Slap Funny Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Slap Funny. Here they are! All 100 of them:

Well, someone slap my butt and give me a hero cookie. (Nick)
Sherrilyn Kenyon (Infinity (Chronicles of Nick, #1))
Don't look now, but that's my ex over there." Surely I'm not the only one who takes "don't look now" as "there's no better time than now." I looked. "Bad, Ali!" Another slap to my arm. "Bad, bad, bad Ali! Have you no self control?
Gena Showalter (Alice in Zombieland (White Rabbit Chronicles, #1))
Why were you watching me change?" I explain. "Uh, 'cause I'm a guy?" He flips the pillow and slaps it, fluffing it. Then he rolls over and closes his eyes again.
Miranda Kenneally (Catching Jordan)
At fifty times the distance, you dispatched that ko-bold with three arrows to the neck. I’ve earned a trio to the chest. Seems you slapped him while you’re tickling me. You doona want to kill me, which is a good sign. Maybe this is your way of flirting?
Kresley Cole (Pleasure of a Dark Prince (Immortals After Dark, #8))
He pats his way around the the bed and slides back in. "Ow," he says. "yes?" "My belt. Would it be weird..." I'm thankful he can't see me blush."Of course not." And I listen to the slap of leather, s he pulls it out of his belt loops. He lays it gently on my hardwood floor. "Um," he says. "Would it be weird-" "yes" "Oh, piss off. I'm not talking trousers. I only want under the blankets. That breeze is horrible." He slides underneath, and now we're lying side-by-side. In my narrow bed. Funny, but I never never imagined my first sleepover with a guy being, well, a sleepover.
Stephanie Perkins (Anna and the French Kiss (Anna and the French Kiss, #1))
You forgot my birthday, too." "And mine." The girls looked miserable. The King opened his mouth, then shut it. "Sir!" whined Lord Teddie. "You forgot my birthday, too!" Bramble gave a surprised laugh, then slapped her hand over her mouth, as though shocked at letting it out. The tension broke. The girls laughed sheepishly, and Lord Teddie beamed. He probably did not have many ladies think him funny. In fact, he probably got slapped by a lot of them.
Heather Dixon Wallwork (Entwined)
Sometimes he hated that voice in his brain, the one that slapped him upside the head anytime he got too stupid. Funny, it happened a lot with Sienna.
Nalini Singh (Branded by Fire (Psy-Changeling, #6))
Slap-stick comedy is really funny, unless you're the one getting slapped with the stick.
Carroll Bryant
Did I just get psychically pimp-slapped by a little old lady?
Molly Harper (Nice Girls Don't Date Dead Men (Jane Jameson, #2))
Thanks for coming," Zach told him. He slapped Jonas on the back. And I felt like I'd fallen into an alternate universe. One where Zach had...friends.
Ally Carter (United We Spy (Gallagher Girls, #6))
Getting into a fight with a popular senior. Pissing off a school teacher and the local chief of police. Hanging with two major-league losers." She slapped my back. "Welcome to high school.
Harlan Coben (Shelter (Mickey Bolitar, #1))
So what's it to be, Bear?" Dev lifted his leg and gave a sarcastic slap to his thigh. "By golly, I'll take door number two, Bob. You know the one that calls for straight suicide with a side of mutilation and pain? Sign my hairy ass up for that and don't be late.
Sherrilyn Kenyon (No Mercy (Dark-Hunter, #18; Were-Hunter, #5))
I moved to assist, but never got the chance. there was some pretty violent banging for a minute, and then a tearing sound. Finally the stall door flew open, and Ray's shirtless body emerged and started bitch-slapping everything in sight. His aim was off, probably due to the difficulty of having his eyes on the other side of the room, but he made up for it with sheer determination.
Karen Chance (Death's Mistress (Dorina Basarab, #2))
He watched in awe as she stacked up an enormous armload of music. "There," she finished, slapping Frank Zappa's Greatest Hits on top of the pile. "That should do for a start." "You are a music lover," said the wide-eyed cashier. "No, I'm a kleptomaniac." And she dashed out the door. He was so utterly shocked that it took him a moment to run after her. With a meaningful nod in the direction of the astounded Cahills, she barreled down the cobblestone street with her load. "Fermati!" shouted the cashier, scrambling in breathless pursuit. Nellie let a few CDs drop and watched with satisfaction over her shoulder as the clerk stopped to pick them up. The trick would be to keep the chase going just long enough for Amy and Dan to search Disco Volante. Yikes, she reflected suddenly, I'm starting to think like a Cahill.... And if she was nuts enough to hang around this family, it was only going to get worse.
Gordon Korman (One False Note (The 39 Clues, #2))
Something about this made Reynie uneasy. Had he done so badly? Was this meant to test his courage? He did as he was told, closing his eyes and bracing himself as best he could. "Why are you flinching?" the pencil woman asked. "I don't know. I thought maybe you were going to slap me." "Don't be ridiculous. I could slap you perfectly well with your eyes open. I'm only going to blindfold you.
Trenton Lee Stewart (The Mysterious Benedict Society (The Mysterious Benedict Society, #1))
He squeezed my shoulder and smiled at me. I realized that I hadn't kissed him hello, I always kissed him hello. Of course, I was still covered in blood and other bodily fluids, and none of them were his, but he might not understand that that was why I hadn't wanted to get too close. Some of my confusion must have shown on my face, because his smile widened. He turned me around by the shoulders, gave me a little push towards the bathroom, and slapped me on the ass. "Get cleaned up, I'll take care of things here." "I can't believe that you just did that," I said. "Did what?" he said, and he was grinning at me. I could probably count on one hand the number of times Micah had grinned at me. His eyes were sparkling with laughter as if it were all he could do not to let it out. I was happy to see him having a good time, really I was. But I wasn't sure what was funny, and I didn't have the courage to ask. It was probably something that would be at my expense, or something I'd just done that he found cute. I was not cute. Confused, fucked-up, bruised, but not cute. Nathaniel and Damian knew better, but as I passed Gregory, I had to say, "If you touch my ass, I will rip you a new one." I said it as I moved past him, not even pausing. "You're no fun," he growled. I looked back just before I turned out of sight of him. "Oh, I'm a lot of fun, just not around you." He snarled at me. "Bitch." "Woof, woof," I said, and finally made it into the bathroom.
Laurell K. Hamilton (Incubus Dreams (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #12))
Hey," Trenton said, breathless and sweaty. He pulled a few yellow strands of fake hair from his face. "Did you lose a bet?" I asked. "As a matter of fact, I did." Taylor and Tyler were across the room, slapping their knees and laughing so hard they could barely breathe. I slapped Trenton's ass. "You look hot, bro." "Thanks," he said. The music started and he shook his hips at me. I pushed him away, and, undeterred, he danced across the room to entertain the crowd.
Jamie McGuire (A Beautiful Wedding (Beautiful, #2.5))
Deets slapped his leg and laughed, the thought was so funny. When the rest of the outfit finally wondered down from the house they found the two of them grinning back and forth at one another. "Look at 'em," Augustus said. "You'd think they just discovered teeth.
Larry McMurtry (Lonesome Dove (Lonesome Dove, #1))
Make sure the seaweed lies flat.' 'Okay.' 'Leave an inch below the knee.' 'Okay.' 'It's got to be loose enough to put a finger in the top.' 'Sean Kendrick.' I say it emphatically enough that the stallion's ears prick toward me. (...) Sean doesn't appear to be at all apologetic. 'I think you'd better let me do that after all.' 'You're the one who had me in here in the first place.' I say. 'Now I think it's you who doesn't trust me.' 'It's not just you,' He replies. I glower at him. 'Well, I'll tell you what. I'll hold him and you wrap. That way, when it's done wrong, there's only yourself to slap. And take your jacket. I'm tired of holding it.
Maggie Stiefvater (The Scorpio Races)
When you’re in love with two people, always choose the second. The fact that you are constantly thinking of the second person makes it obvious that the first will never fulfill you, unless the second person did not fulfill you either. At this point, you have to choose the third person because God is getting a little tired of your inattention and indecisiveness, and is planning on sending a fourth person into your life just to slap you around with the bible for not entering the promised land.
Shannon L. Alder
And she didn't once say anything about this being a sin. It used to be I got the word sin slapped in my face every time I did something wrong, but come on, when you live in a sin-free family with sin-free parents and a sin-free sister, well, you can't help but sin a little extra on their behalf.
Han Nolan (Pregnant Pause)
If her hormones had a face, she would slap it.
Melissa Grey (The Girl at Midnight (The Girl at Midnight, #1))
She put her hand on her hip. "Where are you going?" "To the boat. You called me Lord Bill again. That means we're cool." Cerise slapped her forehead with the heel of her hand and followed him.
Ilona Andrews (Bayou Moon (The Edge, #2))
No punching?" he asked. "No." "No kicking?" "No." "How about arm wrestling?" "No. And before you ask, we've avoided Slug Bug, Slap Bets, and any and all Dance-Offs." Fate Succumbs
Tammy Blackwell
Funny, how accustomed I’d become to visiting her here; how it gave me a strange sense of comfort to know that she and I were living in the same building. Her presence on base changed everything for me; the weeks she spent here became the first I ever enjoyed living in these quarters. I looked forward to her temper. Her tantrums. Her ridiculous arguments. I wanted her to yell at me; I would’ve congratulated her had she ever slapped me in the face. I was always pushing her, toying with her emotions. I wanted to meet the real girl trapped behind the fear. I wanted her to finally break free of her own carefully constructed restraints.
