' Keela win this bet. I can argue with you later.” “Is that a promise?” Kane asked, grinning. Aideen smirked. “We'll see.” The sudden sexual tension in the room could be cut with an erect penis. I shivered. “Stop flirtin'. I feel dirty just standin' between you both!” Alec snapped his teeth at me. “I'll clean you up real nice, Kitten.” I pumped my eyebrows. “Or make me dirtier.

Sitting down on the stairs, Cheyenne watched Behr through the slats in the railing. She liked what she saw. Covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, muscles swollen from what was clearly a grueling workout, Behr’s toned physique was a serious distraction from her worries, making her content to just sit and watch. Each thump of his fist into the bag resonated in her bones. Each kick of his leg thundered in her ears. Every move seemed to be in time with the harsh sounds of the music pumping through the room, until he was a frenzy of movement. It was frighteningly beautiful. Standing, Cheyenne called out to him. “Behr? Are you hungry?” She was feeling a little peckish herself, and she needed something to keep her hands busy. Between a combination of brutal punches, knee jabs and the music, Behr didn’t hear a word she said. So she decided to go to him. Winding her way through equipment and stepping over the discarded sweaty T-shirt, Cheyenne approached him. Waiting for the right moment to interrupt, she tapped him on the shoulder during a brief pause. Big mistake. Huge.

What’re you thinking about?” she asked, arching back against him and making shivers run down his spine. “You,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her neck. “How much better my life is with you in it.” A long moment passed when they simply lay together in the quiet of her bedroom, skin to skin, his heart pumping against her back and his lips resting lazily on her shoulder. “I’m falling in love with you too,” she finally said quietly with her back to him. Her words ricocheted in his brain like too much awesome to bear. He didn’t expect them, didn’t anticipate them, and his heart—which had quietly longed for the words for days—didn’t know how to believe it was possible that a creature as lovely as Savannah could fall for a creature as broken as him. “Say it again,” he whispered, closing his burning eyes so that all that existed was her voice in his ears. She rolled back, and he moved slightly so that she could lie on her back beside him. He opened his eyes to look at her, and with her messy hair and fat lip, she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. “I’m falling in love with you, Asher.” Without breaking eye contact with her, he reached out to push her hair gently off her forehead. “You take my breath away.

It was also a lot easier for online teachers to hold their students’ attention, because here in the OASIS, the classrooms were like holodecks. Teachers could take their students on a virtual field trip every day, without ever leaving the school grounds. During our World History lesson that morning, Mr. Avenovich loaded up a stand-alone simulation so that our class could witness the discovery of King Tut’s tomb by archaeologists in Egypt in AD 1922. (The day before, we’d visited the same spot in 1334 BC and had seen Tutankhamun’s empire in all its glory.) In my next class, Biology, we traveled through a human heart and watched it pumping from the inside, just like in that old movie Fantastic Voyage. In Art class we toured the Louvre while all of our avatars wore silly berets. In my Astronomy class we visited each of Jupiter’s moons. We stood on the volcanic surface of Io while our teacher explained how the moon had originally formed. As our teacher spoke to us, Jupiter loomed behind her, filling half the sky, its Great Red Spot churning slowly just over her left shoulder. Then she snapped her fingers and we were standing on Europa, discussing the possibility of extraterrestrial life beneath the moon’s icy crust.

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard ’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may tread me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries. Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

They were all joking about the party at my place when they walked away. As I uncapped my drink, I noticed Michael was hanging back a bit. “Got something on your mind?” I called out, gesturing at him with my chin. He was a good player, he worked hard on the field, and I respected him. I got the feeling, though, that I wasn’t going to like what he wanted to say. I could tell by the hesitation in his face and body language. He probably disagreed with some of the plays I wanted to try tonight and didn’t want to piss me off in fear I would freeze him out on the field. But I wasn’t like that. I left personal shit in the locker room. There was no room for drama in the game. He walked back over in front of me as he adjusted the strap on his shoulder. “I’m not sure I should say anything.” “Just say it, man. It’s cool.” “I saw your girl this morning.” He started, and everything in me went cold. This wasn’t about football. This was personal. “You looking at Rimmel?” I asked, my voice calm and low. His eyes widened a little, but he shook his head. “No, man. I probably wouldn’t have known it was her, but she was wearing your hoodie.” I nodded for him to continue. “She was in the hall, outside her class,” he said, glancing at me. He needed to get to the fucking point already. I was losing patience. “That guy Zach was with her. It looked pretty intense.” I jerked upright. “What?” I growled. What the fuck was Rimmel doing with Zach? Why was he talking to her? “He was grabbing her arm. Jerking her around pretty good.” Red tinged my vision and adrenaline started pumping in my veins. “What did you just say?” Michael nodded grimly. “It’s why I noticed them. He grabbed her and she cried out. She told him to let go, but he just jerked her more. She almost fell.” A noise rumbled out of my chest and anger so swift and hot that it hurt filled me. “Tell me you pulled him off her,” I intoned. “I was going to. I called out to them and started forward, but that’s when he let her go and walked away.” I was going to kill him. Dead. “I asked her if she was okay. I don’t think she knew I’m on the team with you.” “Probably not,” I muttered, still trying to control the anger spiraling out of control inside me. “She said she was.” He continued, but I heard the doubt in his voice. “But?” The word came out harsher than I intended, but he didn’t seem to notice. “But her wrist was pretty red. Looked like it was going to bruise.” Thought ceased in my head. Rationality evaporated. “Thanks for telling me,” I said and rushed away in the opposite direction of my next class.

He clipped the male again, this time in the shoulder, sending Einar flying backward. He was vaguely aware of Cyn racing to Leilani. He could hear her calling out his own name, but he tuned everything out, including her. Con couldn’t go to her yet. The threat needed to be eliminated. A red haze had descended across his vision as he body-slammed Einar, who was attempting to stand. That male wasn’t walking out of here. He knew he wasn’t acting rational, that the threat could be put down easier than this, but he couldn’t stop the rage that had overtaken him. Einar pumped a fist against Con’s ribcage as they tumbled to the ground. He barely felt it as he slammed a left hook across the male’s jaw. Didn’t feel anything as he jabbed him in the gut, the ribs, the face. Over and over. He felt a bloodlust overtake him as he pounded at Einar’s face. This male had wanted to hurt Leilani, to take her from Con. Strong arms wrapped around Con, tackling him to the ground and rolling him off his target. “Con!” Cyn held him tight, his eyes wild as he kept him pinned down. “It’s done. You’re scaring her.” Those words snapped him out of the dark fog of savagery that had overtaken him. Leilani stood a few feet away, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Fuck, he had scared her. “I’m fine,” he rasped to his brother. Cyn paused before loosening his grip. When he did, Con stood, terrified he’d screwed things up for good. He didn’t glance at Einar, who he was certain was dead. He’d never lost control like that, had never even come close. It pierced him that Leilani had seen him kill someone, that he literally had blood on his hands in front of her now. “Leilani—” She jumped at him, throwing her arms around his neck on a sob. “You came for me.” Unable to do anything about the blood, he wrapped his arms around her and held tight. Of course he’d come for her. There was nowhere she could go that he wouldn’t follow. That realization slammed into him as if someone had actually struck him. They’d known each other less than two weeks but she’d changed his world without even trying. He would give up his role of leader for her. The thought should have terrified him, but it didn’t. He buried his face against her neck, inhaled her sweet, arilod scent. “I’m not letting you go after the moon cycle.” She sniffled, her fingers gripping his shoulders tight. “Good because I’m not going anywhere,” she said as she pulled back. Her eyes were bright with tears as she looked at him. “I would move to the mainland for you.” She blinked once in surprise before her lips pulled up into a smile. “No. This is your home— my home now.” No, he realized, she was his home, but he simply nodded and crushed his mouth to hers.

What are you doing abovedecks, anyhow?” “The cry went up for all hands.” “You’re not a hand. You’re a passenger.” “I may not be a hand, but I’ve got two perfectly good hands, and if I sit on them a second longer, I’ll go mad.” Joss stared at Gray’s open collar, where his cravat should have been knotted. “She’s really getting to you, isn’t she?” “You have no idea,” Gray muttered. “Oh, I think I do.” Gray ignored his brother’s smug tone. “Damn it, Joss, just put me to work. Send me up to furl a sail, put me down in the hold to pump the bilge…I don’t care, just give me something to do.” Joss raised his eyebrows. “If you insist.” He lifted the spyglass to his eye and began scanning the horizon again. “Batten the hatches, then.” Gray tossed a word of thanks over his shoulder as he descended to the quarterdeck and went to work, dragging the tarpaulins over the skylights and securing them with battens. As he labored, the ship’s motions grew more violent, hampering his efforts. He saved the vent above the ladies’ cabin for last, resisting the urge to peer down through the grate. Instead, he first secured one end, then blanketed the entire skylight with one strong snap on the canvas. “Ahoy! Ahoy!” Wiggins leaned forward over the prow, hailing the approaching ship, its puffed scudding sails a stark contrast against the darkening sky. Gray moved to cover the companion stairs, reaching inside the gaping black hole and groping for the handle to draw the hatch closed. Something-or someone-groped him back.