Tahereh Mafi (Destroy Me (Shatter Me, #1.5))
My good sense bitch-slapped my estrogen and told her to get a grip.
Laurie Halse Anderson (The Impossible Knife of Memory)
You know how some people get sun-kissed, well i got sun bitch slapped
Ryan Oliveira
And I’m lactose intolerant but if you told me I couldn’t have cheese ever again, I would slap you in your face.
Retta (So Close to Being the Sh*t, Y’all Don’t Even Know)
We found it!" Charlotte yelled, as they ran back through the house. "We found it, we found it!" Eddie, Mr. Mallery, and Colonel Andrews came from separate directions, converging in the front hall. Miss Charming was hopping up and down, her bosom nearly rising to slap her own forehead.
Shannon Hale (Midnight in Austenland (Austenland, #2))
They traversed the lounge, side-stepping the occasional onanist and paying no heed to the slack-jawed, giggling addicts. A few feet away, a young woman had put her tattooed posterior on display. Aurora noticed her tattoos were dynamic, changing like a slideshow each time her bottom was slapped.
Louise Blackwick (5 Stars)
Sid slapped her hands on the bar. “Good Lord, woman, unclench your sphincter and have another drink.
Terri Osburn (Meant to Be (Anchor Island, #1))
I crack up and slap my thigh so hard it stings. "You know what this means, right?" Hattie frowns. "No, what?" "If you guys get married and hyphenate your last names, you'll be Hattie Oh-Noh.
Graci Kim (The Last Fallen Star (Gifted Clans, #1))
Oh come on,'Pheobe continued. 'You're asking for it. Pale skin, black clothes, no lunch and that whole brooding thing? It's hilarious. You should get body glitter and go after an unsuspecting freshman.' 'You should!' Cassidy agreed. 'Tell her you're a dangerous monster. And mention how good her blood smells.' 'Wrong time of the month on that one, and I'm getting slapped,' I muttered, and everyone laughed.
Robyn Schneider (The Beginning of Everything)
I won’t share you, Dylan. I mean that. If you think for one second now that we’re married, you can try and pull some kind of shit over on me, you’d better think again. I can take whatever you can dish out when it comes to pain, embarrassment and humiliation, and whatever else you have going on in that wicked mind of yours, but I’ll be damned if I’ll share you with another woman. Or man.” What the fuck? I almost laugh at her, but she’s so serious she would probably slap the shit out of me. “Calm the hell down. I’m not trying to pull anything over on you, okay? And seriously, a man?” “Well, I don’t know. Maybe one of your secrets is that you like getting pegged in the ass or something.” This time I laugh out loud at her and she narrows her eyes at me. "Don’t ask me to peg you either, because it’s never going to happen.” I laugh even louder. Good God this woman is funny. “I promise you that I don’t want to be pegged, Isa.
Ella Dominguez (The Art of Domination (The Art of D/s, #2))
...You see I believe in that stuff to: yoga and mystical powers. I once knew a man who could kill himself on command. Can you believe that? . . . Why do you laugh? . . . Believe it! By will of his own mind, he could make his heart stop beating for good' My neighbor poised and looked seriously at me, searching in my eyes. '...You laugh!' he repeated once more… 'You laugh, but he was a master at it! He could commit suicide at his own will!' Indeed, hearty laughter streamed through my nose. 'Could he do it perpetually?' I asked. 'Perpetually...?' My neighbor rubbed his waxy chin. 'I mean, is he still able to do it?' 'I’m not sure I understand.' 'Well? Then is he dead…?!' My neighbor's puzzled face slowly began to transform into a look of realization. 'But sir,' he said, 'Of course he’s dead! I mean to say... this man could kill himself on command, you see. And you don’t come back from the dead!' The two of us found ourselves crossing to the door so I could let my visitor out. I slapped him with friendliness on the shoulder. 'No, you don’t come back from the dead,' I agreed.
Roman Payne
The clown is a creature of chaos. His appearance is an affront to our sense of dignity, his actions a mockery of our sense of order. The clown (freedom) is always being chased by the policeman (authority). Clowns are funny precisely because their shy hopes lead invariably to brief flings of (exhilarating?) disorder followed by crushing retaliation from the status quo. It delights us to watch a careless clown break taboos; it thrills us vicariously to watch him run wild and free; it reassures us to see him slapped down and order restored. After all, we can condone liberty only up to a point. Consider Jesus as a ragged, nonconforming clown--laughed at, persecuted and despised--playing out the dumb show at his crucifixion against the responsible pretensions of authority.
Tom Robbins (Another Roadside Attraction)
In the interests of friendship, I hope you’ll forgive me what I’m about to do.” “Forgive you wha—” My sentence was cut off as he clamped his mouth over mine, kissing me deeply. ... “Ready to make a scene?” He raised an eyebrow. “Do I have a choice?” “Not really. To quote something someone said to me recently, in the interests of friendship, I hope you’ll forgive what I’m about to do.” I drew back my hand and slapped him across the face. The smack of flesh striking flesh echoed through the hall. Conversations stopped as people whipped around to stare at us. Raising my voice to something just below a shout, I snarled, “You asshole!
Seanan McGuire (Late Eclipses (October Daye, #4))
That was the thing about restorative justice. It allowed you to hold two things in your head at the same time--that butt-slapping was funny, and also that it wasn't. That asking permission to touch somebody was funny, but that you really didn't want to be touched by somebody who didn't ask. That the girls wanted Jeff to dial back the ass-smacking thing, but that they still liked joking around with him. That the whole thing wasn't a big deal, and that it kind of was (239).
Dashka Slater (The 57 Bus: A True Story of Two Teenagers and the Crime That Changed Their Lives)
You have no idea how many times in my life I've wanted to publicly bitch-slap my brother. Thank you for the amusement." Athena "I thought you were going to choke me for it." Bethany "Not for this. But don't think for even one heartbeat that we're friends." Athena "I know. But I am a goddess of justice, and while I have no problem tearing open someone who deserves it, I cannot stand to see anyone, even a Greek, wrongfully tortured." Bethany "Now can I have my body back? No offense, but I don't wear old man well." Athena
Sherrilyn Kenyon (Styxx (Dark-Hunter, #22))
Dear Mommy I’m doing really good, I get all A’s in school And I don’t cry at bedtime anymore, Though my new mom said I could. I remember how much you hate tears, You slapped them out of me To make me strong, I think it worked. I learned to use a microscope And my hair grew two inches. It’s pretty, just like yours. I’m not allowed to clean the house, Only my own room, Isn’t that a funny rule? You say kids are so much trouble Getting born, they better pay it back. I’m not supposed to take care Of the other kids, only me, I sort of like it. I still get the hole in my stomach When I do something wrong, I have a saying on my mirror “Kids make mistakes, It’s OK,” I read it every day, Sometimes I even believe it. I wonder if you ever think of me Or if you’re glad the troublemaker’s gone, I never want to see you again. I love you, Mommy.
Karyl McBride (Will I Ever Be Good Enough? Healing the Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers)
He pats his way around the bed and slides back in. 'Ow,' he says. 'Yes?' 'My belt. Would it be weird...' I’m thankful he can’t see me blush. 'Of course not.' And I listen to the slap of leather as he pulls it out of his belt loops. He lays it gently on my hardwood floor. 'Um,' he says. 'Would it be weird—' 'YES.' 'Oh, piss off. I’m not talking trousers. I only want under the blankets.That breeze is horrible.' He slides underneath, and now we’re lying side by side. In my narrow bed. Funny, but I never imagined my first sleepover with a guy being, well, a sleepover. 'All we need now are 'Sixteen Candles' and a game of Truth or Dare.' He coughs. 'Wh-what?' 'The movie, pervert. I was just thinking it’s been a while since I’ve had a sleepover.' A pause. 'Oh.
Stephanie Perkins (Anna and the French Kiss (Anna and the French Kiss, #1))
Watch this." Hayden "Oh this is so weird." Hayden in Dragon form.Then he slapped his tail into the wall. "Ow! Have to watch that." He jerked it back and hit himself in the head with the barbed end. Instantly he returned to being human so he could rub his unintended injury. "Oh my God! Is that blood? Look at that! I'm bleeding." Hayden "Oh my God! only my idiot twin could knock himself out with his own tail. How stupid are you?" Edena
Sherrilyn Kenyon (Dragonbane (Dark-Hunter, #24; Lords of Avalon, #4; Were-Hunter, #8; Hellchaser, #7))
He's not my boyfriend." "Ha. That's a good one. I saw you two tonsil surfing out there." I could kill her. "I don't even have tonsils!" "I know that and I bet Nick knows that too, now." She slaps her leg because she's just too funny for words.
Carrie Jones (Need (Need, #1))
My mind blurs to a ripple of pleasure when his soft, full lips at last make contact with mine. He starts to deepen the kiss, but pauses, intent on the glass behind me. “You gotta be kidding.” I glance over my shoulder. Outside, Morpheus hangs on the glass in moth form, level with my head, glaring at us with his bulbous gaze. Even without a face, his smugness is apparent. His favorite pastime is interrupting Jeb’s romantic moments. I try not to laugh, but can’t help myself. “Cocky son of a bug.” Jeb sets me on the floor and draws the dropcloth tighter around me. A barn owl swoops from the sky and skims the glass. Morpheus launches off in a tizzy, trying to outrun the bird. Now Jeb’s the one laughing. I slap his shoulder. “Hey, that’s not funny.” “Ah, he’ll be okay.” Jeb raises an eyebrow, watching the aerial pursuit taking place outside the glass. “It’s a new genus of vegetarian owls. They’re only in it for the chase. Besides, Morphie-boy can change to his other form anytime he wants.”
A.G. Howard (Ensnared (Splintered, #3))
I remember a very tender moment from that year, when Steve and I were lying on the floor watching Ellen do a series of crazy, arm-flinging, and knee-slapping dances and tumbles. I looked at Steve and said, “Isn’t it funny how I just love her that much more for being so vulnerable and uninhibited and goofy. I could never do that. Can you imagine knowing that you’re loved like that?” Steve looked at me and said, “I love you exactly like that.
Brené Brown (Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead)
Unicorns are bad. So, so bad.” I’m dying. I just slapped a unicorn. “Your loss, baby. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m hung like a horse.” Kyrin snorts disgustedly. I clap my hands over my ears. But it’s too late. Unicorns are ruined for me. My childhood dream just got crushed by a unicorn’s boner.
Lily Archer (Bite of Winter (Fae's Captive, #3))
New Rule: Not everything in America has to make a profit. If conservatives get to call universal health care "socialized medicine," I get to call private, for-profit health care "soulless vampire bastards making money off human pain." Now, I know what you're thinking: "But, Bill, the profit motive is what sustains capitalism." Yes, and our sex drive is what sustains the human species, but we don't try to fuck everything. It wasn't that long ago when a kid in America broke his leg, his parents took him to the local Catholic hospital, the nun stuck a thermometer in his ass, the doctor slapped some plaster on his ankle, and you were done. The bill was $1.50; plus, you got to keep the thermometer. But like everything else that's good and noble in life, some bean counter decided that hospitals could be big business, so now they're not hospitals anymore; they're Jiffy Lubes with bedpans. The more people who get sick, and stay sick, the higher their profit margins, which is why they're always pushing the Jell-O. Did you know that the United States is ranked fiftieth in the world in life expectancy? And the forty-nine loser countries were they live longer than us? Oh, it's hardly worth it, they may live longer, but they live shackled to the tyranny of nonprofit health care. Here in America, you're not coughing up blood, little Bobby, you're coughing up freedom. The problem with President Obama's health-care plan isn't socialism. It's capitalism. When did the profit motive become the only reason to do anything? When did that become the new patriotism? Ask not what you could do for your country, ask what's in it for Blue Cross Blue Shield. And it's not just medicine--prisons also used to be a nonprofit business, and for good reason--who the hell wants to own a prison? By definition, you're going to have trouble with the tenants. It's not a coincidence that we outsourced running prisons to private corporations and then the number of prisoners in America skyrocketed. There used to be some things we just didn't do for money. Did you know, for example, there was a time when being called a "war profiteer" was a bad thing? FDR said he didn't want World War II to create one millionaire, but I'm guessing Iraq has made more than a few executives at Halliburton into millionaires. Halliburton sold soldiers soda for $7.50 a can. They were honoring 9/11 by charging like 7-Eleven. Which is wrong. We're Americans; we don't fight wars for money. We fight them for oil. And my final example of the profit motive screwing something up that used to be good when it was nonprofit: TV news. I heard all the news anchors this week talk about how much better the news coverage was back in Cronkite's day. And I thought, "Gee, if only you were in a position to do something about it.
Bill Maher (The New New Rules: A Funny Look At How Everybody But Me Has Their Head Up Their Ass)
There is something about yourself that you don't know. Something that you will deny even exists until it's too late to do anything about it. It's the only reason you get up in the morning, the only reason you suffer the shitty boss, the blood, the sweat and the tears. This is because you want people to know how good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever you really are. "Fear or revere me, but please think I'm special." We share an addiction. We're approval junkies. We're all in it for the slap on the back and the gold watch. The "hip, hip, hoo-fucking-rah." Look at the clever boy with the badge, polishing his trophy. Shine on, you crazy diamond. Cos we're just monkeys wrapped in suits, begging for the approval of others.
Guy Ritchie
Bombs Away!" he yelled, swooping low over StregaSchloss. He saw little figures on the ground fleeing from the large green projectile that was speeding their way. "And a direct hit, if I'm not mistaken," he observed to himself. With a tremendous slapping sound, Ffup's digestive overload landed on a human target. There was a scream, a ghastly choking sound, and then silence.
Debi Gliori (Pure Dead Magic)
You are such a piece of shit," I yell into the quiet cab, slapping the horn accidentally. It makes a sound like a wounded duck. "Don't you talk back to me! You're this close to going to car heaven at the junk yard.
Michelle Leighton (Down to You (The Bad Boys, #1))
Seduction,” I growled, shooting a nearby goddess with my Finger Arrow of Seduction. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, having to lean against the woman next to her for support. I thought that was hilarious, so I took aim and shot my Finger Arrow of Seduction again, at the next woman, adding a wink for good measure. She giggled, swaying on her feet. “Quit that,” Siret complained, reaching over me to slap down my weapon.
Jane Washington
I plucked one plump black olive from the plate and put it in my mouth immediately before saying, “Well, I feel bad for you, then.” “Why’s that?” “Because I love antipasto.” “I guess I don’t understand why that’s a problem.” “Because,” I emphasized, cutting into a piece of salmon. “I don’t like to share.” I quickly slipped the smoked meat in my mouth before winking at him. His smile finally met his eyes again. “Good to know, because I’m not the sharing kind of guy either.” He winked back at me, but it was so blatantly comical that I couldn’t help the laugh that flew out of my mouth. “Something tells me you’re not talking about cured meats,” I said before slapping his hand away from my olives. “I knew you were smart.” I swallowed the olive I’d snatched from his hand and glared at him, while mouthing, “Mine.” “Funny, that’s what I was thinking, too,” he said, looking directly at me.
Whitney Barbetti (He Found Me (He Found Me, #1))
Sadly for you, I think I'm going to live, Simi. You can stop slapping me now. I've already lost enough sense. Can't afford to lose any more brain cells. I really really need my last three before I forget how to spell my name. It's hard enough to pronounce." Nick "well, poo. Not poo that you'll live, 'cause the Simi would probably miss you if you died, but poo that I'll miss all that good old salty boy meat. Though we needs be fatting you up some to make you really good eats. Hmmm." Simi
Sherrilyn Kenyon (Instinct (Chronicles of Nick, #6))
She's probably just tired of seeing you miserable.Like we all are," I add. "I'm sure...I'm sure she's as crazy about you as ever." "Hmm." He watches me put away my own shoes and empty the contents of my pockets. "What about you?" he asks, after a minute. "What about me?" St. Clair examines his watch. "Sideburns. You'll be seeing him next month." He's reestablishing...what? The boundary line? That he's taken, and I'm spoken for? Except I'm not. Not really. But I can't bear to say this now that he's mentioned Ellie. "Yeah,I can't wait to see him again. He's a funny guy, you'd like him.I'm gonna see his band play at Christmas. Toph's a great guy, you'd really like him. Oh. I already said that,didn't I? But you would. He's really...funny." Shut up,Anna. Shut.Up. St. Clair unbuckles and rebuckles and unbuckles his watchband. "I'm beat," I say. And it's the truth. As always, our conversation has exhausted me. I crawl into bed and wonder what he'll do.Lie on my floor? Go back to his room? But he places his watch on my desk and climbs onto my bed. He slides up next to me. He's on top of the covers, and I'm underneath. We're still fully dressed,minus our shoes, and the whole situation is beyond awkward. He hops up.I'm sure he's about to leave,and I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed,but...he flips off my light.My room is pitch-black. He shuffles back toward my bed and smacks into it. "Oof," he says. "Hey,there's a bed there." "Thanks for the warning." "No problem." "It's freezing in here.Do you have a fan on or something?" "It's the wind.My window won't shut all the way.I have a towel stuffed under it, but it doesn't really help." He pats his way around the bed and slides back in. "Ow," he says. "Yes?" "My belt.Would it be weird..." I'm thankful he can't see my blush. "Of course not." And I listen to the slap of leather as he pulls it out of his belt loops.He lays it gently on my hardwood floor. "Um," he says. "Would it be weird-" "Yes." "Oh,piss off.I'm not talking trousers. I only want under the blankets. That breeze is horrible." He slides underneath,and now we're lying side by side. In my narrow bed. Funny,but I never imagined my first sleepover with a guy being,well,a sleepover. "All we need now are Sixteen Candles and a game of Truth or Dare." He coughs. "Wh-what?" "The movie,pervert.I was just thinking it's been a while since I've had a sleepover." A pause. "Oh." "..." "..." "St. Clair?" "Yeah?" "Your elbow is murdering my back." "Bollocks.Sorry." He shifts,and then shifts again,and then again,until we're comfortable.One of his legs rests against mine.Despite the two layers of pants between us,I feel naked and vulnerable. He shifts again and now my entire leg, from calf to thigh, rests against his. I smell his hair. Mmm. NO! I swallow,and it's so loud.He coughs again. I'm trying not to squirm. After what feels like hours but is surely only minutes,his breath slows and his body relaxes.I finally begin to relax, too. I want to memorize his scent and the touch of his skin-one of his arms, now against mine-and the solidness os his body.No matter what happens,I'll remember this for the rest of my life. I study his profile.His lips,his nose, his eyelashes.He's so beautiful.