The date rape drug he’d intended to give me has knocked him out so hard he’s barely even flinched, despite being dragged to the top of a twelve-storey building, stripped naked and bound to a post. His head lolls towards his chest. I stand back to admire him, taking in his slumped frame as he wilts against the pressure of his rope bindings. He looks Christ-like, vulnerable. His skin is grey in the murky moonlight. His body is incredible. Hardly surprising, since he seems to spend half his life at the gym. His stomach is taut, rippled with abs. His pecs are straight from a swimwear ad, his broad shoulders and ripped arms are built like a boxer’s. His biceps are strong, lined with veins that will soon cease to pump blood. He has the kind of arms that could pin you down so tightly you wouldn’t be able to move a muscle. His hands are large – the least attractive part of him: dry, thick, stubby. They’re the type of hands that could grip your wrists and stifle screams. Hands that could have killed me tonight. Hands that would have hurt me. Hands that would have held me in place while he raped me. I let my eyes wander down to his cock, which would probably have been pounding away inside me around now if things had gone his way. I could tell pretty early into our date that he was a predator. Perhaps it takes one to know one, but I could see it in his dark eyes and sly glances, the hungry way he took in my body, the type of questions he asked, his eagerness to buy me drinks. He probably didn’t think I had it in me to notice. Of course he didn’t. He just saw my shiny, sweeping hair, my lashes, my clothes, my smile. He saw what everybody else sees: my mask.

While his patience frayed, in the end, it was Meena who snapped first. Whether it was the fact a woman touched him, hanging on to his arm, gushing at how beautiful the wedding was, or the fact that Meena couldn’t handle the frustration of the last few days, it didn’t matter. With a snarled, “Get your hands off my husband!” Meena sliced through the crowd, skirts hiked. She leaped the last few feet and soared through the air to tackle the lioness at his side, who, as it turned out, was Loni’s cousin. But at the time, all he knew was his new wife was in full-on jealous mode and determined to scalp a wedding guest. As omega, Leo should have jumped in to calm the hot tempers— and stop the hair pulling. At the very least, he should have definitely pried Meena off the lioness before she got blood on her white dress. But… Well… He kind of liked it. While Leo had dated his fair share of women, he’d never had one show such a possessive side before. Definitely never had one go after a girl for daring to flirt with him. He didn’t know what it said about him, the fact that he enjoyed her jealous outburst. Feeling kind of smug about it, he took a moment to bask. Hers. Yes, he was hers, and she was his, at least on paper. Perhaps it was time to complete the bond and truly mate so that everyone would know they belonged to each other. Time to claim each other. First, though, he needed to pry her off the other woman before she literally spilled blood. Winding an arm around her middle, he lifted Meena, even as she continued to snarl at the woman on the ground. “Touch my man again and I will rip that hand from you and slap you with it!” Ah, the romantic words of a woman in lust. Tossing Meena over his shoulder, he ignored the amused glances of the crowd as he carted her away from the party. “I wasn’t done, Pookie,” she grumbled. “I’ve got better plans for that energy,” was his reply. And yes, she announced to all that, “Leo’s finally going to debauch me.” She wasn’t the only one fist pumping. The other ladies in the pride were cheering too while Leo fought not to blush, and poor Peter, he made a beeline for the bar. However, embarrassment wasn’t enough to stop him.

Curtis Bane screamed and though I came around fast and fired in the same motion, he’d already pulled a heater and begun pumping metal at me. We both missed and I was empty, that drum clicking uselessly. I went straight at him. Happily, he too was out of bullets and I closed the gap and slammed the butt of the rifle into his chest. Should’ve knocked him down, but no. The bastard was squat and powerful as a wild animal, thanks to being a coke fiend, no doubt. He ripped the rifle from my grasp and flung it aside. He locked his fists and swung them up into my chin, and it was like getting clobbered with a hammer, and I sprawled into a row of trash cans. Stars zipped through my vision. A leather cosh dropped from his sleeve into his hand and he knew what to do with it all right. He swung it in a short chopping blow at my face and I got my left hand up and the blow snapped my two smallest fingers, and he swung again and I turned my head just enough that it only squashed my ear and you better believe that hurt, but now I’d drawn the sawback bayonet I kept strapped to my hip, a fourteen-inch grooved steel blade with notched and pitted edges—Jesus-fuck who knew how many Yankee boys the Kraut who’d owned it gashed before I did for him—and stabbed it to the guard into Bane’s groin. Took a couple of seconds for Bane to register it was curtains. His face whitened and his mouth slackened, breath steaming in the chill, his evil soul coming untethered. He had lots of gold fillings. He lurched away and I clutched his sleeve awkwardly with my broken hand and rose, twisting the handle of the blade side to side, turning it like a car crank into his guts and bladder, putting my shoulder and hip into it for leverage. He moaned in panic and dropped the cosh and pried at my wrist, but the strength was draining from him and I slammed him against the wall and worked the handle with murderous joy. The cords of his neck went taut and he looked away, as if embarrassed, eyes milky, a doomed petitioner gaping at Hell in all its fiery majesty. I freed the blade with a cork-like pop and blood spurted down his leg in a nice thick stream and he collapsed, folding into himself like a bug does when it dies.

After a while, Hannah said, “I heard Papa and Mama talking last night. Mama told Papa she thinks John Larkin is fond of me.” To my annoyance, a little smile danced across her face. “I’m fond of John too,” she admitted, “but Papa--” Hannah bit her lip and frowned. “Papa said a girl with my notions will never find a husband. He told Mama I’d end up an old-maid suffragette. Those were his very words, Andrew.” Forgetting everything except making her happy, I said, “No matter what Papa thinks, you’ll marry John. What’s more, women will get the vote and drive cars and do everything men do, even wear trousers and run for president.” Hannah sucked in her breath. “The way you talk, Andrew. I could swear you’ve been looking in a crystal ball.” Clapping my hand over my mouth, I stared at her. Whatever had made me say so much? I didn’t even want to think about her marrying John, and here I’d gone and told her she would, as well as revealing a bunch of other stuff she shouldn’t know. “Do you see anything else in my future?” Hannah was leaning toward me, her face inches from mine, gazing into my eyes, her lips slightly parted. “Will John and I be happy? Will we have lots of children? Will we live a long, long time?” I tightened my grip on the branch. I was drowning, losing my identity, speaking words that made no sense. “You’ll be old when I’m young,” I whispered, “but I’ll remember, I’ll never forget, I’ll always love--” “What are you talking about?” Hannah reached out and grabbed my shoulders. “Are you all right?” For a moment, I was too dizzy to answer. I wasn’t sure who I was or where I was or what we’d been talking about. Feeling sick, I clung to the tree. Gradually, things came back into focus, the world steadied. Birds sang, leaves rustled, the branches swayed slightly. The strength in Hannah’s hands calmed me. I took a few deep breaths and managed to smile. Hannah relaxed, but she was obviously still worried. “Will you ever be yourself again, Andrew?” “I hope so.” I said it so fervently Hannah looked at me oddly. If only I could tell her the truth. She’d understand everything then. But would she believe me? Hannah sighed and wiped the sweat off her face with the back of her hand. “I reckon the heat’s enough to give anybody the fantods.” She smiled at me. “Come on, Andrew, I’ll race you to the pump for a drink.

After that, we don’t talk, instead we get hammered. Shot after shot we down, chasing each one with a Little Debbie snack. Before we know it, we’re hanging on to the bar counter floating around in a sugar and alcohol coma, just the way I like it. “There’s my girl,” Racer shouts as he topples off his stool and onto the floor, laughing hysterically. Georgie stops in her tracks and looks over at Emma, who’s standing next to her, both holding two boxes of Little Debbie snacks each. “Emmmmmmmma,” Tucker drags out, waving his glass in the air. “You brought the snacks.” “Oh, Jesus,” Emma mutters as she approaches us. I point to my mouth and say, “Feed me. Daddy needs sugar.” Racer is beside me, tangled in the pegs of his bar stool, still laughing. “Did you bring Oatmeal Pies, George? Please tell me you have the pies.” “Uh, I think you’ve had enough for tonight,” she says, looking down at her boyfriend. “Never!” Racer struggles to get up and finally knocks the chair over to free himself. “Fucking bitch chair, digging into me with its claws.” Talking to the stool directly he says, “I’m taken, warm someone else’s ass.” “He’s going to propose, chair, leave him alone,” Tucker announces, causing me to cringe. “Dude, don’t say it out loud.” I punch Tucker in the shoulder. “Georgie is right there.” All three of us turn to Georgie, who’s shaking her head in humor. Hopefully. “I’ll take Aaron,” Emma tells Georgie. “Seems like Racer is more of a handful.” “Hell yeah, I am.” Racer stumbles while cupping his crotch. “A giant handful.” Georgie rolls her eyes. “And that’s our cue to leave.” “But we didn’t eat our snacks.” “Seems like you had enough.” Georgie grabs Racer by the hand. “Come on.” As they walk away, Racer asks, “Want to have sex in the car?” “Not even a little.” “Here, you two, you can have your boxes of snacks.” Emma hands Tucker and me both a box of Oatmeal Pies that we clutch to our chests. “You’re the best,” I admit. “She is, isn’t she?” Tucker says. “I love her so fucking hard. Best wife ever.” She pulls on both of our hands to get us moving. “She wins wife of the year award,” I announce. “Best wife goes to Emma. Can we get a round of applause?” Tucker breaks open his Oatmeal Pies and starts spraying them like confetti. “Emma. Emma. Emma.” He chants, getting the three other patrons in the bar to join in. I pump my fist as well, forgetting everything from earlier. I knew I could count on my guys. “Emma. Emma. Emma . . .” And then, everything fades to black. Emotions and feelings are non-existent as I pass out, just the way I like it. Just the way I need it.