Stephanie Perkins (Anna and the French Kiss (Anna and the French Kiss, #1))
A hint of red there and a dose of heat to sear the skin—mmm, barbecue. Not funny, you sick bastard. As Wes rebuked his inner gator, he slapped himself, only to hear a voice he never thought to hear again after last night. “You’re slapping the wrong part of your body. Why don’t you stand up and I’ll help you get the right spot?” Melanie. What is she doing here?
Eve Langlais (Gator's Challenge (Bitten Point, #4))
Heat radiated off Henry's face. Salty snot ran down his upper lip. A majestic fart propelled him to the top of Section 12, just at the springing of the stadium's curve. He slapped the sign as if high-fiving a teamate. It gave back a game shudder. He was crusing now, darkness be damned, stripping off his sweatshirt and his long underwear top without breaking stride.
Chad Harbach (The Art of Fielding)
He slammed his cup down. Coffee splashed over the rim and puddled around the base. “What on earth gave you the idea I want space? I want you here. With me. All the time. I want to come home and hear the shower running and get excited because I know you’re in it. I want to struggle every morning to get up and go to the gym because I hate the idea of leaving your warm body behind in bed. I want to hear a key turn in the lock and feel contented knowing you’re home. I don’t want fucking space, Harper.” Harper laughed. “What’s funny?” “I didn’t mean space. I meant space, like closet space, a drawer in the bedroom, part of the counter in the bathroom.” Trent’s mouth twitched, a slight smile making its way to his lips. “Like a compromise. A commitment that I want more. I seem to recall you telling me in the car about something being a step in the right direction to a goal we both agreed on. Well, I want all those things you just said, with you, eventually. And if we start to leave things at each other’s places, it’s a step, right?” Trent reached up, flexing his delicious tattooed bicep, and scratched the side of his head. Without speaking, he leapt to his feet, grabbing Harper and pulling her into a fireman’s lift. “Trent,” she squealed, kicking her feet to get free. “What are you doing?” He slapped her butt playfully and laughed as he carried her down the hallway. Reaching the bedroom, Trent threw her onto the bed. “We’re doing space. Today, right now.” He started pulling open his drawers, looking inside each one before pulling stuff out of the top drawer and dividing it between the others. “Okay, this is for your underwear. I need to see bras, panties, and whatever other girly shit you have in here before the end of the day.” Like a panther on the prowl, Trent launched himself at the bed, grabbing her ankle and pulling her to the edge of the bed before sweeping her into his arms to walk to the bathroom. He perched her on the corner of the vanity, where his stuff was spread across the two sinks. “Pick one.” “Pick one what?” “Sink. Which do you want?” “You’re giving me a whole sink? Wait … stop…” Trent grabbed her and started tickling her. Harper didn’t recognize the girly giggles that escaped her. Pointing to the sink farthest away from the door, she watched as he pushed his toothbrush, toothpaste, and styling products to the other side of the vanity. He did the same thing with the vanity drawers and created some space under the sink. “I expect to see toothbrush, toothpaste, your shampoo, and whatever it is that makes you smell like vanilla in here.” “You like the vanilla?” It never ceased to surprise her, the details he remembered. Turning, he grabbed her cheeks in both hands and kissed her hard. He trailed kisses behind her ear and inhaled deeply before returning to face her. “Absolutely. I fucking love vanilla,” he murmured against her lips before kissing her again, softly this time. “Oh and I’d better see a box of tampons too.” “Oh my goodness, you are beyond!” Harper blushed furiously. “I want you for so much more than just sex, Harper.
Scarlett Cole (The Strongest Steel (Second Circle Tattoos, #1))
I believe there’s something you’ll need, Sentinel.” Ethan slid from his chair, dropped to one knee on the carpet. My mind had to race to keep up, but my heart pounded madly. Ethan looked up at me, grinned. “That thing, of course, is this.” He held up a small dessert fork. “You dropped your fork, Sentinel.” My blood pounded in my ears. I stood up, swatted his arms with slaps. “You are a jerk.” He roared with laughter. “Ah, Sentinel. The look on your face.” He doubled over with laughter. “Such terror.” I kept swatting. “At the thought of marrying you, you pretentious ass.” He roared again, then picked me up and carried me to the bed. “My pretentions are well earned, Sentinel.” “You have got to stop doing that.” “I can’t. It’s hilarious.” Only a man would think fake proposals were so funny.
Chloe Neill (Blood Games (Chicagoland Vampires, #10))
Karsen rounded my car staring at me in disbelief. “Since when do you dress like that?” She pointed at my red tank top and shorts. “Somebody is close to exposing some toe.” I looked down at my closed toed heels. “Of the camel variety,” Karsen explained pointing at my girl parts. I tried to slap her but she took off. And I wasn’t in the mood for running. I knew I’d break an ankle in the heels I wore.
Holly Hood (Black Moon (Ink, #3))
Can you have forgotten that funny old Lilygloves, the chief mole, leaning on his spade and saying, ‘Believe me, your Majesty, you’ll be glad of these fruit trees one day.’ And by Jove he was right.” “I do! I do!” said Lucy, and clapped her hands. “But look here, Peter,” said Edmund. “This must be all rot. To begin with, we didn’t plant the orchard slap up against the gate. We wouldn’t have been such fools.
C.S. Lewis (Prince Caspian (Chronicles of Narnia, #2))
So go after her." This from Colton. "And say what? 'Choose me! Stay with me!' She's left me twice guys! She's not coming back." Max sighed and kicked a box in my direction, then reached out and patted my hand. Aw, he was comforting me. That was nice of him to - "What the hell!?" I screamed, as Max slapped me across the face - twice! Then pulled his fist back as if he was going to beat the shit out of me.
Rachel Van Dyken (The Consequence of Rejection (Consequence, #4))
She came towards me with a juicy gash between her legs that smelled like my best friend's sister" Just when I thought I'd escaped them all She comes reeling herself in pulling at my strings her hand quick to find my zipper She moaned the way a drunk old lady does And I wasn't even inside her yet "You don't have anywhere else to be," she managed to say... "My wounds have been reopened tonight already," I muttered I caught wind of the gully ...the part of her she once kept sacred as a Christian I smelled the information I lifted my hand into the air and hailed a cab He rolled down his window and saw her "Find another cab," he said, and sped off into the night I took her home because she said she was lonely really she was drunk off something some memory or some choice she walked funny... -one of her heels had broken On the couch I left her, Before I could go, she grabbed my cock I slapped her across the face and she pulled harder Her eyes stayed closed Her lips dripped Her grip clenched I wasn't getting out of this one unscathed "If I take my pants off, will you let me go?" I asked "If you take your pants off, I'll be suckin' that cock till you pass out from all the screamin'..." I slapped her again, because she needed it She laughed Saying her cousin beat her harder Saying her father knew how to really... ...make things happen I asked her what her father's number was Let's get his motherfucking self up here to take you away, that's what I said She said he died, or killed himself "What's the difference really," she said, chewing on her hair She let go of my cock on her own accord And she opened her eyes for a moment She closed them again And I could tell she was sleeping Her eyes opened once more Her face red where I'd hit her She tasted the blood on her lip "Do you think if we remind ourselves enough, we can make up for all the pain we've caused others?" I said to her, "We can't. All we can do is keep ourselves from all those who don't deserve it.
Dave Matthes (Strange Rainfall on the Rooftops of People Watchers: Poems and Stories)
She was a hunchback with a sweet smile. She smiled sweetly at anything; she couldn't help it; the trees, me, the grass, anything. The basket pulled her down, dragging her toward the ground. She was such a tiny woman, with a hurt face, as if slapped forever. She wore a funny old hat, an absurd hat, a maddening hat, a hat to make me cry, a hat with faded red berries on the brim. And there she was, smiling at everything, struggling across the carpet with a heavy basket containing Lord knew what, wearing a plumed hat with red berries. I got up. It was so mysterious. There I was, like magic, standing up, my two feet on the ground, my eyes drenched. I said, "Let me help." She smiled again and gave me the basket. We began to walk. She led the way. Beyond the trees it was stifling. And she smiled. It was so sweet it nearly tore my head off. She talked, she told me things I never remembered. It didn't matter. In a« dream she held me, in a dream I followed under the blinding sun. For blocks we went forward. I hoped it would never end. Always she talked in a low voice made of human music. What words! What she said! I remembered nothing. I was only happy. But in my heart I was dying. It should have been so. We stepped from so many curbs, I wondered why she did not sit upon one and hold my head while I drifted away. It was the chance that never came again. That old woman with the bent back! Old woman, I feel so joyfully your pain. Ask me a favor, you old woman you! Anything. To die is easy. Make it that. To cry is easy, lift your skirt and let me cry and let my tears wash your feet to let you know I know what life has been for you, because my back is bent too, but my heart is whole, my tears are delicious, my love is yours, to give you joy where God has failed. To die is so easy and you may have my life if you wish it, you old woman, you hurt me so, you did, I will do anything for you, to die for you, the blood of my eighteen years flowing in the gutters of Wilmington and down to the sea for you, for you that you might find such joy as is now mine and stand erect without the horror of that twist. I left the old woman at her door. The trees shimmered. The clouds laughed. The blue sky took me up. Where am I? Is this Wilmington, California? Haven't I been here before? A melody moved my feet. The air soared with Arturo in it, puffing him in and out and making him something and nothing. My heart laughed and laughed. Goodbye to Nietzsche and Schopenhauer and all of you, you fools, I am much greater than all of you! Through my veins ran music of blood. Would it last? It could not last. I must hurry. But where? And I ran toward home. Now I am home. I left the book in the park. To hell with it. No more books for me. I kissed my mother. I clung to her passionately. On my knees I fell at her feet to kiss her feet and cling to her ankles until it must have hurt her and amazed her that it was I.