Two fifty-five. It’s go time.” Chris unlocks the doors and gets out and hides behind an oak tree in the yard. My adrenaline is pumping as I hop out of Chris’s car, grab Kitty’s bike out of her trunk, and push it a few houses. Then I set it on the ground and drape myself over it in a dramatic heap. Then I pull out the bottle of fake blood I bought for this very purpose and squirt some on my jeans--old jeans I’ve been planning on giving to Goodwill. As soon as I see Trevor’s car approaching, I start to pretend sob. From behind the tree Chris whispers, “Tone it down a little!” I immediately stop sobbing and start moaning. Trevor’s car pulls up beside me. He rolls down the window. “Lara Jean? Are you okay?” I whimper. “No…I think I might have sprained my ankle. It really hurts. Can you give me a ride home?” I’m willing myself to tear up, but it’s harder to cry on cue than I would have thought. I try to think about sad things--the Titanic, old people with Alzheimer’s, Jamie Fox-Pickle dying--but I can’t focus. Trevor regards me suspiciously. “Why are you riding your bike in this neighborhood?” Oh no, I’m losing him! I start talking fast but not too fast. “It’s not my bike; it’s my little sister’s. She’s friends with Sara Healey. You know, Dan Healey’s little sister? They live over there.” I point to their house. “I was bringing it to her--oh my God, Trevor. Do you not believe me? Are you seriously not going to give me a ride?” Trevor looks around. “Do you swear this isn’t a trick?” Gotcha! “Yes! I swear I don’t have your name, okay? Please just help me up. It really hurts.” “First show me your ankle.” “Trevor! You can’t see a sprained ankle!” I whimper and make a show of trying to stand up, and Trevor finally turns the car off and gets out. He stoops down and pulls me to my feet and I try to make my body heavy. “Be gentle,” I tell him. “See? I told you I didn’t have your name.” Trevor pulls me up by my armpits, and over his shoulder Chris creeps up behind him like a ninja. She dives forward, both hands out, and claps them on his back hard. “I got you!” she screams. Trevor shrieks and drops me, and I narrowly escape falling for real. “Damn it!” he yells. Gleefully Chris says, “You’re done, sucker!” She and I high-five and hug. “Can you guys not celebrate in front of me?” he mutters. Chris holds her hand out. “Now gimme gimme gimme.” Sighing, Trevor shakes his head and says, “I can’t believe I fell for that, Lara Jean.” I pat him on the back. “Sorry, Trevor.” “What if I had had your name?” he asks me. “What would you have done then?” Huh. I never thought of that. I shoot Chris an accusing glare. “Wait a minute! What if he had had my name?” “That was a chance we were willing to take,” she says smoothly.

Through the open doorway suddenly stepped a small woman, long ebony hair braided intricately, huge blue eyes flashing at Mikhail. As Byron shouldered his way inside behind her, she gave him a friendly smile and stood on her toes to brush his chin with a kiss. Mikhail stiffened, then immediately wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. “Carpathian women do not do that kind of thing,” he reprimanded her. She tilted her chin at him, in no way intimidated. “That’s because Carpathian males have such a territorial mentality— you know, a beat-their-chest, swing-from-the-trees sort of thing.” She turned her head to look at the couple lying on the floor. Her indrawn breath was audible. “Jacques.” She whispered his name, tears in her voice and in her blue eyes. “It really is you.” Eluding Mikhail’s outstretched, detaining hand, she ran to him. Let her, Gregori persuaded softly. Look at him. Jacques’ gaze was fastened on the woman’s face, the red flames receding from his eyes as she approached. “I’m Raven, Jacques. Don’t you remember me? Mikhail, your brother, is my lifemate.” Raven dropped to her knees beside the couple. “Thank God you’re alive. I can’t believe how lucky we are. Who did this to you? Who took you from us?” Shea felt the ripple of awareness in her mind. Jacques’ shock. His curiosity. He recognized those tear-filled blue eyes. Shea caught a glimpse, a fragment of memory, the woman bending over him, her hands clamped to his throat, pressing soil and saliva into a pumping wound. Shea held her breath, waiting. Jacques’ silent cry of despair echoed in her head. She forced herself to move, found his hand with hers, silently supporting him as she regarded the woman kneeling beside her. You didn’t tell me she was so beautiful, Shea reprimanded deliberately. In the midst of Jacques’ pain and agony, his possessive fury and maniacal madness, something seemed to melt the ice-cold core of murderous resolve. The urge to smile at that feminine, edgy tone came out of nowhere. Something snarling to be set free retreated, and the tension in him eased visibly. Is she? Jacques asked innocently. Shea’s green eyes touched his face, and warmth spread further inside him. And the beast was temporarily leashed. “Is this your lifemate, Jacques?” Raven asked softly. Shea looked at her then, this woman who had been a part of Jacques’ life. “I’m Shea O’Halloran.” Her voice was husky and ragged. “Jacques has been unable to use his voice since I found him.” Raven touched Shea’s bruised throat with gentle fingers. “Someone had better tell me what happened here.” Her blue eyes were studying the dark smudges closely. “Help her to the bed,” Gregori interceded, distracting Raven from her study. You owe me one, old friend, he sent to Mikhail.

Being constantly active made time fly, and so it didn’t take long before the day of departure came. With the last of everything aboard, we set sail just as many did before us. We were among those that continued the tradition of... “they that go down to the sea in ships” and we were very aware that this tradition rested on our shoulders. On January 4, 1953, with the sound of three short blasts on the ship’s whistle, we backed away from the pier. This ship was unlike most ships and we all noticed a definite difference in her sounds and vibrations. At that time, most American vessels were driven by steam propulsion that relied on superheating the water. The reciprocating steam engines, with their large pistons, were the loudest as they hissed and wheezed, turning a huge crankshaft. Steam turbines were relatively vibration free, but live steam was always visible as it powered the many pumps, winches, etc. Steam is powerful and efficient, but can be dangerous and even deadly. Diesel engines were seldom used on the larger American ships of that era, and were not considered cost or energy efficient. The TS Empire State was a relatively quiet ship since she only used steam power to drive the turbines, which then spun the generators that made the electricity needed to energize the powerful electric motors, which were directly geared to turn the propeller shafts. All in all, the ship was nearly vibration free, making for a smooth ride.

She spread her legs wider and wrapped them around him, resting her heels on his strong, muscular back. He slid all the way in, then drew out slowly, and the sensations were almost unbearable, agonizing their intensity. As he plunged deep inside again, she rubbed herself against his pubic bone and threw her head back as he pumped wildly into her. Her sighs soon grew to moans, and she reached the heights of rapture, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder and exploded with sizzling triumph.

She wanted to feel his hands and his mouth all over her, wanted him inside her, wanted to be so close she couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other began. She felt as if she had morphed into someone else, some wild creature she didn’t even know. As if her body were some alien, newly unearthed part of her that she could no longer control. She didn’t notice when he slid her jeans and pink satin panties down over her hips, but roused a little when he dragged a small foil packet out of the wallet in his hip pocket and tore it open. She caught the sound of his zipper sliding down. A hand she didn’t recognize as her own reached out for him, wrapped around the thick, heavy weight of his sex, held him while he slid on the condom, then guided him between her parted legs. “God, Charity…” With a single deep thrust, Call buried himself inside her. The moment he did, she started to come. “Christ.” His muscles went rigid. In some vague corner of her mind, she realized he was fighting for control. Charity cried out his name and clung to his neck, unable to believe how quickly she had reached her peak. She knew the moment he gave up his struggle to hold himself back, felt him begin to move, felt the deep thrust and drag of his shaft against the walls of her passage. She felt the power of the man above her and the deep, saturating pleasure as a second climax shook her. Beneath her hands, hard muscle tightened and Call groaned. The sinews in his hips flexed and moved as he pumped himself inside her, then came with incredible force, his body going rigid, his shoulders glowing with a sheen of perspiration. For long seconds, neither of them moved. The only sound in the forest was the wind luffing through the trees, their labored breathing, and the soft thud of their heartbeats.

Nerissa, mo grá,” he said weakly, from where he had been dragged to a corner and propped up against someone’s jacket. “Mo cróga, bean laoch álainn.” He was still in the bloodied breeches, a clean band of linen wound just above one knee. “My brave, beautiful warrior woman.” His eyes, deep and bottomless in the lantern-lit darkness, looked up at her through their absurdly long lashes, and she reached a hand, still smelling of gunpowder, down to touch his bristled cheek. He closed his eyes and held it there, reluctant to ever let her go, and she reveling in the warmth of his skin beneath hers, the knowledge that his heart still pumped his lifeblood beneath her hand. “I could not let you die,” she breathed, kneeling down beside him and offering him the strength of her own slim, lithe body. His face was ghostly from loss of blood, and she could see that it was an effort for him to even keep his eyes open, let alone press her hand to his cheek. She sat down on the hard, blood-stained planking and gently gathered him in her arms, stroking his heavy curls as he rested his forehead against her shoulder. “Tá tú mo banlaoch,” he whispered. “My heroine. My savior….” “Sleep, Ruaidri. The ship is back in your men’s hands and you, my love, are safe in mine.” She threaded her fingers up through his hair and gently caressed his scalp, wincing at the hard swelling she found there. She did not want to think about how he must have received it. She did not want to think of him being hurt, she did not want to think of anything but how grateful she was that he was alive and safely in her arms. Hadley… the Royal Navy… Lucien. Strength and a hard, ruthless confidence filled her heart. She had come this far. She could deal with all of them. Ruaidri’s forehead grew heavy against her collarbone. He murmured something unintelligible and, with her hand still quietly caressing him, finally gave himself up to the demands of his body and slept.