John Fante (The Road to Los Angeles (The Saga of Arturo Bandini, #2))
THAT DAY, while we were in school, four men in a jeep came to visit Ghosh. They took him away as if he were a common criminal, his hands jacked up behind his back. They slapped him when he tried to protest. Hema learned this from W. W. Gonad, who told the men they were surely mistaken in taking away Missing’s surgeon. For his impertinence W.W. got a boot in his stomach. Hema refused to believe Ghosh was gone. She ran home, certain that she’d find him sunk into his armchair, his sockless feet up on the stool, reading a book. In anticipation of seeing him, in the certainty that he would be there, she was already furious with him. She burst through the front door of our bungalow. “Do you see how dangerous it is for us to associate with the General? What have I been telling you? You could get us all killed!” Whenever she came at him like that, all her cylinders firing, it was Ghosh’s habit to flourish an imaginary cape like a matador facing a charging bull. We found it funny, even if Hema never did. But the house was quiet. No matador. She went from room to room, the jingle of her anklets echoing in the hallways. She imagined Ghosh with his arm twisted behind his back, being punched in the face,
Abraham Verghese (Cutting for Stone)
If the thought of Jackson dating someone caused a funny little pang in her stomach, Mollie ignored it. It was just that for a moment there, when the two of them had stood face-to-face in his apartment, she could have sworn there was a little sizzle of something between them. Nothing inappropriate. Not even interest. Just…awareness. She’d always been aware of Jackson Burke. She’d accepted that as one of the facts of her life. But this was the first time she’d sensed that maybe he’d been aware of her. Thank you, little red dress. Mollie mentally slapped herself. No. That was not what this was about.
Lauren Layne (I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford, #2))
All the girls joined in. 'I was thirteen last April and it rained on my birthday and I didn't even get to wear anything special -' 'We turned ten - just two months ago -' 'I usually get a book for my birthday - but - this year -' 'You forgot my birthday, too.' 'And mine.' The girls looked miserable. The King opened his mouth, then shut it. 'Sir!' whined Lord Teddie. 'You forgot my birthday, too!' Bramble gave a surprised laugh, then slapped her hand over her mouth, as though shocked at letting it out. The tension broke. The girls laughed sheepishly, and Lord Teddie beamed. He probably did not have many ladies think him funny.
Heather Dixon Wallwork
Mom?” Then again, louder. “Mom?” She turned around so quickly, she knocked the pan off the stove and nearly dropped the gray paper into the open flame there. I saw her reach back and slap her hand against the knobs, twisting a dial until the smell of gas disappeared. “I don’t feel good. Can I stay home today?” No response, not even a blink. Her jaw was working, grinding, but it took me walking over to the table and sitting down for her to find her voice. “How—how did you get in here?” “I have a bad headache and my stomach hurts,” I told her, putting my elbows up on the table. I knew she hated when I whined, but I didn’t think she hated it enough to come over and grab me by the arm again. “I asked you how you got in here, young lady. What’s your name?” Her voice sounded strange. “Where do you live?” Her grip on my skin only tightened the longer I waited to answer. It had to have been a joke, right? Was she sick, too? Sometimes cold medicine did funny things to her. Funny things, though. Not scary things. “Can you tell me your name?” she repeated. “Ouch!” I yelped, trying to pull my arm away. “Mom, what’s wrong?” She yanked me up from the table, forcing me onto my feet. “Where are your parents? How did you get in this house?” Something tightened in my chest to the point of snapping. “Mom, Mommy, why—” “Stop it,” she hissed, “stop calling me that!” “What are you—?” I think I must have tried to say something else, but she dragged me over to the door that led out into the garage. My feet slid against the wood, skin burning. “Wh-what’s wrong with you?” I cried. I tried twisting out of her grasp, but she wouldn’t even look at me. Not until we were at the door to the garage and she pushed my back up against it. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I know you’re confused, but I promise that I’m not your mother. I don’t know how you got into this house, and, frankly, I’m not sure I want to know—” “I live here!” I told her. “I live here! I’m Ruby!” When she looked at me again, I saw none of the things that made Mom my mother. The lines that formed around her eyes when she smiled were smoothed out, and her jaw was clenched around whatever she wanted to say next. When she looked at me, she didn’t see me. I wasn’t invisible, but I wasn’t Ruby. “Mom.” I started to cry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be bad. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! Please, I promise I’ll be good—I’ll go to school today and won’t be sick, and I’ll pick up my room. I’m sorry. Please remember. Please!” She put one hand on my shoulder and the other on the door handle. “My husband is a police officer. He’ll be able to help you get home. Wait in here—and don’t touch anything.” The door opened and I was pushed into a wall of freezing January air. I stumbled down onto the dirty, oil-stained concrete, just managing to catch myself before I slammed into the side of her car. I heard the door shut behind me, and the lock click into place; heard her call Dad’s name as clearly as I heard the birds in the bushes outside the dark garage. She hadn’t even turned on the light for me. I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, ignoring the bite of the frosty air on my bare skin. I launched myself in the direction of the door, fumbling around until I found it. I tried shaking the handle, jiggling it, still thinking, hoping, praying that this was some big birthday surprise, and that by the time I got back inside, there would be a plate of pancakes at the table and Dad would bring in the presents, and we could—we could—we could pretend like the night before had never happened, even with the evidence in the next room over. The door was locked. “I’m sorry!” I was screaming. Pounding my fists against it. “Mommy, I’m sorry! Please!” Dad appeared a moment later, his stocky shape outlined by the light from inside of the house. I saw Mom’s bright-red face over his shoulder; he turned to wave her off and then reached over to flip on the overhead lights.
Alexandra Bracken (The Darkest Minds (The Darkest Minds, #1))
course, I grin back like the hussy I apparently am. ‘Hell yeah, she’s excited,’ Jake says mostly under his breath. ‘Later, she’ll be yelling your name in your overly clean bedroom with her naked ass pressed against your freshly ironed sheets.’ He slaps my ass as though I’m headed into a football game. ‘Who irons their sheets anyway?’ ‘I send my laundry out,’ I remind him. ‘I don’t iron them myself. That said… maybe she will. Don’t be jealous all you have to go home to is this.’ I motion to Brynn, who cocks her head, a pinch-lipped grin on one side of her face. ‘Not funny,’ she says, now digging through her bag. ‘I bought you this. I can’t even believe they sell them again.’ She pulls something from her things and hands it to me.
Aimee Brown (He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not)
Ardent love-making on the stage Gerald considered very bad theatre. He did not attempt it himself, and strongly discouraged it in others. ‘Must you kiss her as though you were having steak and onions for lunch?’ he would say. ‘It may be what you feel, but it’s damned unattractive from the front row of the stalls. Can’t you just say, “I love you,” and yawn, and light a cigarette and walk away? Unfortunately, nobody was able to do this quite as he did it himself. He had methods of his own. He seldom kissed women on the stage, unless it was on the back of the neck or the top of the head, and then he would generally slap them on the face afterwards, and say, ‘You old funny, with your ugly mug,’ and walk away talking of something else as though he did not care.
Daphne du Maurier (Gerald: A Portrait)
Whatcha got there?” Drake asked, nodding to the floor. “Snacks for me.”  I winked.  “Well, now I’m offended.”  He fake pouted, scooting away from me in his seat, which made it even more funny because there was nowhere for him to go in the tiny car. “Why is that?”  Nothing wrong with playing along, besides, he was cute when he was fake-mad.  What was I saying?  He was cute ALL the time. He turned to me and slid his arms around my waist, pulling me close.  Far off, I caught a whiff of his scent.  Mmm.  Delicious. “It’s just that I thought I was your snack on the go.”  His breath danced on my cheek, dangerously close to my lips. I giggled before I could stop myself. “Do you really want me to suck you dry?” “Mmm, that sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.”  He raised his eyebrows and flashed a naughty grin. “Don’t be dirty, I didn’t mean that.”  I slapped his arm for good measure.  “Is that all you think of me as—some kind of slutty vampire?
Karly Kirkpatrick (Bloody Little Secrets (Bloody Little Secrets, #1))
Grom greets him with a smile full of nausea. "I'm not ready for this, little brother," he confesses. "Sure you are," Galen laughs, slapping his brother's back. Grom shakes his head. "It feels like...like I'm betraying her. Nalia." Galen stiffens. Oh. He doesn't feel qualified to talk Grom out of this kind of mood. "I'm sure she would understand," he offers. Grom studies him thoughtfully. "I'd like to think she would. But you didn't know Nalia. She had an amazing temper." He chuckles. "I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to see her ready to bludgeon me with something for mating with someone else." Galen frowns, unsure of what to say. Grom chuckles. "I'm joking, of course." Then he shrugs. "Well, half joking, anyway. I swear I've been sensing her lately, Galen. It feels so real. It takes all I've got not to follow the pulse. Do you think I'm losing my mind?" Galen shakes his head out of obligation. Secretly though, he thinks he might be. "I'm sure you're just feeling guilty. Er...not that you have a reason to feel guilty. Uh, it's just natural that you feel that way before your mating ceremony. Nerves and all." Galen runs a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this sort of thing." "What sort of thing? Being mature?" Grom smirks. "Funny." "Maybe you should spend some more time on land, then come back and talk to me. Being on land ages you, you know. Might do you some good." Galen snorts. Now you tell me. "I heard." Out of nowhere, Grom grabs Galen's face and wrestles him into a hold. Galen hates it when he does this. "Let me see that cute little face of yours, minnow. Yep, just like I thought. Your eyes are turning blue. How much time have you been spending on land? Please tell me you're not head over fin for a human?" Then he laughs and releases him just as suddenly. Galen stares at him. "What do you mean?" "I was just teasing, minnow. Giving you a hard time." "I know but...why did you say my eyes are turning blue? What does that have to go with the humans?" Grom waves a dismissive hand at him. "Forget it. I think you might be more uptight than me right now. I said I was just kidding.