Katherine shivered with the feeling of being joined. It amazed her each and every time how perfectly they fit. Like his body had been built for no other purpose than to give her pleasure. To give her comfort. The thought made her rock forward. Her sentiments were lost in a wave of pleasure so intense she nearly climaxed right away. As she slowly rode him, Dominic leaned up and drew one nipple between his lips. When he sucked ever so gently, an orgasm rippled through her with the power of a wild storm. She thrashed out a harder rhythm as she let out a wail of pleasure and emotion and need for more. He didn't disappoint as he grasped her hips and helped her grind against him. She rolled her head back over her shoulders as his fingers pressed into the flesh of her backside, guiding her toward another chance at rapture. "Say my name," she begged, wanting him to let go this time as she had lost control so many times before. "Say it, please." He pumped into her harder, taking her to the edge she craved so much. She danced along its precipice for only a moment before she could no longer contain her scream of delight. He joined her a brief second later, calling her name while he pulsed hot into her and dragged her down for a possessing kiss.

Being constantly active made time fly, and so it didn’t take long before the day of departure came. It was January 4, 1953, and with the last of everything we needed aboard, we set sail just as many did before us. We were among those that continued the tradition of... “they that go down to the sea in ships” and we were very aware that this tradition rested on our shoulders. With the sound of three short blasts on the ship’s whistle, we backed away from the pier. This ship was unlike most ships of that era and we all noticed a definite difference in her sounds and vibrations. At that time, most American vessels were driven by steam propulsion that relied on superheating the water. The reciprocating steam engines, with their large pistons were the loudest as they hissed and wheezed, turning a huge crankshaft. Steam turbines were relatively vibration free, but live steam was always visible as it powered the many pumps, winches, etc. Steam is powerful and efficient, but can be dangerous and even deadly. Diesel engines were seldom used on the larger American ships of that era, and were not considered cost or energy efficient. The Empire State was a relatively quiet ship since she only used steam power to drive the turbines, which then spun the generators that made the electricity needed to energize the powerful electric motors, which were directly geared to turn the propeller shafts. All in all, the ship was nearly vibration free, making for a smooth ride.

I was sitting here for, like, an hour before you even sat down.” “Why?” he asks, observing our surroundings with a sweep from left to right. “I mean, there are better views than this one.” I slouch, defeated. “Don’t laugh. I sort of hurt my ankle.” Even though his eyes are concerned, he bites his lip, dimples in full force. “I’d consider that laughing,” I say with a hand on my chest, pretending to be offended. “I’m not laughing! It’s just--” He looks down at my feet. “How were you planning on getting back?” “Well, I didn’t plan on twisting my ankle!” I stand but keep the bum leg bent. “Walking. Walking is my plan.” Adrenaline pumping, I take a step forward, putting all my weight on my left leg. I let out a shriek as pain worse than before tears through me and I stumble. Darren jumps up to steady me, one hand at my elbow, the other at my waist. A sharp breath sneaks through my teeth. “You need a crutch,” he says, wedging himself alongside of me, our hips touching. He pulls my right arm over his shoulder and keeps his other hand loosely on my side. “If you weren’t so tall, this would be really awkward.” I want to ask how this isn’t awkward anyway, but I can’t really concentrate enough to speak. The throbbing is gone for this instant, but someone let loose a flutter of butterflies in my chest and that’s all I can feel.

A blur of movement, Hunter threw the fur onto the riverbank and waded toward her. She couldn’t touch bottom and, despite the desperate pumping of her arms and legs, went under again, taking another draft of water. Grabbing her by the hair, he dragged her to the surface and nearer to shore so her feet touched. Bringing his face close to hers, he tightened his grip on her braid. “You will obey me.” He enunciated each word with venomous clarity. “Always. You are mine--Hunter’s woman, forever with no horizon. The next time you shake your head at me, I will beat you.” A measure of the water she had inhaled surged up her throat. Unable to stop herself, she choked and then coughed. The ejected spray hit him square in the eyes. He blinked and drew back, an incredulous look on his face. Loretta clamped her palms over her mouth, angling her arms to hide her breasts, her shoulders heaving. As angry as he appeared, she fully expected him to lay her flat with his fist. Instead he released her braid and caught hold of her arms. When she finally got her breath, he let go of her and returned to shore, his leather-clad legs cutting sparkling swaths through the water. After wiping his face dry with the buffalo robe, he turned to glower at her. He sat on his haunches and rested his corded forearms on his knees. Glancing upstream and down, he said, “Your wooden walls are far away, Yellow Hair. If you try to slip away, this Comanche will find you.” Until that moment, the thought of swimming off hadn’t occurred to her. She shot a glance over her shoulder at the swift current. If only she had clothes… “You do not make like a fish so good. Save this Comanche much trouble, eh?” She thought she detected laughter in his voice, but when she looked back at him, his gaze, blue-black and piercing, was as unreadable as ever. He studied her for several endless seconds. She wondered what he was thinking and decided, from the gleam in his eye, that she didn’t want to find out.

Realizing that he was waiting for an answer, she replied with a touch of impishness, "Aye." After a blink of surprise, Rhys hauled her up into his lap. His eyes glinted with amusement. "Mocking my accent, are you?" "No." A breathless giggle escaped her. "I like it. Very much." "Do you, then?" His tone had deepened. "I'll have to send you inside, now soon. Give me a kiss, cariad. One to make up for all the kisses I would have had from you tonight." She pressed her mouth to his, and his lips parted, letting her explore him with little flirting tastes. Realizing that he was letting her take the lead, she nudged him more fully open, enjoying the firm silken texture of his mouth. Tentatively she changed the angle of the kiss, and the fit was so lush and delicious that she locked her mouth onto his. She wanted to stay like this forever, caught in his lap with the mass of her skirts bunched all around them, her bottom sinking into the space between his muscular thighs. Gripping his shoulders, she hugged herself closer to the hard contours of his body. His chest moved in a forceful breath or two, like pumps from fireplace bellows, and he broke the kiss with a groan. A shaken laugh escaped him as her mouth continued to seek his. "No- Helen- ah, how you please me- we have to stop." He leaned his forehead against hers. "Before I take you here in this carriage." Befuddled, Helen asked, "It can be done in a carriage?" His color heightened, and he closed his eyes briefly, as if he'd been pushed to the limit of his endurance. "Aye." "But how-" "Don't ask me to explain, or I might end up showing you.

Still I Rise BY MAYA ANGELOU You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own backyard. Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

Once we finish our report, I must begin my studies,” Charlotte declared, trying to pump herself up. Marianne rested a hand gently on her shoulder. “Lady Charlotte, you need only do the best you can. The first-years were in a truly miserable state last year after Lady Rozemyne forced such an excessive workload upon them. Please do not try so hard that you repeat her mistake and bring suffering to others.

Right team.” I clapped my hands to get their attention. “Go out there and destroy Starlight Academy like you were made to do. You were trained by the best, so be the best.” I gazed across the lot of them as they lined up. The Heirs pulled ranks, clapping each other on the shoulders but some of them still looked miserable. A familiar chant carried from the crowd back in the stadium and hope burned through my chest. Perfect timing! “You can't scare the Heirs, the Heirs don't care. You can't scare the Heirs, the Heirs don't care!” The rest of the team took up the chant, grouping together and locking their arms over their shoulders in a circle, though I noticed Ashanti Larue kept her distance from Seth. The Heirs soon joined in, jumping up and down and pumping their fists. I folded my arms, grinning as I watched. The funny thing was, that chant was the biggest lie I'd ever heard. Because I’d never, in all the years I'd known them, seen the Celestial Heirs look so rattled. (OrionPOV)

What’s wrong with me?” he moans, his thick shoulder muscles tightening as he pumps his cock. “What am I going to do, Gray?” “You’re going to come for me, because you’ve kept me waiting for six months.

As he stood behind me rolling a condom into place, I dropped down to my knees and didn’t wait to be told to get on my hands too. I moved into position and began to crawl closer to the mirror, swaying my ass, which in turn made my breasts gently move from side to side. The sound that left Grayson didn’t sound human as he got to his knees behind me. He gripped my hips, pulling me to a stop and then his body was over me and his lips were pressed against my shoulder. “What is it about you I can’t fucking shake?” He lined his hips up with mine, and his cock brushed between my legs. I could feel his thick length sliding between my swollen lips. I looked in the mirror and felt my excitement intensify at how big he was compared to me. “Nothing. I’ve done nothing to you.” He raised his head, and his fevered gaze caught mine. “The hell you haven’t. Does this,” he asked, shoving against me harder this time, “feel like nothing to you?” “It feels exactly how I imagined it.” I pumped my hips back, trying to get him inside me. “And how’s that?” “Hard and ready to fuck me.” My nipples were beaded tight, and my pussy was soaked as the tip of his cock kissed the opening between my wet lips. Narrowing my gaze on the intense man hovering behind me, I pushed him that final inch. “I’ve been thinking about this ever since I got in trouble for being late to your class.” It was a combination of her eyes, her words, and as she rocked back on me—her body, that finally did it. With a firm thrust, I drove my cock deep inside her, reveling in the erotic sound she made as she shoved her round ass back against my hips.

I can’t.” I scoot forward on the chair and lean close to Carolyn. She freezes, trying to keep her eyes from meeting mine. “Or maybe you’re not Hunter’s friend and you gave him a hot shot. Is that what you did, Carolyn? Did someone give you a special dose of Akira just for Hunter?” Stop digging, boys, we struck oil. Carolyn’s brain is still humming like a tuning fork, but at least she’s focused on something now. It’s there in her eyes. She’s beating herself silly trying to make all the contradictions and lies in her life add up to something sane. She really believes she’s Hunter’s friend, but the meth fog she lives in lets her justify giving Hunter drugs she knew were bad because someone up the food chain promised her more drugs or more money or the chance to settle a long-standing debt. Whatever her reasons, she feels guilty as hell. The addict self-pity tears start pumping out of her red and bruised eyes. I want to smack her to see if it snaps her brain back into gear, but I just pat her lightly on the shoulder. I keep my voice low, like I’m speaking to a child.

The catcalls and screams didn’t surprise Leo, nor did discovering Meena at the heart of chaos. There was his delicate flower, on the ground wrestling Loni, a lioness who’d come to town for the wedding. The same Loni who’d made numerous passes at him over the years, but whose high maintenance attitude made him steer clear. He wondered what had triggered the hair pulling and wrestling. He also really wished, once again, that Meena had worn panties. The occasional flash of her girly bits dragged the possessive side of him out— which really wanted to snarl, “Mine. Don’t look.” It also woke the hungry lover that wanted to toss her over a shoulder and take her somewhere private for ravishing. At least those closest to the fight and witness to her bare bottom were all women. The bad? They were all women. His usual method of smacking a few heads together to save time wouldn’t work in this situation. Boys shouldn’t hit girls. So how to stop the catfight? He stuck fingers in his mouth and blew, the whistle strident and cutting through the noise. In the sudden quiet, he said, “Vex, what the hell are you doing?” Meena, fist held back, poised for a serious blow, froze. She swiveled her head and smiled sweetly. No sign of repentance at being caught misbehaving. “Just give me a second, Pookie. I am almost done here.” He arched a brow. “Vex.” He used his warning tone. “Maybe you should let Loni go and forget about hitting her.” “Probably. But the thing is, I really want to smash her face in.” Sensing an out, Loni turned her head and whined, “Get this crazy bitch off me. I didn’t do a damned thing. She started it. She always starts shit. She should have never been unbanned. She’s trouble. Always has been.” Reba and Zena opened their mouths, ready to leap to Meena’s defense, but Leo raised a hand. They held their tongues— not an easy feat for cats— but their eyes spoke quite eloquently. Leo focused his attention on Meena. “Vex, is this true? Did you jump her?” Her shoulders slumped. “Yeah.” “Why?” “Does it matter?” she asked. “It does to me. Why do you want to rearrange her nose?” “She said we didn’t belong together and that maybe she should show you why she’s a better choice.” Meena couldn’t help but growl as she recounted the reason for her ire aloud. “Punch her.” To say a few mouths O’d in surprise would be an understatement. No one was more surprised than Meena at his order. “Seriously?” “Yeah, seriously. Given any idiot with eyes could see we were together, then that makes what she said mean and uncalled for. If you’re going to talk the talk, then you have to be prepared to pay the price. Since I can’t very well smack Loni for causing trouble, as pride omega”— and, yes, he thrust out his chest and put on his most serious mien—“ I am giving you permission to do so.” Permission granted, and yet Meena didn’t hit Loni. On the contrary, she stood, smoothed down her skirt, and tossed her head, sending her ponytail flying. “No need to rearrange her face. You just admitted in front of an audience we are together. That calls for a round of shots. Whee!” Meena did a fist pump and yelled, “In your face, bitch!

The stallion kicked off, angling his violet-tipped blue feathers, hovering over Star’s head. “Let’s go before those two colts we scared off tell Thunderwing we’re here.” “No!” Star screamed. Searing pain ripped through his shoulders as the stallions lifted him by the roots of his wings and carried him into the sky. Below him the trees shrank, and Feather Lake contracted into a mere blue swirl. He dangled between the two sweating stallions, their heavily muscled wings pumping in synchronized rhythm as they headed east—toward Mountain Herd’s territory.

the American journalist Martha Gellhorn wrote after trekking across much of China in 1940. No worse luck could befall a human being than to be born and live there, unless by some golden chance you happened to be born one of the .00000099 percent who had power, money, privilege (and even then, even then). I pitied them all, I saw no tolerable future for them, and I longed to escape away from what I had escaped into: the age-old misery, filth, hopelessness and my own claustrophobia inside that enormous country. Skinny, sweaty rickshaw pullers strained at their large-wheeled contraptions to provide transportation to the rich. The scenes of nearly naked coolies towing barges up canals and rivers, leaning so far against their harnesses as to be almost horizontal to the ground, were an emblem, picturesque and horrible at the same time, of the unrelenting strain of everyday life in China, as were such other standard images as the women with leathery skin barefoot in the muck planting and weeding, the farmers covered in sweat at the foot pumps along fetid canals or carrying their loads of brick or straw on balancing poles slung over their shoulders or moving slowly and patiently behind water buffalo pulling primitive plows. The fly-specked hospitals, the skinny, crippled beggars, the thousands and thousands of villages made of baked mud whose houses, as one visitor described them, were “smoky, with gray walls and black tiled roofs; the inhabitants, wearing the invariable indigo-dyed cloth … moving about their business in an inextricable confusion of scraggy chickens, pigs, dogs, and babies.

A few more strokes in and out of my ass, while his fingers pump my pussy, and I’m shattering apart, shouting his name.  “That’s the only name you know me by, fuck doll. That’s all I am to you. Just Race.” And I know just what he means. He’s telling me not to mention the painting or “W” again. He turns me over on my back, lifts my legs over his shoulders so my ass is in air, and plows into my dripping cunt.  “I’m your new God, Red. Now I want you to close your eyes and let your pussy worship me.” I can feel his length push into me deliciously. I’m so full I grip his shoulders and neck with my legs. I grunt and groan, wanting so much to take all of him. My fingernails dig into the hardness of his thigh.  With my body in the air and my head on the bench, I’m feeling dizzy. Every time he pounds me, I slide forward on the bench. His finger pumps into my ass.  I pant and writhe. Then he turns me over, presses his dick against my asshole again, and pulls my cheeks apart.  “While you’re on this island, I own you.” And then he shoves himself inside me. I see stars. When I find my voice, I scream, so loud I swear I think it echoes, until the screams become guttural groans.  I can’t breathe, can’t think, can only make animal noises as his huge dick invades me, stinging, stretching, filling me so much I think I’ll come apart. My

God sat up and reared back on his legs. He gripped Day behind his back and pulled him up onto his lap. Day’s legs instinctually wrapped around him as he thrust into him, using Day’s weight to keep his dick fully buried. He shifted Day slightly and aimed left, pumping up into him, hitting Day’s spot every time. “Yes. Give it to me. All of it!” Day spurred him on, his hands digging into God’s shoulders as he held on for the ride. God

Fuck. Oh fuck.” Sloane sat up, one arm wrapping around Dex and pulling him close against him as his other hand continued to pump Dex’s cock. Sloane thrust his hips hard against Dex’s ass over and over until Dex cried out, his fingers digging into Sloane’s shoulders as he came in Sloane’s hand. The hot, sticky feel of it had Sloane thrusting hard and deep one last time, causing his partner to let out a half cry, half moan before Sloane came deep inside Dex. He held on tight to Dex, thrusting until he’d emptied himself of every last drop.