Anna Banks (Of Poseidon (The Syrena Legacy, #1))
A few minutes later, a tall, bronze-skinned woman with masses of dark hair, eyes like pale emeralds, and more curves than the Nürburgring racetrack appeared next to my table. My SEAL stood and started to intervene, but I held up a lazy hand, gave a droopy-eyed smile, slurred my words, and waved him off. The stripper sat on my lap with nothing between her and the Lord but a smile and three pieces of strategically placed duct tape. She slipped a glittering arm around my shoulders—she apparently was wearing lotion with metal flakes in it and it felt rough. Then she leaned her décolletage my way, placing her head next to my ear. “You know what you’re supposed to do, right?” she whispered, smiling and acting like she had just said something terribly wrong. She was a good actress for Elizabeth City. Laughing, smiling, and acting wasted, I slurred as loudly and obnoxiously as I could, “Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing, woman!” With that, I reached up and placed my hand on her massive breast, just as I’d been instructed to do—all for the good of my country. The slap that followed could[…]” Excerpt From: Jamie Smith. “Gray Work
Jamie Smith
Look,Freddy Krueger, if I thought there was a chance in a gazillion that Alex would even feature you in a nightmare, I might not be saying this so nicely. But I feel sorry for you, so I'm going to give you a tip." The p was sharp,harsh. She leaned in,close enough that I could see the pale,shimmery lipstick caked in the corners of her mouth. "This thing you have for him just makes you look like the world's most pitiful loser. Did you really think you had even the smallest chance with him? Did you?" I didn't answer.Maybe a no would have satisfied her. Maybe not. "You are a skank and a freak," she snapped, the hard sounds making me flinch. "You don't belong here. Go back to your greaseball 'hood. The sight of you makes me sick!" Any girl who has ever been face-to-face with another angry girl, especially one with infinitely more spite and social standing knows to run.It's innate, from bunnies to baboons. Don't mess with the alpha female. She'll tear your throat out. So I ran,but not before I got a glimpse of Anna's face. In the second before she turned away, she looked like someone had slapped her. Funny, seeing that didn't make me feel any better.
Melissa Jensen (The Fine Art of Truth or Dare)
You’re a talking cat?” Endora asked with a look of disbelief on her face. “My, my, my, aren’t you the bright bulb of the bunch,” he replied with a bit of snarky smugness. “Tell me then, bright-bulb, do you suppose that I need your permission to talk just because I’m a cat?” He raised his paw to his face, admiring his newly gnawed manicure. After he observed the last nail, he slapped his paw down on the floorboards, making a low thud sound. “Because I don’t,” he smirked. Endora was taken by surprise at his rudeness. She stared back at him, speechless and not quite sure how to respond. “Are you a magic cat?” Mila busted in with a question that seemed as silly to her as to the cat. He glared and narrowed his eyes at her. “A magic cat,” he said, standing up to arch his furry back. “Is my talking some sort of magic to you? If it is… then I am.” He stretched his back higher and let out a long purr that turned into, “Purrhaps, you four little witchy girls should clearly refine your meaning of magic so you know what it means before you say the word magic.” “I rather am quite fond of talking cats,” Selena said with a big smile. “Of course, you’re the first one I’ve ever seen.” The cat narrowed its eyes tighter. “Indeed,” he said, letting out a yawn as if the whole conversation were a bore. He leapt off the porch and dash away, mumbling and grumbling his way down the corridor. Selena looked over at Endora. “Rude little snot, isn’t he?” she said.
Sophie Palmer (Abracadabra: Witchy Poo U)
I pushed Mom off me and slapped Audrey across her wet face. I know! But I was just so mad. “I pray for you,” Audrey said. “Pray for yourself,” I said. “My mother’s too good for you and those other mothers. You’re the one everyone hates. Kyle is a juvie who doesn’t do sports or any extracurriculars. The only friends he has are because he gives them drugs and because he’s funny when he’s making fun of you. And your husband is a drunk who has three DUIs but he gets off because he knows the judge, and all you care about is that nobody finds out, but it’s too late because Kyle tells the whole school everything.” Audrey said quickly, “I am a Christian woman so I will forgive that.” “Give me a break,” I said. “Christians don’t talk the way you talked to my mother.” I got into the car, shut the door, turned off Abbey Road, and just started whimpering. I was sitting in an inch of water, but I didn’t care. The reason I was so scared had nothing to do with a sign or a stupid mudslide or because Mom and I didn’t get invited to stupid Whidbey Island, like we’d ever want to go anywhere with those jerks in a million years, but because I knew, I just knew, that now everything was going to be different. Mom got in and shut the door. “You’re supercool,” she said. “You know that?” “I hate her,” I said. What I didn’t say, because I didn’t need to, because it was implied, and really, I can’t tell you why, because we’d never kept secrets from him before, but me and Mom both just understood: we weren’t going to tell Dad.
Maria Semple (Where'd You Go, Bernadette)
He had a rough idea where he was going, since Rylann had previously mentioned that she lived in Roscoe Village. At the stoplight at Belmont Avenue, he pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts. The beauty of text messaging, he realized, was in its simplicity. He didn’t have to try to explain things, nor did he have to attempt to parse through all the banter in an attempt to figure out what she might be thinking. Instead, he could keep things short and sweet. I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU. He hit send. To kill time while he waited for her response, he drove in the direction of his sister’s wine shop, figuring he could always drop in and harass Jordan about something. This time, however, she beat him to the punch. “So who’s the brunette bombshell?” Jordan asked as soon as he walked into the shop and took a seat at the main bar. Damn. He’d forgotten about the stupid Scene and Heard column. Kyle helped himself to a cracker and some Brie cheese sitting on the bar. “I’m going to say…Angelina Jolie. Actually, no—Megan Fox.” “Megan Fox is, like, twenty-five.” “And this is a problem why, exactly?” Jordan slapped his hand as he reached for more crackers. “Those are for customers.” She put her hand on her hip. “You know, after reading the Scene and Heard column, I’d kind of hoped it was Rylann they were talking about. And that maybe, just maybe, my ne’er-do-well twin had decided to stop playing around and finally pursue a woman of quality.” He stole another cracker. “Now, that would be something.” She shook her head. “Why do I bother? You know, one day you’re going to wake up and…” Kyle’s cell phone buzzed, and he tuned out the rest of Jordan’s lecture—he could probably repeat the whole thing word for word by now—as he checked the incoming message. It was from Rylann, her response as short and sweet as his original text. 3418 CORNELIA, #3. He had her address. With a smile, he looked up and interrupted his sister. “That’s great, Jordo. Hey, by any chance do you have any bottles of that India Ink cabernet lying around?” She stopped midrant and stared at him. “I’m sure I do. Why, what made you think of that?” Then her face broke into a wide grin. “Wait a second…that was the wine Rylann talked about when she was here. She said it was one of her favorites.” “Did she? Funny coincidence.” Jordan put her hand over her heart. “Oh my God, you’re trying to impress her. That is so cute.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Kyle scoffed. “I just thought, since I’ve heard such good things about the wine, that I would give it a shot.” Jordan gave him a look, cutting through all the bullshit. “Kyle. She’s going to love it.” Okay, whatever. Maybe he was trying to impress Rylann a little. “You don’t think it’s too much? Like I’m trying too hard?” Jordan put her hand over her heart again. “Oh. It’s like watching Bambi take his first steps.” “Jordo…” he growled warningly. With a smile, she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed affectionately. “It’s perfect. Trust me.
Julie James (About That Night (FBI/US Attorney, #3))
Don't come closer to me at any time without make-up. I may slap and make you feel the taste of death.
Jeevagan Nagarajan
11 Funny Things to Do on an Elevator Say “DING” on every floor. Walk in with a small cooler and let everyone know there is a human heart in it. Make meow sounds like a kitten. Every time someone pushes a button make a small explosion noise. Every few seconds open your briefcase or purse just a crack, peer in and say “Do you have enough air in there?” Stand facing into a corner with your back to everyone and at every stop clap your hands and say yippee! Act real surprised, as if you passed gas and announce to everyone “Excuse me!” Slap your face and say, “Hush!  All of you, be quiet!” Put a puppet on one hand and talk to other passengers with it. With your finger, draw an imaginary square on the floor, step in it and tell everyone this is your private space. Keep muttering to yourself, “it’s okay…. you can do this.…it’s okay.…we’re almost there….