Aren’t our dresses exquisite?” Performing a few happy waltz steps, Corinna turned in a circle. “Um, yes. Pull your sleeves up, Juliana, will you?” She tugged at them, but the dress was designed to be off the shoulder. “They won’t go.” He eyed their dresses’ high waistlines and scooped necklines, designed to accentuate the bust. “You’re all going to cover”—at an apparent loss for words, he patted his own chest—“with one of those scarf things, right?” “A fichu?” Madame sniffed. “I think not. These are evening gowns, my lord.” “They don’t look like the pictures my sisters showed me.” “The pictures were but a starting point, my lord. By the time the fashion plates make it here from France, they’re already beginning to pass out of style.” “We shall not be caught in last month’s fashions,” Juliana added. “These gowns are the thing.” “Not in this house, they aren’t!” “Griffin. Good news. The foundry will have the new part cast by the end of the day.” Tris walked in, scanned the room with a low whistle, and settled on Alexandra. “By George, you ladies will put every other girl to shame.” “My sisters won’t be wearing these dresses,” Griffin said. “Of course they will.” Tris tore his gaze from Alexandra and turned to his friend. “While I take apart the pump, you’ll want to head out to the vineyard and see that work on the new pipeline is resumed.” “Very well.” Griffin turned to leave, then swiveled back. “I’m not paying for those dresses,” he warned. “Not until they’re made decent.” Madame Rodale gave a little French-sounding “hmmph.” Tris laughed. “Listen to yourself, old man. You’ve been on campaign far too long. Don’t you want men to find your sisters appealing? Irresistible? Marriageable?” “Not if they’re men like…” “Like us?” Tris suggested helpfully. Griffin’s “hmmph” put the mantua-maker’s to shame. “I need to get to the vineyard,” he muttered and left. “Madame

I love you," Avery whispered and slid his hands under Kane's back, gripping his shoulders as he slowly began to move his hips, pulling almost out and slowly pushing back into that delicious tightness, moving faster and harder with each thrust. "I…love…you…" Kane whimpered. Avery gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, burying his face in the crook of Kane's neck. He wanted this to last, but the force of Kane's muscles gripping him felt too good. "You're finally mine." "And you're…finally…mine…" Kane declared, his hips rising to meet Avery's, thrust for thrust. "I've been yours since the first moment I laid eyes on you. Today was for you, baby." Avery gripped Kane's shoulders tighter, holding him in place as he drove himself deep into Kane's body. His knees dug into the mattress as he tried to get better leverage. He couldn't get close enough to Kane, couldn't get deep enough in the man he loved. He slammed his hips wildly against Kane, their loud grunts and moans filled the room, and the sound of their bodies slapping together added to the heat of the moment. Avery managed to slide his hand between their sweat-coated bodies and pump Kane's hard cock. His rhythm was erratic, he couldn't keep the pace, not with the way Kane's tight ass grasped him, but he wanted Kane to come before he did. His body strained, and he screwed his eyes shut, trying to prevent his release. He hung on until he felt Kane's cock twitch and hot jets of thick cream shot between his fingers and splattered on his chest. Kane shuddered and moaned beneath him, and his ass contracted around him. The smell and feel of Kane's release drove him insane. He grabbed Kane's thighs, pushed them back, lifting him higher, and plunged into him, pistoning his hips like a jack hammer. "Yes. So…good, baby." It wasn't a second more before his own release hit, and his cock jerked deep inside Kane's hot ass as he filled him with his come. "You're amazing," Avery roared as he slumped forward, falling on top of Kane.

Fuck,” Syn growled. He was still thinking of solutions when he heard something scrape against his doorknob. Something metal was tampering with the lock. If he were anywhere else in the apartment he wouldn’t have heard it, but he was right next to the door, so he could hear someone trying to get in. He instinctually moved to stand in front of Furi, pulling his Sig from its holster and unlocking the safety. He felt Furi tensing behind him. He could hear the tool manipulating the lock mechanism. Is this bastard really fuckin’ brave enough to break into my home in broad goddamn daylight? Syn was in awe at the size of this guy’s balls. The closet door was arm's length away. He yanked it open and grabbed the blanket off the top shelf, pulling his loaded twelve-gauge shotgun down just as the door eased open. All Syn could see was the tip of a black boot. Furi griped his shoulder. “Hey. Listen to this!” Syn yelled out. He put the stock of the gun firmly against his shoulder and pulled the pump back in two extremely swift moves. The sound was extremely loud and intimidating in the quiet room, by far the scariest sound an intruder could hear. “Don’t shoot, Dirty Harry.” The irritating chuckle that followed was unmistakable. “Son of a bitch,” Syn grumbled. “Day, have you lost your fuckin’ mind?” His Lieutenants came all the way through the door, Day laughing at the pissed look on Syn's face and Furi leaning on the wall behind him recovering from a panic attack. “Syn. What the hell is going on man? Are you really gonna put a buckshot in someone you think is breakin’ into your little-ass apartment? Because, you do know that that’s excessive force, right?” God asked, looking at him expectantly. “I was just scaring them off. No one comes in after hearing that sound, trust me.” Syn removed the shell and placed the gun back in the closet, covering it with the blanket. He turned to look at Furi. He looked a little pale but he was okay. Syn spun back around, “Day. Knock on my damn door like a normal visitor and wait for me to say come in!” Day pfftd, plopping down on the couch. “You don’t invite the wind. The wind just–” “Stop saying that stupid wind bullshit. Because if your door is shut and you weather guard that bitch then the wind stays the fuck out until ... You. Open. The. Door.” Syn’s dark eyes bored into Day’s hazel ones. God’s laugh was raspy, while Day looked bewildered. “But we’re family.” “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Syn grumbled, he had to get going; he had no time to explain to Day about how to behave in civilized society. He turned serious eyes back on Furi. “I gotta go, but I really think–” Furi pulled Syn to him before he could finish the sentence, kissed him hard on the mouth before turning, heading to the bedroom. “Just concentrate on your job and don’t take any officers away from their assignments to follow me. There could be someone out there who really needs their help.” Syn didn’t get to say anything else because Furi had closed the bedroom door. End of discussion.

Oh fuck. Do it,” Green demanded. Ruxs pumped his dick into Green’s balls, and pushed until just the tip of his finger was inside his partner. “Fuuuck!” “Fuuuck!” They both moaned. Green hurriedly spit in his palm and wrapped it back around his dick, his hand flying up and down his shaft. His eyes were closed tight, his mouth slack as he moaned for, “More.” Ruxs pushed deeper and it felt like Green’s ass was trying to eat his finger. It was sucking on it, pulling, like it had a mind of its own and knew how to seek out its pleasure. Ruxs pulled out against the resistance, only to the tip, then gave in to it, gave it what it wanted. He pushed in more. So damn hot. “Want your fuckin’ thick cock in me so bad. Filling me until I can’t take anymore,” Green muttered. It was like he was talking to himself, but Ruxs heard him. Thought about his own cock, buried inside this burning confinement. Ruxs’ back muscles flexed, his hips thrust up, and the veins in his neck bulged. He was coming again. Emptying his hot come against Green’s balls. With one finger still pumping in and out of his partner, he took his other hand and reached between them, wanting… no needing, to feel his seed against Green’s skin. His eyes rolled back in his head, as he massaged his essence in deeper. He pumped Green’s tight ass and rolled his balls with the other hand at the same time, giving them a hard pull. Green clutched his shoulder, and slammed his hips forward. “Now, Mark! Fuck! I’m coming!” Ruxs

Sloane pulled off Dex, gave his nipple a tweak, before he sat back on his heels. He slowly removed the dildo and replaced it with his cock. He buried himself inch by inch until he was settled against Dex’s ass. Taking hold of Dex’s legs, Sloane began to move, pumping into Dex, his groin slapping against Dex’s ass. The couch moved beneath them, but Dex held on tight as Sloane pounded into him. “Oh fuck! Oh God, oh God, oh fuck!” Dex cried out, his back arching up off the couch, his cock spurting come across his chest, with some landing on his neck and chin. Sloane bent over Dex, grabbing his shoulders, jerking Dex toward him as he drove into him. His hair fell over his face, sweat dripping down his neck as he fucked Dex wildly, his hips losing all rhythm. White heat spread through Sloane, exploding in front of his eyes as his orgasm barreled through him. His muscles tensed, and he pumped into Dex even harder as he spilled himself inside Dex’s hole. It seemed to go on forever, until Sloane was sore and collapsed on top of Dex. Sloane

And dozens of tiny hands reached up, and cast back dozens of tiny hoods. The robes fell away, revealing a motley of brightly-colored, dwarfish creatures, perched atop one another’s shoulders, brandishing outlandish tubes of a shiny substance none present had ever seen before. With preternatural speed and precision, they were trained upon the wild-eyed Romans, and after a few frantic pumping motions, streams of fluid arced through the air towards them. Wherever they landed, upon flesh or armor, steam burst forth, and the soldiers screamed in agony. Many of them were seasoned, having put down rebellions throughout the Empire, but all of their training and experience failed them in the face of elves wielding super soakers. Super soakers filled with battery acid.

Jesus,” Logan moaned as he looked over his shoulder and saw Dom’s face buried between his cheeks. The man was tonguing him, the hot little appendage stroking and sucking on him. It was an erotic sight to watch, but his body was too overcome with how good it felt and Logan dropped his forehead on the bed. Over and over Dom played with him and moans kept escaping from Logan’s lips as he clenched his fists into the bedding. And when Dom’s tongue pushed inside him, Logan did scream and he reached for his cock in desperation. “It’s too good!” he shouted as he pumped his hips desperately into his hands.

Dilemmas of the Angels: Flight" Before the angel there was something else— not this coffee shop next to a drug rehabilitation center filled with war veterans of the past, men and women strapped to their chairs, birds straining to rise from piles of feathers, bones, and blood. Drenched in sweat and a little shaky from too much caffeine, she takes flight, a shining white-winged trumpeter swan crossing open water, steam rising from the feathers' barbs. Below her, a cormorant, unfolding its black wings, explodes from the surface, and even fish, leaping from the oily sheen, glide for a moment, gills pumping in the poisonous atmosphere. Such longing. How large the muscles in our shoulders must be to lift our wings even a single time.

You couldn’t even make it to the shed over there?” Jenna asks and points over my shoulder. “There’s a shed?” Gabriel asks and spins around. “Well shit, I could’ve taken my time had we been in there.” “You a two-pump chump there Champ?” Jenna asks, her eyebrows raised. “Jenna!” I exclaim and I hear Gabriel laughing behind me. “Definitely not… Right, Tessa?

Its wings flicker white, and in the brief soar between roof and pump, the sun catches in its feathers, revealing rainbows floating atop the black and blue fibers. The colors roll down its body like the muscle in a great predator’s shoulders, and yet the lift of its wings and kite-like flicker of its long tail are lighter than air.

We were at the very end of the era of fearless girls. Soon, women would learn distrust, pumped full of fear by serial-killer news reels and common sense. But those things weren't in our reality yet. They existed but seemed impossible. Faraway. False. Sure, soon, every girl would look over her shoulder at every turn and lock her car as soon as she hopped in- but not quite yet. We were still lawless and mindless. Gaggles of bright-eyed girls would prod at each other on the bus, sharing lipstick by kissing, leaving home with only a five-dollar bill and, if they were cautious, a house key. It wasn't true, but we thought everyone loved everyone else. We'd kiss anyone and touch anyone and go anywhere with anyone, as long as the person smiled.

It was a strange thing, really, seeing my boyfriend's naked ass thrusting between widespread thighs. Was that what he looked like when he was on top of me? Because I had to say he appeared rather ridiculous, pumping away like an unhinged bunny. Then again, I'd never liked that particular method of his; I'd rarely orgasmed when pounded like a piece of meat. His partner, however, didn't seem to have that problem. Either she was faking it, or she loved it. But her rather enthusiastic squeaks of delight cut short as she caught sight of me, and all the color drained from her face. Sadly, it took Greg a bit longer to realize she'd frozen beneath him; Greg always was a bit of a selfish lover. When he finally noticed, he was as smooth as ever, observing me from over his sweaty shoulder without making a move to get off the woman. Silence fell like a hammer. Or maybe an ax. Why not? An ax could sever more than one thing today. Greg swallowed twice, his gaze darting over me, like he couldn't quite believe I was there. In my own home. His voice was somewhat shaky when he finally spoke. "You're early." So many things to say. Scream, maybe? Cry? But I was numb. Completely numb. So I said the only thing I could. "Funny, I think I arrived just in time.

Getting a good look at him… he was huge. Like literally massive. Was that normal? Was he on steroids? “Hey, friend,” I said. “Wait here a second, okay? We’ll get you some help.” He didn’t respond, obviously. Why my heart started beating faster though, I really didn’t get. Never mind, I guess I did. I was going to have to grab this big son of a bitch. If my memory served me correctly—from all the episodes I’d seen of zoo shows and the one game warden show—you just kind of had to... grab them. Could they smell fear? Like dogs? I eyed my new friend and hoped like hell he couldn’t. Two seconds later, the door to the house burst open and Amos was out, setting a big crate down on the deck before running back inside. He was back out another second later, shoving something into his pockets and then picking up the crate again. He slowed down as he got closer to the garage and walked way around where the bird was still standing. He was breathing hard as he slowly set it down between us, then pulled out some leather gloves from his pockets and handed those over too. “This is the best I could find,” he said, eyes wide and face flushed. “You sure about this?” I slipped the gloves on and let out a shaky exhale before giving him a nervous smile. “No.” I kind of laughed from the nerves. “If I die—” That got him to roll his eyes. “You’re not doing to die.” “Make up some story about how I saved your life, okay?” He looked at me. “Maybe we should wait for my dad.” “Should we? Yeah, but are we? No, we have to get him. He should have flown off by now, and we both know it.” Amos cursed again under his breath, and I gulped. Might as well get it over with. Five minutes from now wasn’t going to change anything. My mom would’ve done it. “Okay, I can do this,” I tried to hype myself up. “Just like a chicken, right?” “You’ve picked up a chicken before?” I eyed Am. “No, but I’ve seen my friend do it. It can’t be that hard.” I hoped. I could do this. Just like a chicken. Just like a chicken. Opening and closing my hands with the big gloves on, I bounced my shoulders and moved my neck from side to side. “Okay.” I inched closer to the bird, willing my heart to slow down. Please don’t let him smell fear. Please don’t let him smell fear. “All right, love, pal, pretty boy. Be nice, okay? Be nice. Please be nice. You’re beautiful. I love you. I just want to take care of you. Please be nice—” I swooped down. Then I shouted, “Ahh! I got him! Open the crate! Open the crate! Am, open it! Shit, he’s heavy!” Out of the corner of my eye, Amos rushed over with the crate, door open, and set it on the ground. “Hurry, Ora!” I held my breath as I waddled, holding what I was pretty sure was a steroid-taking bird—who wasn’t struggling at all, honestly—and as fast as possible, set him inside, facing away from me, and Amos slammed it shut just as I got my arms out of there without getting murdered. We both jumped back and then peeked through the metal gate. He was just hanging out in there. He was fine. At least I was pretty sure he was; it wasn’t like he was making faces. I held up my hand, and Am high-fived it. “We did it!” The teenager grinned. “I’ll call Dad.” We high-fived again, pumped up. Amos hustled back inside his house, and I crouched down to look at my friend once more. He was a good hawk. “Good job, pretty boy,” I praised him. Most of all though, I’d done it! I got him in there! All by myself. How about that?

Daisy! How nice to see you." Madison's voice grated over her nerves, pulling her out of the moment. Her defenses slammed back into place and she jerked away. "Madison." Turning, Daisy forced a smile and slid one arm around Liam's waist. He was broad and solid and mouthwateringly hard, like he spent his days pumping weights in the gym. "Nice to see you, too." "We're together." Liam slid his arm around Daisy's shoulder and pulled her to his side. "You're with him?" Orson's bushy eyebrows flew up like two dancing caterpillars. "Oh, Orson." Daisy leaned into Liam's side, feigning surprise. "I didn't see you hiding there behind Madison." She made the introductions. Orson glared as he shook Liam's hand. Madison was too busy checking Liam out to notice that her new boyfriend had spiked a jealousy fever.

took the opportunity to bound three steps ahead and turn into the next aisle. My gun was up and on target, and I could see Diego on the ground. But he had anticipated what I was going to do and had his pistol up. He fired one round, which went slightly to the left and struck the shelf right next to my head. Instinctively I squeezed the trigger twice at the target directly in front of me. It was a simple double tap. Bang, bang. For an instant, I could see the look in Diego’s eyes. Then he fell back and dropped the gun onto the floor. I immediately holstered my pistol and dropped to my knee. I reached down and pulled his thick T-shirt up over his stomach and chest to see two wounds just above his sternum. Blood was already starting to pump out. I placed my palms over each hole, hoping to stem the blood flow. The young man made a gurgling sound and tried to lift his head off the floor. I yelled out, “I need some help here.” A few seconds later, Todd appeared at my side. He said, “Fire and rescue is on the way. What do you need me to do?” “Help me stop the bleeding on one of these wounds.” Todd didn’t move. He put his hand on my shoulder instead. “Mike, it’s over. You did what you had to do.” I looked down and saw that Diego was perfectly still. I felt for a pulse at his chest and then at his neck. No more blood was pumping out of the wounds. He was dead. I flopped back, and my shoulders hit the bookshelf. I sat there staring down at the teenager I had just shot dead. From the end of the aisle a woman’s voice said, “You murdered him.” My head snapped in that direction. It was a young woman, and she was staring at me. A young man joined her and said, “You shot him for no reason?” Before fire and rescue and more cops could show up, a small crowd gathered, and they all picked up a similar theme. They thought I had acted rashly and fired my weapon without provocation. They thought I was some kind of monster. Once someone was there to secure the scene and Todd was leading me toward an office where I could gather my thoughts, I kept hearing people say, “Murderer.” “Killer.” Todd kept his arm on my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about these ignorant morons. One thing I’ve learned working here is that I’m never surprised to see smart people acting like idiots. They have no idea you just saved their asses.

He took my hand and led me to a slightly less crowded corner of the large dance floor. “Watch,” he said, placing my hand on his shoulder and cupping my waist. He took my other hand in his. “The man leads. As I’m stepping forward, you’re stepping back. It’s an eight beat—one, two, three, pause. One, two, three, pause…” I looked down at his feet, trying to catch the rhythm. It seemed simple enough. After a minute I was able to follow, although I admit I stepped on his toes one or twice in the process. “Good, good,” Victor murmured encouragingly. “How did you learn to do this?” I asked, concentrating on getting my feet right. “My big sister—the same one that picked out your dress. She made me come with her when she took lessons so she never had to worry about getting a partner.” “You’re really good,” I said admiringly as he moved me around the dance floor. “You will be too,” he assured me. “You’re getting it—you’re just a little stiff. Here…” He spun me around suddenly so that my back was to his front. Then he put both large hands on my hips and began to move me in time to the thumping, Latin beat. I bit back a gasp as we moved, my body finding the perfect rhythm at last now that his front was flush against my back. The music pumped and all around us couples were flashing by in the dark but I barely even saw them—my entire attention was given to Victor—his hands on my hips, his body against mine. His big body covered me, surrounded me. His scent filled my senses—leather and fur and warm shafts of sunlight in the forest but something else too—a heat that matched my own.

The car lurched forward like a living thing, the needle on the speedometer spiking up to fifty, then eighty, then ninety. The entire world seemed to shrink to a silent pinpoint. Rylin lost all sense of time or place. There was nothing but this, the car beneath them and the curve of the road before them and the rush of her blood pumping hot and fast through her veins. The landscape flashed past, a blur of sky and dark forest punctuated only by the yellow line glowing on the road. The wind pulled her hair in a loose tangle around her shoulders. She could feel Cord looking at her and she wanted to remind him to keep his eyes on the road but something told her she didn’t need to. He let his right hand fall over the middle console, driving only with his left, and Rylin reached for it. Neither of them spoke.

the boy had killed only eight. The presence of a lone FBI agent only complicated the situation more. What had he been doing there? Eyewitness reports of a brief firefight outside before the massacre only piqued his curiosity. A frenzy of reporters and news cameras had flooded the scene outside, held at bay by tight-lipped crowd control officers. Detective Harper noticed that Darion had failed to upload his video in time. After recovering the busted-up GoPro, he viewed the recording and was met with gruesome scenes of the carnage—death captured in real time. Harper placed it in a sealed evidence bag to be transported to the evidence room with everything else. The detective did a Hail Mary and then tried to get some ID on the shooter. Nothing on the scene directly linked him to a terrorist network. He had no identification on him. Suddenly, Harper heard on his radio that another man, who resembled the diner gunman, had been hit by a truck, not far from the diner. *** Craig tried his best to maintain control of the crash site. He called Patterson repeatedly but only got voicemail instead. A sick feeling brewed in his stomach as he heard sirens blare from a few blocks over. Police were everywhere on the street around him. Paramedics had the driver of the truck—an unconscious white-haired man—on a wheeled stretcher and fitted into a neck-and-shoulder brace. As they pushed him to the ambulance, one EMT held an oxygen pump over the man’s face and pumped intermittently. Rasheed lay in the road unconscious among broken pieces of the truck’s front end and a backpack full of pipe bombs. It was a surreal scene, the second time Craig found himself in the middle of the street amid destruction and chaos in a matter of days. The tide seemed to be turning against him. He forbade investigators to touch the pipe bombs and demanded that the paramedics handle Rasheed with the utmost care.

My eyes widened at this jungle of freshness, the earth on the ground. The back wall, around thirty feet high, burst with terra-cotta pots filled with every herb imaginable- basil, thyme, coriander, parsley, oregano, dill, rosemary, and lavender. There were tomatoes of almost every variety beaming with colors of red, dark purple, yellow, and green. Lemon trees. Avocados. Lettuces, like roquette and feuille de chêne. Zucchinis and eggplants. Fennel, celeriac, artichokes, and cucumbers. Leeks, asparagus, cabbages, and shallots, oh my. I exhaled a happy breath. This explosion of color, this climate-controlled greenhouse, was every chef's idea of heaven. I ran my hands over the leaves of a cœur de bœuf tomato plant and brought my fingers to my nose, breathing in the grassy and fragrant aroma, an unmistakable scent no other plant shared. All of the smells from my summers in France surrounded me under one roof. As the recipes Grand-mère taught me when I was a child ran through my head, my heart pumped with happiness, a new vitality. I picked a Black Krim, which was actually colored a reddish purple with greenish brown shoulders, and bit into it. Sweet with just a hint of tartness. Exactly how I summed up my feelings.

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

From THE SPEED OF LIFE, Part III, Chapter "Running on empty." I put the Jeep in park and felt that odd sensation that comes over me when stuck in traffic. Instead of speeding along on its way to wherever it needs to be, my body – the heart pumping blood, the muscles in my shoulders contracting, the side of my head throbbing – sits there: a time-bomb of expectation. I wasn’t where I wanted to be. I wasn’t where I was. I was nowhere.

Please,” was the only word that I could get out. At that moment, I would have begged for him if I had to. He took a long breath in and exhaled deeply. “Not yet.” His hand slid down my torso. My body was damp with desire. “I don’t want to hurt you, you’re so tight.” He slid one finger into me and I writhed beneath him. Two pumps of his hand and he easily slid a second finger into my slickness. I let out a small moan as his fingers stretched me open and my head relaxed back. As he pushed into me with two fingers, his thumb found my swollen clit. My hips pushed up, begging for more. “That’s it, babe, make yourself feel good.” I lifted my hips and pushed against his fingers, stroking and pushing them in and out of my wet body. His thumb increased the pressure on my clit as his fingers rubbed in and out, finding a sensitive spot inside of me. My body arched to his touch and he withdrew his fingers slowly from me and brought them to my mouth. I licked the juice from his fingers and he let out a feral growl. He positioned himself on top of me and I lifted my hips, desperate to have him inside of me. “Slow and sweet, babe, slow and sweet,” he said with a raspy voice as he slowly pushed into me. His green eyes were dark gray and dilated and I knew he was having as difficult a time going slow as I was, but he wouldn’t allow himself to lose control. I gasped as he pushed deep inside of me. He was so thick and long. His eyes were full of lust and emotion, but he refused to allow them to close. The connection between us was intense and we were lost as we watched each other as he slowly pushed in and out of me, filling me to the hilt and drawing almost all the way out. His rhythm was slow and restrained and I watched his face struggle to keep the control with each deep thrust. A deep moan escaped from my throat as my pleasure ratcheted up to new heights. His face tensed with my sound and I knew he couldn’t hold his control much longer, but it felt so good and I didn’t want it to end. I tilted my hips up as he thrust down and circled into me, penetrating deeper than he had ever been. He buried his face into my neck and kissed his way from my shoulder blade to my ear as he swiveled his hips, grinding his big rock hard cock into me. “Come for me, baby, I want to watch you.” His words pushed me over the edge and my body exploded in pleasure. I climaxed in a relentless spiraling orgasm that had me calling his name over and over as it tore through me. My eyes unconsciously closed as I succumbed to the waves rippling though me. “Eyes.” I opened my eyes to his demand. Jack watched as it took over my body and melted me to the core. He quickened his thrusts and whispered, “Fucking beautiful,” as I felt his body tense and pin me in place when he came long and hard, filling me deeply.

His weight lifted, and his hand reached between her thighs, stroking and opening her. She felt a nudge, an adjustment as he aligned himself, then steady pressure at her entrance. He was so hard, his flesh like steel, but he was gentle and controlled, taking his time. She gasped as her muscles gave way and the broad tip pushed inside, stretching her, keeping her open. He held still, his hands stroking her hips and bottom. All her nerves tingled and sparked in anticipation, knowing how good it was going to be. She pressed back against him, and he sheathed himself in a slow, wet plunge, all the way inside, deeper than she'd ever been filled before. He went in at just the right angle, pressing where she most wanted. Her body gripped him, or tried to, except the invasion was so thick, her muscles only fluttered and throbbed instead of clenching down. She felt almost as if she were at the brink of release. And to her astonishment... she was. She was about to tip over into a sea of mind-dissolving pleasure. "Wait," she heard Keir say through the clamor of her heartbeat. His hands were on her hips, keeping her close and tight. For some reason it aroused her intolerably, knowing he was trying to stop her from climaxing. She tried to drive herself back on the hard shaft inside her, unable to get enough of its even though she was stretched to the limit. Raising up on her forearms, she writhed and pushed desperately against him. Keir's husky laugh caressed her ears as he leaned over her. He held her hips snugly against his, allowing only a sense of motion, a subtle grinding that wasn't nearly enough. Very gently, he closed his teeth on the side of her neck and soothed it with his tongue. "Tell me how good it feels," he whispered. Merritt fought for the breath to reply. "It feels too good. I want to come... I want to spend... oh, please, Keir..." "Spend," he repeated, and smiled against her shoulder. "I like that word for it." He withdrew just an inch, and rolled his hips upward. "Aye, I want your pleasure. Spend it all on me." She sobbed and squirmed, able to feel the motion of him deep in her belly, but it wasn't enough. "Harder. Please." The rhythmic drives grew longer, more aggressive. "No one else could ever feel this good to me," he said. "No other woman in the world. Only you." He reached beneath her to cup the round weights of her breasts, and began to pinch and tug at her nipples. Not sharply but not softly, the little flashes of discomfort somehow magnifying her pleasure. His hand slid down her front and between her thighs, finding the taut peak of her sex. The gently massaging fingers, the steady pumping, set off an explosion of pleasure that spread to every part of her body and kept unfolding and renewing itself. The release was so powerful, it left her dazed and too weak to move. She was only vaguely aware of Keir's climax, the quiet growl he pressed against her skin, the rough shudders that ran though him.

My words are muffled by my mouth against her skin, but she gets it as she pumps against my fingers, and that’s when I feel the crest. Her body slumps, she screams against the fabric of my shirt, and bites the flesh of my shoulder as she comes so hard she stops everything once it’s done. I’m worried she’s passed out, until I feel her body shuddering against mine. When I pull back, she’s got a bright smile on her face and she’s laughing. “You okay?” I push her sweat-drenched hair out of her face.

There, that wasn't so hard." He ran his hands over her shoulders as relief pumped into him. "But you didn't say it in Italian. It sounds really great in Italian." "You idiot. Ti amo." She laughed, launching herself at him.