Peter Jenkins (Funny Jokes for Adults: All Clean Jokes, Funny Jokes that are Perfect to Share with Family and Friends, Great for Any Occasion)
You’re not safe to go back there,” he said. “I’m going,” I returned. “We’ll see.” Jeez, there was just no shaking this guy. “You do know that there’s this little thing called the Nineteenth Amendment giving women the right to vote?” I asked. “I heard of that,” he said and there was a smile in his voice. “And there’s this whole movement called fem… in… is…im.” I said it slowly, like he was a dim child. “Where women started working, demanding equal pay for equal work, raising their voices on issues of the day, taking back the night, stuff like that.” He rolled into me, which made me roll onto my back. “Sounds familiar.” “Do you have an encyclopedia? Maybe we can look it up. If the words are too big for you to read, I’l read it out loud and explain as I go along.” He got up on his elbow. “Only if you do it naked.” I slapped his shoulder.
Kristen Ashley (Rock Chick Redemption (Rock Chick, #3))
Life's funny. Sometimes it's your oyster, and sometimes you're it's bitch-slapped man-whore.
Lois Greiman (Unscrewed (A Chrissy McMullen Mystery, #3))
Well, I did tell you I couldn’t give you a thing. Maybe you’ve just realised that Alistair can give the god damn world, and the pleasure of kissing his shiny slap-head every day!
LeeAnn Whitaker (Never Another You)
It's funny isn't it?? YOu don't want to stop it?? Don't ya?? ... I don't give a shit about your opinion what I want I will do... You are now part of this story, unfortunately, just by reading this you make yourself part of this story, like it or not that's how it goes. Once upon a time there was one girl and one boy staying home banned to go outside everything was locked it wasn't one day, 2 days it was whole 10 years. Their family always was outside communicating with the other people and you didn't even exist, they knew you but they didn't wanted you... it was somewhere in the end of the Second War in which 50 soldiers just came in home, you were screaming... again and again they asked what's that... your mother said that she will handle it... and what?? Slap after slap, kick after kick then the father comes playing with the knife and he was juggling and one moment he made the knife with the spike in front of your eyes he tied your hands, he put a Scotch tape on your mouth and what??? He was taking your eye... by the knife and eating them... then he started fast and fast hitting with the knife without looking in random place and in this game..... it ended horrible?? The boy was first without eyes the girl was a second without a legs, years and however her tongue was cut... why?? Evil should speak... evil is on the first place. Never ends, there isn't even and beginning it's inside!
Deyth Banger
Beau allowed the boat to stop, so that they bobbed gently in the water. “It’s funny you should ask about that particular tale. The man who gave me the tickets for your concert was very interested in that alligator. We used to come out here at night together, gathering herbs and bark, and we poked around looking for the monster. We never did find it, though.” “Who gave you tickets to Savannah’s show?” Gregori asked softly, already knowing the answer. “A man named Selvaggio, Julian Selvaggio. His family has been in New Orleans almost from the first founding. I met him years ago. We’re good friends”— he grinned engagingly—“ despite the fact that he’s Italian.” Gregori’s eyebrows shot up. Julian was born and raised in the Carpathian Mountains. He was no more Italian than Gregori was French. Julian had spent considerable time in Italy, just as Gregori had in France, but both were Carpathian through and through. “I know Julian,” Gregori volunteered, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness. Water lapped at the boat, making a peculiar slapping sound. The rocking was more soothing and peaceful than disturbing. Beau looked smug. “I thought you might. You both have a connection to Savannah, you both ask the same questions about natural medicine, and you both look as intimidating as hell.” “I am nicer than he is,” Gregori said, straight-faced.
Christine Feehan (Dark Magic (Dark, #4))
Alix had the sudden urge to remove Kelley’s hands from Emira’s hips, and not just because of the sexual familiarity that they displayed. In the same funny muscle memory that makes you take out your metro card to open your front door, or call your third-grade teacher Mom, Alix found herself ready to slap Kelley’s wrists away from her sitter. In the same voice and motion she used almost every day, she felt herself almost say, No no no. Don’t touch. That’s Mama’s.
Kiley Reid (Such a Fun Age)
Papina had grey hair and a purple face. She was like a trained mouse, one of those small white ones that sit up on their tails and then fall flat, their stomachs slapping the ground. She got up on her tail and stayed there through some miracle of balance, to the confusion of all who saw her walking around on her little bow legs and funny round feet. Yet her hands were so quick and lively that one couldn’t even feel her buttoning up a dress, lacing a belt or pulling a skirt round the hips to adjust it. As she took the blue trousers and yellow sash from the wardrobe for Irma, she walked behind Gioia and shook the girl’s shoulders. “Quickly, my lovely! If you sit there under a spell, the prince can’t carry you off to the wedding…” She’d read all the fairy stories and took delight in being irresistibly droll, so instead of wedding she’d said werewolf; she was imitating Macario, whom she’d seen at the cinema.
Augusto De Angelis (The Mystery of the Three Orchids)
Funny,” said the Nail, back in his floppy slouch already. “Barbs don’t sting so much from a man you can slap whenever you please.
Joe Abercrombie (The Trouble with Peace (The Age of Madness, #2))
New Orleans restaurants are so good, you'll want to slap your momma, you neighbor's momma, and your neighbor's momma's momma.
Ren French (Creating a Concierge)
No good can ever come from naming your daughter Heather, just saying. It's like you're asking for the kid to pull a Winona Ryder at some point. It's like, geez, Karen. Watch the dang movie before slapping the name on an innocent baby.
Susan Hawke (Rules to Ignore (Davey's Rules, #7))
Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea? One minute to go and he’d be eleven. Thirty seconds . . . twenty . . . ten . . . nine — maybe he’d wake Dudley up, just to annoy him — three . . . two . . . one . . . BOOM. The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (Harry Potter, #1))
Fleming could not keep a tight rein on most of his actors because the queerness of their characters defied a realistic approach. He could, and did, keep a tight rein on Judy Garland. And it is Garland’s obvious belief in what is happening to her that keeps the film credible. “You believed that she really wanted to get back to Kansas,” says Jack Haley. “She carried the picture with her sincerity.” The first confrontation between Fleming and Judy Garland came late in November when she first met the Cowardly Lion on the Yellow Brick Road. John Lee Mahin was on the set that day, and the moment stuck fast in his memory. “She slapped the Lion and he broke into tears. And she was to continue bawling him out. But Lahr was so funny that she burst into screams of laughter instead. Vic was patient at first. She went behind a tree. I could hear her saying, ‘I will not laugh. I will not laugh.’ Then she’d come out and start laughing again. They must have done the scene ten times, and eventually she was giggling so much she got hysterical. She couldn’t stop laughing. And Vic finally slapped her on the face. ‘All right now,’ he said, ‘go back to your dressing room.’ She went. And when she came back, she said, ‘O.K.’ And they did the scene.
Aljean Harmetz (The Making of The Wizard of Oz)
Honus was a wonderful fellow, so good-natured and friendly to everyone. Gee, we loved that guy. And the fans were crazy about him. Yeah, everybody loved that old Dutchman! If anyone told a good joke or a funny story, Honus would slap his knee and let out a loud roar and say, “What about that!” So
Lawrence S. Ritter (The Glory of Their Times: The Story of the Early Days of Baseball Told by the Men Who Played It (Harper Perennial Modern Classics))
Wife?” Annabel glanced around the room before turning back to him and saying with surprise, “Oh, you mean me.” For some reason that seemed funny to her and she found herself giggling again. “How do you feel?” he asked, eyeing her closely. “Like I have to pee,” she answered, and then slapped a hand over her mouth with dismay, only to tear it away and mutter, “Damn, I said it,” which was followed quickly by an alarmed, “Oh damn, I said damn.” Swearing was definitely not allowed at the abbey. For some reason her words seemed to amuse the man. She could tell by the way his lovely dark eyes crinkled and his terribly stern mouth turned up. He had lovely eyes. “Thank ye,” Ross rumbled. “So do you.” “So do I, what?” she asked with confusion. “Have lovely eyes,” he explained. “I didn’t tell you, you have lovely eyes. Did I?” she asked with a frown. Annabel was sure she’d only thought that. Still smiling, he shook his head slightly, but apparently decided not to trouble himself answering, because he didn’t and simply bent to tug the furs and linens away from her, saying, “Come, I’ll walk ye to the garderobe.” “Oh no,” she said at once, scrambling to get out of bed. “That is not necessary, my lord. I know where it is. I used to live—Oh,” Annabel gasped with surprise when she stood up and the room swung wildly. Ross immediately reached out to steady her, and she leaned against his chest and closed her eyes briefly in the hopes that the room would settle when she opened them again. After a moment, she cautiously eased them open and tipped her head back to peer up at the man holding her. He had a very nice face. She hadn’t seen enough men to decide whether he was handsome compared to others, and so far his face seemed a touch stern most of the time.
Lynsay Sands (An English Bride In Scotland (Highland Brides, #1))
You’re right. You and Millie look more like your mom,” I said... “That’s because we spent more time with her,” Henry said seriously, as if it were common knowledge, as if resemblances were based on nurture instead of nature. It was true, to a point. Mannerisms, quirks, style. All those things could be learned and copied. “So if I spend a lot of time with Kathleen, do you think she’ll start to look like me?” I asked him, steering the focus away from his father. Henry looked doubtfully from me to my grunting, banana-bearded child and back again. “I hope so,” he said. Georgia snickered, and I hooted and held my hand in the air so Henry could give me five. “You hear that, Georgia? Henry hopes so,” I crowed. “I guess that means your baby daddy is a beautiful man.” Henry obviously didn’t mean to be funny, and he totally left me hanging. Georgia reached up and slapped my hand and winked at me.
Amy Harmon (The Song of David (The Law of Moses, #2))
…her fluorescent pink vibrator sailed through the air to land with a splash in the goldfish bowl sitting on the bench at the end of her bed. She slapped her hands over her mouth, releasing a muffled “I’ve killed Eric and Ariel! … It’s not funny! My fish are drowning. Save them!
Debbie Mason (Sugarplum Way (Harmony Harbor #4))
Graham went to the gym to work out, as he does almost every day. There's a pile of unfolded clothes on the couch beside me and a bag of cheese puffs in my lap. I love it when he goes to the gym, if only because I can be the massive sloth I naturally am in peace. If he were here, he'd be eyeing up my laundry and staring at the edible garbage in my lap and on my fingers, internally freaking out over the possibility of powdery cheese getting on the furniture. One hand in the bag, one hand wrapped around the stem of my wine glass—this is my idea of perfection. 'Girls Chase Boys' by Ingrid Michaelson is presently keeping me company from the stereo system. When my phone rings from where it resides on the back of the couch, I jump and send the bag flying. Orange confetti falls to the floor and I swallow, knowing I am so dead if Graham walks in the door right now. “What?” is my less than friendly greeting. “What'd you do?” How does he know me so well? I guess because he made me. “I just let off a bomb of cheese puffs. Although, technically, I'm blaming it on you since it was your phone call that scared me into dumping the bag over.” “Your mother is knitting again.” Eyes glued to the orange blobs on the pale carpet, I reply, “Oh? I'm sure it's marvelous, whatever it is.” Are they seeping into the carpet as I watch, even now becoming an irremovable part of it? Graham is going to majorly freak out over this. “Looks like a yellow condom.” I choke on nothing. “I have to go, Dad.” He grunts a goodbye. I fling the phone away and dive to my knees, hurriedly scooping up the abused deliciousness into my hands. Of course this is when Graham decides to come home—when my ass is in the air facing the door and I look like I'm eating processed food off the floor. I groan and let my head fall forward, smashing a cheese puff with my forehead. He doesn't say anything for a really, really long time, and I refuse to move or look at him, so it gets sort of awkward. “Never thought I'd come home to this scene. Ever.” Just to rile him up, I shove a cheese puff in my mouth and chomp away. “I can't believe you just ate that!” I get to my feet as I pop another into my mouth. “Mmm.” Graham's face is twisted with horror, his backpack dropping to the floor. Sweat clings to him in a delicious way, his hair damp with it. “Do you know how dirty the carpet is?” “You clean it almost every day. It can't be that dirty.” “I don't get everything out of it!” he exclaims, slapping the remaining puffs from my hands. “Go brush your teeth. No. Wait. Induce vomiting. Immediately.” I look at him and laugh. “You're crazy.” “Just...go drink water or something. I'll clean this up.” “I am perfectly capable of cleaning up my own messes.” He just looks at me. “Okay, so not as well as you, but still.” He remains mute. “Fine.” I toss my hands in the air and carefully walk over the splotches of orange beneath me. As I leave the living room, I pause by a framed photograph of a lemon tree, sliding it off-center on the wall. “I saw that,” he calls after me. “Just giving you something to do!” I smirk as I saunter into the bathroom. “I'll give you something to do.” I cock my head at that, wondering if that was meant to be sexual or not. I'm thinking not. I flip the light switch up in the bathroom and scream. Even with the distance between us, I can hear him laughing. The mirror is covered in what looks like blood, spelling out R – E – D. I put my face close to it and sniff. Ketchup. What a waste of a good condiment. “Not funny!” “So funny!
Lindy Zart (Roomies)
A student at a management school came up to a pretty girl and hugged her without any warning. The surprised girl said, “What was that?” The guy smiled at her, “Direct marketing!” The girl slapped him soundly. “What was that?!” said the boy, holding his cheek. “Customer feedback.
Robert Allans (FUNNY ENGLISH: A NEW & RELIABLE METHOD OF ENGLISH MASTERY WITH THE AID OF JOKES)
Crying dads and slapping moms are a routine part of how Indian kids are hammered into shape and manipulated to give up on things they really want
Chetan Bhagat (The Girl in Room 105)
So that night, or that morning, actually, when we ended up in my bed, he was very gentle with me and I couldn’t bring myself to stop him, if he wanted to lick me all over and kiss me softly, let him, but soon I noticed that he wasn’t getting hard, and I took him in my hand and stroked him for a while, but nothing happened, and then I asked him, whispering in his ear, whether something was bothering him, and he said no, he was fine, and we kept touching each other for a while longer, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to get it up, and then I said this is no good, stop trying, that’s enough, if you’re not in the mood, you’re not in the mood, and he lit a cigarette (he smoked a kind called Bali, such a funny name) and then he started to talk about the last movie he’d seen, and then he got up and paced around the room naked, smoking and looking at my things, and then he sat on the floor, beside the bed, and started to look through my pictures, some of Jimmy Cetina’s artistic shots that I don’t know why I’d kept, because I’m stupid, probably, and I asked him whether they turned him on, and he said no but that they were all right, that I looked all right, you’re very beautiful, Simone, he said, and it was then, I don’t know why, that it occurred to me to tell him to get in bed, to get on top of me and slap me on the cheeks or the ass a little, and he looked at me and said I can’t do that, Simone, and then he corrected himself and said: that’s another thing I can’t do, Simone, but I said come on, be brave, get in bed, and he got in, and I turned over and raised my buttocks and said: just take it slowly, pretend it’s a game, and he gave me the first blow and I buried my face in the pillow, I haven’t read Rigaut, I said, or Max Jacob, or boring Banville, Baudelaire, Catulle Mendès, or Corbiere, required reading, but I have read the Marquis de Sade. Oh really? he said. Yes, I said, stroking his dick. He had started slapping me on the ass as if he meant it. What have you read by the Marquis de Sade? Philosophy in the Boudoir, I said. And Justine? Naturally, I said. And Juliette? Of course. By then I was wet and moaning and Arturo’s dick was as stiff as a rod, so I turned around, spread my legs and told him to put it in, but no more, not to move until I told him to. It was delicious to feel him inside of me. Hit me, I said. On the face, on the cheeks. Put your fingers in my mouth. He hit me. Harder! I said. He hit me harder. Now start to move, I said. For a few seconds the only sounds in the room were my moans and the blows. Then he started to moan too.
Roberto Bolaño (The Savage Detectives)
on 20 April – funnily enough, the same day as Hitler’s birthday – they pulled me out of my mother’s vagina with forceps because she couldn’t be bothered to push, cut the only authentic connection I ever had to her, and slapped my ass until I screamed. They wrapped me up in a cheap tea towel and whisked me away to the baby room so my drunk father could try to wave at me. And just in case that wasn’t enough trauma, the next morning the very same doctor placed himself between my legs and removed my foreskin. Ouch! Why were they clamping my penis and hacking into it with a blade? Apparently this was just so I could ‘look like Daddy’. The worst thing is, I didn’t get a say in it at all. Mongrels. It wasn’t long before my boozed-up daddy, with the neighbour’s tipsy seventeen-year-old daughter under his arm, was at the hospital, standing beside me and my pretty mother. Despite being drained from giving birth and having her lady bits hanging in tatters beneath her, I have no doubt that Mum looked stunning. She always made a point of wearing lippy. Dad bent over and covered me with his beer breath, declaring, ‘We’re going to call him Bradley.
Brett Preiss (The (un)Lucky Sperm: Tales of My Bizarre Childhood - A Funny Memoir)
A splash of light snuck beneath the a dressing room door. He heard a groan. A shuffle. A bump. A heavy sigh. "Uh, too tight." He walked toward the back, stopping outside the dressing room. The door was cracked a fraction. He rested a shoulder against the wall, and glanced inside. Grace as Catwoman blew his mind. A feline fantasy. The three-way mirror tripled his pleasure. He viewed her from every angle. Hot, sleek, fierce. The lady could fight Batman in her skintight black leather catsuit and come out the winner. After a moment she scrunched her nose, slapped her palms against her thighs. Stuck out her tongue at her reflection in the mirrors. He saw what had her so frustrated. Sympathized with her disappointment. Her costume didn't fit. The front zipper hadn't fully cleared her cleavage, which was deep and visible. She wore no bra. She gave a little hop, and her breasts bounced. Full and plump. He felt a tug at his groin. Superhero lust. He cleared his throat and made his presence known. She caught his image in the corner of the glass, and reached for the fitting room chair, positioning it between them. Like that would keep him from her. He should've looked away, but couldn't. He sensed her embarrassment. Her panic. Flight? She had nowhere to go. He blocked the door. He wasn't leaving until they'd talked. "Archibald's going to love your costume," he initiated. She didn't find him funny. Her gaze narrowed behind the molded cat-eye mask with attached ears. Her fingers clenched in her elbow-length gloves. Inspired by the movie The Dark Knight, she'd added a whip and a gun holster. Her thigh-high stiletto boots were killer, adding five inches to her height. Her image would stick with him forever. She backed against the center mirror, and nervously fingered the open flaps over her breasts. A yank on the zipper broke the tab. The metal teeth parted, and the gap widened, revealing the round inner curves of her breasts. A hint of her nipples. Dusky pink. All the way down to the dent of her navel.
Kate Angell (The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine)