The last laugh, the last cup of coffee, the last sunset, the last time you jump through a sprinkler, or eat an ice-cream cone, or stick your tongue out to catch a snowflake. You just don't know.
Lauren Oliver (Before I Fall)
If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”
She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.
And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.”
But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it.
I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.
You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.
And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
“Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”
Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.
Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.
How does it taste?” Carter wondered.
Zia smiled. “Stick out your tongue.”
To answer Carter’s question, the tattoo tasted like burning car tires.
“Ugh.” I spit a blue gob of “order and harmony” into the fountain.
Rick Riordan (The Red Pyramid (The Kane Chronicles, #1))
I remember I once saw this old movie...; in it the main character was talking about how sad it is that the last time you have sex you don't know it's the last time. Since I've never even had a first time, I'm not exactly an expert, but I'm guessing it's like that for most things in life--the last kiss, the last laugh, the last cup of coffee, the last sunset, the last time you jump through a sprinkler or eat an ice-cream cone, or stick your tongue out to catch a snowflake. You just don't know.
But I think that's a good thing, really, because if you did know it would be almost impossible to let go. When you do know, it's like being asked to step off the edge of a cliff: all you want to do is get down on your hands and knees and kiss the solid ground, smell it, hold on to it.
Lauren Oliver (Before I Fall)
I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar: it can crumble so easily, but don't be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
Sarah Kay (B)
Discipline, Norah. If you're going to taunt them, remember to stick out your tongue.
James A. Owen (The Shadow Dragons (The Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, #4))
Just think," I say, trying to calm her down. "The two of us naked in a car, but safe and sound all the same, kissing each other to the clap of thunder and the sound of the driving rain!"
"This is impossible," she says.
"But just think. Wouldn't you like, from this snug little shelter in the midst of cosmic rage, to stick your tongue out to the entire world?
Naguib Mahfouz (ميرامار)
I wouldn’t stick your tongue out at me unless you intend to use it in the right way.”
Pausing, I turn back to him. “You’re disgusting.”
“Just the way you like me.
Samantha Towle (Taming the Storm (The Storm, #3))
The world is made out of Nutella. You just need to stick your tongue out, so that you could really taste it.
Nishikant (The Papery Onions)
We can see through all your disguises: the paths of day, the paths of darkness, whichever paths you take - we're right behind you, following you like a trail of smoke, like a long tail, a tail made of girls, heavy as memory, light as air: twelve accusations, toes skimming the ground, hands tied behind our backs, tongues sticking out, eyes bulging, songs choked in our throats.
Margaret Atwood (The Penelopiad)
This is your baby sister, Christian. Her name is Mia.”
Mommy lets me hold her. She is very small. With black, black hair.
She smiles. She has no teeth. I stick out my tongue. She has a bubbly laugh.
Mommy lets me hold the baby again. Her name is Mia.
I make her laugh. I hold her and hold her. She is safe when I hold her.
Elliot is not interested in Mia. She dribbles and cries.
And he wrinkles his nose when she does a poop.
When Mia is crying Elliot ignores her. I hold her and hold her and she stops.
She falls asleep in my arms.
“Mee a,” I whisper.
“What did you say?! Mommy asks, and her face is white like a chalk.
“Yes. Yes. Darling boy. Mia. Her name is Mia.”
And Mommy starts to cry with happy, happy tears.
E.L. James (Grey (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian, #1))
Boy you watch your tongue with me. Or I'll stick my foot so far up your ass the next time you go to the doctor he'll ask you how you got those boot tracks on your tonsils.
David Crawford (Lights Out)
От една страна, тибетците не приемаха смъртта с тъга, просто смятаха, че умрелият се е преместил в друг свят и толкова. От друга, не разбирах хората, които с часове се кланяха в храмовете и около тях. Откъде такъв страх от наказание?
Ma Jian (Stick Out Your Tongue)
I could have taken you to the lab right now and been done with you.Now I have to babysit you until Sunday." He shakes his head and pushes past me, grumbling under his breath.
"Gee, thanks. But you're the worst babysitter in the history of the world, Dreyden. Babysitters are supposed to be fun," I say to his back, and then stick out my tongue. Very thirteen-year old. He turns and strides up to me, eyes full of fire, not stopping until our noses touch. I gulp and force myself not to step back. "Nothing about life is fum anymore, Fo," he says. And then he leaves, feet thumping sown the stairs.
Bethany Wiggins (Stung (Stung, #1))
Над езерото Ямдрог се надигнаха изпарения, които се омесиха в пухкаво валмо и закриха водата. Мъглата се сгъсти, залюля се като женски дъх, издигна се нагоре, разпростря се плавно и покри кървавото слънце. Зашава безмълвно по повърхността на езерото, отдели се от нея и бавно се разтече към полите на планината.
Ma Jian (Stick Out Your Tongue)
Is she pleasing to the eye?"
Gabriel went to an inset sideboard to pour himself a brandy. "She's bloody ravishing," he muttered.
Looking more and more interested, his father asked, "What is the problem with her, then?"
"She's a perfect little savage. Constitutionally incapable of guarding her tongue. Not to mention peculiar: She goes to balls but never dances, only sits in the corner. Two of the fellows I went drinking with last night said they'd asked her to waltz on previous occasions. She told one of them that a carriage horse had recently stepped on her foot, and she told the other that the butler had accidentally slammed her leg in the door." Gabriel took a swallow of brandy before finishing grimly, "No wonder she's a wallflower."
Sebastian, who had begun to laugh, seemed struck by that last comment. "Ahhh," he said softly. "That explains it." He was silent for a moment, lost in some distant, pleasurable memory. "Dangerous creatures, wallflowers. Approach them with the utmost caution. They sit quietly in corners, appearing abandoned and forlorn, when in truth they're sirens who lure men to their downfall. You won't even notice the moment she steals the heart right out of your body- and then it's hers for good. A wallflower never gives your heart back."
"Are you finished amusing yourself?" Gabriel asked, impatient with his father's flight of fancy. "Because I have actual problems to deal with."
Still smiling, Sebastian reached for some chalk and applied it to the tip of his cue stick. "Forgive me. The word makes me a bit sentimental.
Lisa Kleypas (Devil in Spring (The Ravenels, #3))
Clicking on "send" has its limitations as a system of subtle communication. Which is why, of course, people use so many dashes and italics and capitals ("I AM joking!") to compensate. That's why they came up with the emoticon, too—the emoticon being the greatest (or most desperate, depending how you look at it) advance in punctuation since the question mark in the reign of Charlemagne.
You will know all about emoticons. Emoticons are the proper name for smileys. And a smiley is, famously, this:
Forget the idea of selecting the right words in the right order and channelling the reader's attention by means of artful pointing. Just add the right emoticon to your email and everyone will know what self-expressive effect you thought you kind-of had in mind. Anyone interested in punctuation has a dual reason to feel aggrieved about smileys, because not only are they a paltry substitute for expressing oneself properly; they are also designed by people who evidently thought the punctuation marks on the standard keyboard cried out for an ornamental function. What's this dot-on-top-of-a-dot thing for? What earthly good is it? Well, if you look at it sideways, it could be a pair of eyes. What's this curvy thing for? It's a mouth, look! Hey, I think we're on to something.
Now it's sad!
It looks like it's winking!
It looks like it's sticking its tongue out! The permutations may be endless:
:~/ mixed up!
Well, that's enough. I've just spotted a third reason to loathe emoticons, which is that when they pass from fashion (and I do hope they already have), future generations will associate punctuation marks with an outmoded and rather primitive graphic pastime and despise them all the more. "Why do they still have all these keys with things like dots and spots and eyes and mouths and things?" they will grumble. "Nobody does smileys any more.
Lynne Truss (Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation)
Looking at a human being or even a picture of a human being is different from looking at an object. Newborn babies, only hours old, copy the expressions of adults. They pucker up, try to grin, look surprised, and stick out their tongues. The photographs of imitating infants are both funny and touching. They do not know they are doing it; this response is in them from the beginning. Later, people learn to suppress the imitation mechanism; it would not be good if we went on forever copying every facial expression we saw. Nevertheless, we human beings love to look at faces because we find ourselves there. When you smile at me, I feel a smile form on my own face before I am aware it is happening, and I smile because I am seeing me in your eyes and know that you like what you see.
Siri Hustvedt (Living, Thinking, Looking: Essays)
What a skeletal wreck of man this is.
Translucent flesh and feeble bones,
the kind of temple where the whores and villains try to tempt the holistic domes.
Running rampid with free thought to free form, and the free and clear.
When the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a
laundry mat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now.
We all have a little sin that needs venting,
virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems are ripped
from the branches of office, do you know where your post entails?
Do you serve a purpose, or purposely serve?
When in doubt inside your atavistic allure, the value of a summer spent, and a winter earned.
For the rest of us, there is always Sunday.
The day of the week the reeks of rest, but all we do is catch our breath,
so we can wade naked in the bloody pool, and place our hand on the big, black book.
To watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers.
A vacation is a countdown, T minus your life and
counting, time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube,
and hope you get a taste.
WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS FOR?
WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON? SHUT UP!
I can go on and on but lets move on, shall we?
Say, your me, and I’m you, and they all watch the things we do,
and like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs,
haven’t felt like this in years.
The great magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse, let me go,
and punch me into the dead spout again.
That’s where you go when there’s no one else around,
it’s just you, and there was never anyone to begin with, now was there?
Sanctimonious pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse,
and a finger on the trigger.
CLASSIFIED MY ASS! THAT’S A FUCKING SECRET, AND YOU KNOW IT!
Government is another way to say better…than…you.
It’s like ice but no pick, a murder charge that won’t stick,
it’s like a whole other world where you can smell the food,
but you can’t touch the silverware.
Huh, what luck. Fascism you can vote for.
Humph, isn’t that sweet?
And we’re all gonna die some day, because that’s the American way,
and I’ve drunk too much, and said too little,
when your gaffer taped in the
middle, say a prayer, say a face, get your self together and see what’s happening.
SHUT UP! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!
I’m sorry, I could go on and on but
their times to move on so, remember: you’re a wreck, an accident.
Forget the freak, your just nature.
Keep the gun oiled, and the temple cleaned shit snort,
and blaspheme, let the heads cool, and the engine run.
Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything we’ve done.
Stone Sour (Stonesour)
The moment we walk into the suite, Tommy descends on us. “The Queen’s on the line. On Skype, Your Grace.” Anxiety rings in his voice like the ping of a tapped crystal glass. “She’s been waiting. She does’na like to be kept waiting.”
I nod briskly. “Have David bring me a scotch.”
“Oh, me too!” Henry pipes up.
“He’ll have coffee,” I tell Tommy.
And I think Henry sticks his tongue out at me behind my back.
I head into the library and he follows, seeming marginally closer to sober—at least he’s walking straight and unassisted now. I sit behind the desk and open the laptop. On the screen, my grandmother looks back at me, wearing a pale pink robe, hair in rollers and a hairnet, gray eyes piercing, her expression as friendly as the grim reaper’s.
This should be fun.
“Nicholas.” She greets me without emotion.
“Grandmother,” I return, just as flat.
“Granny!” Henry calls, like a child, coming around the desk into view. Then he proceeds to hug the computer and kiss the screen.
“Henry, oh, Hen—” My grandmother swats the air with her hands, like he’s actually there kissing her.
And I do my damnedest not to laugh at them.
“Henry! Remember yourself! My gracious!”
“Mmmmmwah!” He perches, grinning like a fool, on the arm of my chair, forcing me to shift over. “I’m sorry, Grandmother—it’s just so good to see you
Emma Chase (Royally Screwed (Royally, #1))
I can’t believe he’s going along with this.” She flops on her bed, then wrinkles her forehead and stares at the mattress. “Did you make my bed?”
“Yes,” I say sheepishly, but she doesn’t seem pissed. I’d already warned her that my OCD might rear its incredibly tidy head every now and then, and so far she hasn’t batted an eye when it happens. The only items on her don’t-touch-or-I’ll-fuck-you-up list are her shoes and her iTunes music library.
“Wait, but you didn’t fold my laundry?” She mock gasps. “What the hell, Grace? I thought we were friends.”
I stick out my tongue. “I’m not your maid. Fold your own damn laundry.”
Daisy’s eyes gleam. “So you’re telling me you can look at that basket overflowing with fresh-from-the-dryer clothes—” she gestures to the basket in question “—and you aren’t the teensiest bit tempted to fold them? All those shirts…forming wrinkles as we speak. Lonely socks…longing for their pairs—”
“Let’s fold your laundry,” I blurt out.
A gale of laughter overtakes her small body. “That’s what I thought.
Elle Kennedy (The Mistake (Off-Campus, #2))
You believe in the crystal palace, eternally indestructible, that is, one at which you can never stick out your tongue furtively nor make a rude gesture, even with your fist hidden away. Well, perhaps I’m so afraid of this building precisely because it’s made of crystal and it’s eternally indestructible, and because it won’t be possible to stick one’s tongue out even furtively.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Notes from Underground, White Nights, The Dream of a Ridiculous Man, and Selections from The House of the Dead)
He sent you a text message that read: FIre Sign - You're compatible with all signs. Your blood group breathes disappointment and happiness. You stick your tongue in the woman's mouth in order to cool down. The fog that burns on the ceiling is the steam of sweat. You buy pins and colored pictures from the shop. You pin them on your flesh when you receive a guest. The firewood comes to you throughout the night, wrapped in nightmares. When you wake up you have a bath on fire. You eat on fire. You read the newspapers on fire. You smoke a cigarette on fire. In the coffee cup you come across prophecies of fire. You laugh on fire. You have your lungs checked at the hospital, and they find a spring of errors that looks like a tumor. You dream of the final act: It goes out.
Hassan Blasim (The Corpse Exhibition and Other Stories of Iraq)
She stuck out her tongue at him, and he leaned forward and -- to her horror -- licked it. "Ewwww!"
"Then don't stick it out." Shane smiled. "If you're going to hang out in my room and tempt me, there's a penalty. One item of clothing per minute comes off."
He pointed to himself. "Male and eighteen. What's your point?"
"You are so -- "
"Say, you got any pleated miniskirts and knee socks? I really get off on --
Rachel Caine (Midnight Alley (The Morganville Vampires, #3))
They went back to scooping up breakfast, licking the mess off their fingers. Soon the pile of berry mush was gone and their tongues were dyed a nice midnight blue. Ian seemed in a good mood, sticking his tongue out playfully at his best friend. Eena did likewise, right back at him. She was happy he was smiling, even if his teeth were purple.
(You’re too much fun, Eena,) Ian announced in her mind. (I’m really glad we’re friends.)
(Me too,) she agreed. (Best friends.)
Ian leaned back on his hands and watched the waves roll in from far off. The swells were building into large, flat-crested waves.
(Angelle never thought like you do. You’re creative and kinda crazy. Her thoughts were always more simple and, well…..normal.)
(Yeah, well, deadly dragons and evil witches tend to suck all the normal right out of you,) she grumbled.
Richelle E. Goodrich (Eena, The Two Sisters (The Harrowbethian Saga #4))
We go quiet as the next episode picks up exactly where it left off. Antoine manages to subdue Marie-Thérèse, and the two proceed to argue for ten minutes. Don’t ask me about what, because it’s in French, but I do notice that the same word—héritier—keeps popping up over and over again during their fight.
“Okay, we need to look up that word,” I say in aggravation. “I think it’s important.”
Allie grabs her cell phone and swipes her finger on the screen. I peek over her shoulder as she pulls up a translation app. “How do you think you spell it?” she asks.
We get the spelling wrong three times before we finally land on a translation that makes sense: heir.
“Oh!” she exclaims. “They’re talking about the father’s will.”
“Shit, that’s totally it. She’s pissed off that Solange inherited all those shares of Beauté éternelle.”
We high five at having figured it out, and in the moment our palms meet, pure clarity slices into me and I’m able to grasp precisely what my life has become.
With a growl, I snatch the remote control and hit stop.
“Hey, it’s not over yet,” she objects.
“Allie.” I draw a steady breath. “We need to stop now. Before my balls disappear altogether and my man-card is revoked.”
One blond eyebrow flicks up. “Who has the power to revoke it?”
“I don’t know. The Man Council. The Stonemasons. Jason Statham. Take your pick.”
“So you’re too much of a manly man to watch a French soap opera?”
“Yes.” I chug the rest of my margarita, but the salty flavor is another reminder of how low I’ve sunk. “Jesus Christ. And I’m drinking margaritas. You’re bad for my rep, baby doll.” I shoot her a warning look. “Nobody can ever know about this.”
“Ha. I’m going to post it all over the Internet. Guess what, folks—Dean Sebastian Kendrick Heyward-Di Laurentis is over at my place right now watching soaps and drinking girly drinks.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “You’ll never get laid again.”
She’s right about that. “Can you at least add that the night ended with a blowjob?” I grumble. “Because then everyone will be like, oh, he suffered through all that so he could get his pole waxed.”
“Your pole waxed? That’s such a gross description.” But her eyes are bright and she’s laughing as she says it.
Elle Kennedy (The Score (Off-Campus, #3))
In these churches, the ministers are second in importance to the church ladies, who organize voters, make sure the church-run buses are ready on Election Day, and help people fill out absentee ballots. These ladies often, but not always, are also the ones cooking the fish. The churches almost always serve whiting because it’s cheap. Whiting is also delicious after it’s been fried golden in hot grease and Lawry’s Seasoned Salt and slathered with hot sauce and mustard. You walk into the fellowship hall to the sound of crackling and popping and the smell of hot grease wafting through the air. Every politician knows you eat white bread with fried fish, but they’re also aware that white bread sticks to your teeth and the roof of your mouth like glue. If you’re an elected official, the thing you don’t want to do is get that white bread stuck in your teeth. So you need to use your tongue and suck that bread off your teeth very, very hard. A country biscuit might come with your meal, but if you’re at a real country church, you’ll likely be served some liver pudding with the fish and grits.
Bakari Sellers (My Vanishing Country: A Memoir)
Tyler pulls his shirt down over his head and I pretend like I’m not sad to see his naked abs go. “I can’t believe you’re kicking me out at three-o’clock in the morning,” he grumbles as he slides his feet into tennis shoes without bothering to tie them. He walks over to the window and slides it open, looking back at me and smirking. “So, same time, same place tomorrow?” Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “No. Absolutely not. We’re not doing this anymore. Leave and don’t come back.” He’s got one leg swung over the windowsill and his body halfway out before he jerks his head back inside and stares at me in surprise. “What? What do you mean ‘don’t come back? Like, don’t come back tomorrow, or ever?”
“Ever. This was a huge mistake.” He actually has the nerve to growl at me thank god he didn’t whinny or I’d be puking right into my lap. “Fine! But You’ll be begging for another piece of Tyler, mark my words!”
“Jesus Christ, don’t talk about yourself in third person,” I complain. “They comeback, They always come back to Tyler,” he mutters with another smirk, completely ignoring me. “By ‘they’, I’m assuming you’re talking about the ponies you were dreaming about?” I chuckle. “Fuck your face! Fuck you face right now!” he demands. “Get the hell out of my bedroom and don’t come back, Prancer!” I fire back. Sticking his tongue out at me in one poorly-executed, last ditch effort to put me in my place, he tries to smoothly exit my window but his head smacks against the frame. He Lets go of the sill to grab his wounded head and loses his balance, falling out the window and into the shrubs on the otherside. “Mother fucking dick fuck ass cake piece of shit shrub!
Tara Sivec (Passion and Ponies (Chocoholics, #2))
Dad?" she said.
"Do you want some coffee?" he asked. "Are you okay?"
She shook her head. No.
"There are only so many hours you can sleep in a stranded vehicle." He glanced at the dashboard of her car, then at the untouched receipt--her receipt--sticking out of the machine a few feet away like a white tongue. "There's only so many times you can try to resurrect the dead. You can sit there all you want but you're not going anywhere. And, stuck as you are, you'll be forced to think about it, forced to wake up at some point, forced to depart or die here.
Angela Panayotopulos (The Wake Up)
By the way, I’ve been wondering—what would my Grey’s Anatomy nickname be?”
“You already have one, remember? You’re my very own Hotshot Doc.”
He frowns. “But there has to be a ‘Mc’ in front of it.”
“Okay then, how about Dr. McGivesHisPregnantWifeFootRubs?”
“Doesn’t roll off the tongue.”
“You see how that doesn’t work, right? It has to be pithy.”
I tap my chin. “Oh okay, yeah. I’ve got one now. Hear me out.”
“Are you listening?”
After a long pause, he finally asks, “You don’t have one do you?”
“The good ones are already taken!”
He laughs and tugs me closer. “Okay, you’re right. Let’s just stick with Hotshot.
R.S. Grey (Hotshot Doc)
I worship Life—all of life. The life that burns without shame. The life that dances, smiling, just one step away from the abyss. The life that sips margarita on the beach, surrounded by seagulls. The life that cries tears of blood when it gives everything it can give, but everything is not enough. The life in whose veins flow lightning. The life whose depth hurts. The life moved by the autumn rain and by the summer heat. The life that doesn't wait to continue after the commercial break. The life that sticks its tongue out at Duty. The life that runs in the woods chasing its meal. The life that reveals itself only when you are ready to leave it on the battlefield. Most of all, I worship the life that refuses to regret even one of the days it wasted.
Daniele Bolelli (Create Your Own Religion: A How-To Book Without Instructions)
I don't give him a chance to argue, I just kiss him. Gently at first, but then I'm no longer able to hold back. He opens, granting me access to explore and tease his tongue with mine. Soon, he's giving as much as he takes, cupping my ass in his hands and lifting me until I straddle his waist. My lips begin to travel as I slowly rock my pelvis back and forth, leaving open-mouthed kisses down his neck, nipping and suckling from one side to the other.
"Cassie, stop. I can't do this." He pulls back to meet my hurt gaze.
"I know why you're doing this." I draw a breath, letting it out on a long exhale. "You don't trust me with your heart. You're afraid if you give it to me there's a chance it could be broken again."
"It's been shattered once. I'm afraid next time it won't get broken. It'll be obliterated," he says quietly.
I press a single kiss to his lips. "You're my Superman. You're not supposed to be afraid of anything."
"Even Superman had weaknesses.
Rhonda James (Jersey Girl (Sticks & Hearts, #1))
Give me bullet power. Give me power over angels. Even when you’re standing up
you look like you’re lying down, but will you let me kiss your neck, baby? Do I have to
tie your arms down?
Do I have to stick my tongue in your mouth like the hand of a thief, like a burglary
like it’s just another petty theft? It makes me tired, Henry. Do you see what I mean?
Do you see what I’m getting at?
You swallowing matches and suddenly I’m yelling Strike me. Strike anywhere.
I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you’ve taken something out of me, and I have to search
my body for the scars, thinking
Did he find that one last tender place to sink his teeth in? I know you want me to say it, Henry,
it’s in the script, you want me to say Lie down on the bed, you’re all I ever wanted
and worth dying for too
but I think I’d rather keep the bullet this time. It’s mine, you can’t have it, see,
I’m not giving it up. This way you still owe me, and that’s
as good as anything.
Richard Siken (Crush)
I’ll tell you what,” he says. “You keep me company while I finish my dinner. I won’t even ask you what you have…or don’t have…under that coat. Deal?”
I smile tentatively and smooth down my hair. “Deal.”
“You don’t have to do that for me,” he says, gently taking my hand away from my hair. “I’ll get a blanket so you don’t get dirty.”
I wait until he pulls a clean light green fleece blanket out of a closet.
We sit on the blanket and Alex looks at his watch. “Want some?” he asks, pointing to his dinner.
Maybe eating will calm my nerves. “What is it?”
“Enchiladas. Mi’amá makes kick-ass enchiladas.” He stabs a small portion with a fork and holds it out to me. “If you’re not used to this kind of spicy food--”
“I love spicy,” I interrupt, taking it into my mouth. I start chewing, enjoying the blend of flavors. But when I swallow, my tongue slowly catches on fire. Somewhere behind all the fire there’s flavor, but the flames are in the way.
“Hot,” is all I can say as I attempt to swallow.
“I told you.” Alex holds out the cup he’d been drinking from. “Here, drink. Milk usually does the trick, but I only have water.”
I grab the cup. The liquid cools my tongue, but when I finish the water it’s as if someone stokes it again. “Water…,” I say.
He fills another cup. “Here, drink more, though I don’t think it’ll help much. It’ll subside soon.”
Instead of drinking it this time, I stick my tongue in the cold liquid and keep it there. Ahhh…
“To I wook otay?” I ask.
“With your tongue in the water like that, actually, it’s erotic. Want another bite?” he asks mischievously, acting like the Alex I know.
“Mo mank ooh.”
“Your tongue still burnin’?”
I lift my tongue from the water. “It feels like a million soccer players are stomping on it with their cleats.”
“Ouch,” he says, laughing. “You know, I heard once that kissin’ reduces the fire.”
“Is that your cheap way of telling me you want to kiss me?”
He looks into my eyes, his dark gaze capturing mine. “Querida, I always want to kiss you.
Simone Elkeles (Perfect Chemistry (Perfect Chemistry, #1))
In her eyes, he could see the fear, but also the love. The need. Time to show her, that to him, she meant everything.
“Before you shower me with kisses for saving you –”
“I think it could be argued that I played a part.”
“Not when I retell the story you won’t. But we can argue about that later, naked. As I was saying, I have something for you.” Remy pulled the sheet of paper out of his back pocket and unfolded it.
Initially he’d worried about it being too short. But as Lucifer assured him when he made the contract and binding, the less clauses he put in, the more his promise would stick out. Handing it to her, he waited.
Fidgeted when she didn’t say a word. Almost tore it from her grasp. Then stumbled back as she threw herself at him.
I, Remy, the most awesome demon in Hell, do declare to love the witch Ysabel, fiery temper and all, for an eternity. I will never stray. Never betray her trust. Never do anything to cause her pain upon penalty of permanent death.
This I do swear in blood,
A simple contract, which in its very lack of clauses and sub items, awed her. “You love me that much?”
He peered at her with incredulity on his face. “Of course I love you that much. Would I have done all the things I did if I didn’t?”
“Well, you are related to a mad woman.”
“Yes, and maybe it’s madness for me to love you, but I do. Do you think just any woman would inspire me enough to take on a bloody painful curse. Or put up with the fact you have a giant, demon eating cat. I know you have trust issues, and that I might not have led the kind of life that inspires confidence, but I will show you that you can believe in me. I want you to love me.”
“I know you do. And I do love you. Only for you would I come to the rescue wearing nothing to cover my bottom.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You came to battle in a skirt without any underwear?”
A slow nod was her answer.
He grinned, then scowled. “You will not do that again. Do you know how many demons live in the sewer and could have looked up your skirt? I won’t have them looking at what’s mine. On second thought. Throw out all your underwear. I’ll lead the purge on the sewers myself so you can stroll around with your girl parts unencumbered for my enjoyment.”
“You’re insane,” she laughed.
“Crazy in love with you,” he agreed. “But I do warn you, we’ll have to have dinner with my crazy mother at least once a month.”
“Or more often. I quite like your mom. She’s got a refreshing way of viewing the world.”
“Oh fuck. Don’t tell me she’s already rubbing off,” he groaned, as he pulled her into his arms.
She snuggled against him. This was where she belonged. But she did have a question. “As my new… what should I call you anyway? Boyfriend? Demon I sleep with?”
“The following terms are acceptable to me. Yours. Mate. Husband. Divine taster of your –”
She slapped a hand over his mouth. “I’ll stick to mate.”
“And I’m going with my super, sexy, touch her and die, fabulous cougar, ass kicking witch.”
“I dare you shout that five times in a row without stumbling.”
He did to her eye popping disbelief. “I told you, I have a very agile tongue.”
Eve Langlais (A Demon and His Witch (Welcome to Hell, #1))
After six long hours of driving and three rest stops, Tiger pulls up to a snow-topped, metal speaker box just outside the State Penitentiary's first gate in Walla Walla. As he rolls down his window and snow flies in his face, Joshua starts begging for a Happy Meal.
I turn around, snapping at him. "This ISN'T MCDONALDS and YOU AREN'T HUNGRY. NOW SHUT UP BRAT."
A loud scratchy masculine voice blasts out of the speaker. "CAN I HELP YOU?"
Tiger leans out the window, as he answers- We're here to visit Raven Chandler.
"HAVE YOU BEEN HERE BEFORE?"
"Yes sir. I've been here A LOT."
"WHERE'S HIS MOTHER?"
"I don't know.. I haven't seen her in months."
"NOT THE PRISONER'S MOTHER. THE BRAT IN THE BACK SEAT OF YOUR JEEP."
"Oh- HIM-" As he turns, smiling and sticking his tongue out at Joshua, I lean towards his window to answer the guard's question.
"SHE'S IN VEGAS, SIR. I'M BABYSITTING. HE'S MY GODSON." When the speaker remains disturbingly silent for far too long, I continue. "HE'S A GOOD BOY SIR. HE WON'T BE ANY TROUBLE- I SWEAR."
"THAT'S RIGHT," Tiger said. "HE SWEARS ON THE LITTLE BRAT'S MOTHER'S GRAVE.
Giorge Leedy (Uninhibited From Lust To Love)
Стига да имаш барут и пушка, кон и куче, тук, в платата, можеш да уловиш диво магаре или газела и на воля да ги изядеш, след което да си дремнеш.
Ma Jian (Stick Out Your Tongue)
Хората тук оредяват с увеличаването на надморската височина. Тибетците в тази част са ниски и мудни. Всички подвижни неща – облаците, стадата, кучетата, разветите знамена, жената, която крачеше с дете на гърба, и аз, бродягата, който тъкмо пристигаше – мърдахме като на забавен каданс.
Ma Jian (Stick Out Your Tongue)
Never stick your tongue out at someone you can't lick.
Stick and stones may break your bones but harsh words can hurt as much to anyone. What comes out of your tongue can be a bleating or a curse, or for better or for worst, so think several times for what you spit out can't be recover anymore.you should not spit flame, what will hurt just keep it . Think of the consequences after the damage.
Excuse me,” I call to his retreating back. I sound like I swallowed Kermit, so I clear my throat. “Excuse me,” I call again. I run to catch up with him and tug on his backpack. He looks back over his shoulder, but then he keeps right on walking. “Wait!” I say, trying to keep up. “Damn it, would you stop?” He stops very quickly and I slam into his back. He rocks forward and I grab onto his pack to stay upright, feeling like I have two left feet. I am usually more graceful than this. My mother would kill me if she saw me right now, making a public spectacle of myself in the quad. He turns, grabs me by the shoulders and steadies me, then he bends down to look into my eyes. His are bright blue and full of questions. “Are you all right?” he asks, his voice gruff. I’ve never heard him do more than grunt in class, so hearing him make a full sentence, albeit a short one, is startling. “I’m fine,” I gasp, a little winded from chasing him. “You’re really fast.” He grins. “Sweetheart, you haven’t seen fast.” My heart skips a beat. I am in such big trouble. I don’t know why I thought I could approach a man like this, but I did, and now I don’t know how to ask for what I want. “Cat got your tongue?” he asks. A grin tips one corner of his lips. He’s pretty enough to take my breath away. His blond hair flops across his forehead and he shakes his head to swing it back from his eyes. I open my mouth to speak, but only a squeak comes out. He looks around the quad, looking behind me like he’s trying to figure out where the hell I came from. When he sees that no one is chasing me, he takes my shoulders in his hands and gives me a gentle squeeze, bending so he can stare into my eyes. “Hey,” he says softly, like I’m a stray dog he’s trying to trap. “Are you okay?” I thrust out my hand. “Madison Wentworth,” I say. “I just wanted to introduce myself.” His eyes narrow and he stares at me, but he doesn’t stick his hand out to shake mine. I let mine hang there in the air between us until it becomes so heavy with disappointment that I have to tuck it into the pocket of my jeans. “Guess not.” I sigh. “I’m very sorry for taking up your time.” “Which one of those fuckers put you up to this?” he asks. He grinds his teeth as he waits for my response. “What?” “Those frat boys you hang out with, the ones with more money than sense. Which one put you up to this?” He glares at me. “No one put me up to this,” I say. “Listen, sweetheart,” he says, his face very close to mine. I can smell the cigarette he just smoked and the coffee he must have had before it. “You don’t want to mess with a man like me.” “Okay,” I whisper. I clear my throat. “Fine. Have a nice day.
Tammy Falkner (Yes You (The Reed Brothers #9.5))
Yoo hoo! Mr Nobody! Mr Nameless! Mr Master of Illusion! Mr Sleight of Hand, grandson of thieves and liars!
We're here too, the ones without names. The other ones without names. The ones with shame stuck onto us by others. The ones pointed at, the ones fingered.
The chore girls, the bright-cheeked girls, the juicy gigglers, the cheeky young wigglers, the young bloodscrubbers.
Twelve of us. Twelve moon-shaped bums, twelve yummy mouths, twenty-four feather-pillow tits, and best of all, twenty-four twitching feet.
Remember us? Of course you do! We brought the water for you to wash your hands, we bathed your feet, we rinsed your laundry, we oiled your shoulders, we laughed at your jokes, we ground your corn, we turned down your cosy bed.
You roped us in, you strung us up, you left us dangling like clothes on a line. What hijinks! What kicks! How virtuous you felt, how righteous, how purified, now that you'd got rid of the plump young dirty dirt-girls inside your head!
You should have buried us properly. You should have poured wine over us. You should have prayed for our forgiveness.
Now you can't get rid of us, wherever you go: in your life or your afterlife or any of your other lives.
We can see through all your disguises: the paths of day, the paths of darkness, whichever paths you take -- we're right behind you, following you like a trail of smoke, like a long tail, a tail made of girls, heavy as memory, light as air: twelve accusations, toes skimming the ground, hands tied behind our backs, tongues sticking out, eyes bulging, songs choked in out throats,
Why did you murder us? What had we done to you that required our deaths? You never answered that.
It was an act of grudging, it was an act of spite, it was an honour killing.
Yoo hoo, Mr Thoughtfulness, Mr Goodness, Mr Godlike, Mr Judge! Look over your shoulder! Here we are, walking behind you, close, close by, close as a kiss, close as your own skin.
We're the serving girls, we're here to serve you. We're here to serve you right. We'll never leave you, we'll stick to you like your shadow, soft and relentless as glue, Pretty maids, all in a row.
Margaret Atwood (The Penelopiad)
Preparation - Poem by Malay Roy Choudhury
Who claims I'm ruined? Because I'm without fangs and claws?
Are they necessary? How do you forget the knife
plunged in abdomen up to the hilt? Green cardamom leaves
for the buck, art of hatred and anger
and of war, gagged and tied Santhal women, pink of lungs shattered
by a restless dagger?
Pride of sword pulled back from heart? I don't have
songs or music. Only shrieks, when mouth is opened
wordless odour of the jungle; corner of kin & sin-sanyas;
Didn't pray for a tongue to take back the groans
power to gnash and bear it. Fearless gunpowder bleats:
stupidity is the sole faith-maimed generosity-
I leap on the gambling table, knife in my teeth
rush in from tea and coffee plateaux
in your gumboots of pleasant wages
The way Jarasandha's genital is bisected and diamond glow
Skill of beating up is the only wisdom
in misery I play the burgler's stick like a flute
brittle affection of thev wax-skin apple
She-ants undress their wings before copulating
I thump my thighs with alternate shrieks: VACATE THE UNIVERSE
get out you omnicompetent
conchshell in scratching monkeyhand
lotus and mace and discuss-blade
Let there be salt-rebellion of your own saline sweat
along the gunpowder let the flint run towards explosion
Marketeers of words daubed in darkness
in the midnight filled with young dog's grief
in the sicknoon of a grasshopper sunk in insecticide
I reappear to exhibit the charm of the stiletto.
(Translation of Bengali poem 'Prostuti')
মলয় রায়চৌধুরী ( Malay Roychoudhury )
Our discussion is serious; if you do not deign to give me your attention, I am not going to bow and scrape before you. I have the underground. But so long as I live and desire - let my hand wither20 if I bring even one little brick for such a tenement house! Never mind that I myself have just rejected the crystal edifice, for the sole reason that one cannot taunt it with one's tongue. I said that not because I have such a love of putting out my tongue. Perhaps I was angry simply because such an edifice, at which it is possible not to put out one's tongue, has never yet been found among all your edifices. On the contrary, I would let my tongue be cut off altogether, from sheer gratitude, if only it could be so arranged that I myself never felt like sticking it out again. What do I care that it's impossible to arrange it so, and one must content oneself with apartments? Why, then, have I been arranged with such desires? Can it be that I've been arranged simply so as to come to the conclusion that my entire arrangement is a hoax? Can that be the whole purpose? I don't believe it. You know what, though: I'm convinced that our sort, the underground ones, ought to be kept on a tether. Though we're capable of sitting silently in the underground for forty years, once we do come out and let loose, we talk, talk, talk... ========== Notes From Underground (Fyodor Dostoyevsky; Richard Pevear) - Your Highlight on Location 924-929 | Added on Monday, April 13, 2015 12:12:38 AM
The fact is,” Cara continues, “the data network exists, and that is ethically questionable, but I believe it can work to our advantage here. Just as the computers can access data from other factions, they can send data to other factions. If we sent the data you wished to rescue to every other faction, destroying it all would be impossible.”
“When you say ‘we,’” I say, “are you implying that--”
“That we would be going with you?” she says. “Obviously not all of us would go, but some of us must. How do you expect to navigate Erudite headquarters on your own?”
“You do realize that if you come with us, you might get shot,” says Christina. She smiles. “And no hiding behind us because you don’t want to break your glasses, or whatever.”
Cara removes her glasses and snaps them in half at the bridge.
“We risked our lives by defecting from our faction,” says Cara, “and we will risk them again to save our faction from itself.”
“Also,” pipes up a small voice behind Cara. A girl no older than ten or eleven peers around Cara’s elbow. Her black hair is short, like mine, and a halo of frizz surrounds her head. “We have useful gadgets.”
Christina and I exchange a look.
I say, “What kinds of gadgets?”
“They’re just prototypes,” Fernando says, “so there’s no need to scrutinize them.”
“Scrutiny’s not really our thing,” says Christina.
“Then how do you make things better?” the little girl asks.
“We don’t, really,” Christina says, sighing. “They kind of just keep getting worse.”
The little girl nods. “Entropy.”
“Entropy,” she chirps. “It’s the theory that all matter in the universe is gradually moving toward the same temperature. Also known as ‘heat death.’”
“Elia,” Cara says, “that is a gross oversimplification.”
Elia sticks out her tongue at Cara. I can’t help but laugh. I have never seen one of the Erudite stick out her tongue before. But then again, I haven’t interacted with many young Erudite. Only Jeanine and the people who work for her. Including my brother.
Veronica Roth (Insurgent (Divergent, #2))
What's this?" I asked, putting her cup on the counter next to the plate.
"Rocky Road Bars," she supplied with a shrug.
"Is that some kind of message?" I asked, head dipped.
"Message?" she asked, her brows drawing together and proving that it wasn't.
"Never mind," I said, shaking my head, feeling a small wave of relief even if she was standing there wound like a clock for some untold reason.
Maybe that was the reason that when she shrugged at me and went to reach for her coffee, I reached over the counter, snagged her chin in my thumb and forefinger and leaned in to lick a small bit of chocolate from beside her lips from where she had smudged it. Her entire body stiffened then trembled at the contact.
It was all the encouragement I needed.
So right there, a dozen eyes no doubt on us, I framed her face in my hands and pressed my lips to hers.
There was nothing sweet or chaste about it.
I fucking devoured her mouth, my tongue moving to invade, drawing a quiet whimper from her as her hands slammed down on the counter.
The sound was enough to remind me that I couldn't take it any further right then and there and better stop before either of us got too worked up.
But as I pulled away and her eyes fluttered open and all I could see was a deep desire there, I knew she was a little bit more worked up than I intended.
There were a couple chuckles and one brave soul let out a loud whistle as we pulled apart, making my smile tip up slightly, knowing I had just, whether I truly intended it or not, staked a claim. I let the whole town know that I was messing around with one of their favorite daughters.
"I hate you right now," she said, her voice airy, her cheeks pink, her lips swollen.
"No you don't," I countered, shaking my head. "You just hate that you can't climb over this counter and let me fuck you right here and now. Don't worry, you can have me all to yourself in just a couple of hours. If you can control yourself until then..."
"Control myself," she hissed, both looking slightly outraged and equally amused. "I believe you were the one half-mauling me in public."
"And I'm pretty sure it was your tongue moving over mine and your whimper I heard, right? Or was that Old Mildred. Hey, Milly..." I started to call, making Maddy's eyes bulge comically as she slammed her hand into my shoulder hard enough to send me back a foot.
"Shut up!" she hissed, making me let out a chuckle. "Alright fine. You made your point," she said, shaking her head as she reached for her coffee.
"What was my point, exactly?" I asked, curious.
"You just like... marked your territory or whatever," she said, rolling her eyes at the very idea, but a small smile pulled at her lips.
"So, what, you're mine now?"
"Oh, I, well... I thought..." she fumbled, shaking her head at her lack of explanations.
"Relax, sweetheart," I said, saving her from her misery. "Like I said last night, I'm in. You were the one who came in all anti-social this morning."
"That had nothing to do with you," she informed me, looking almost pained.
"My mom needs to find some friends to talk to about sex, Brant. I can't take it. I can't," she said, looking horrified. "I thought I was a cool, mature, experienced, metropolitan woman. But when your mom starts talking about blowjobs, it makes you really, really want to stick your fingers in your ears and scream 'I'm not hearing this, I'm not hearing this' until she shuts up."
"Traumatized for life, huh?"
"He's coming over tonight. Did I mention that part? He's coming to dinner and then, ah, staying the night. Because apparently it's... serious. Do they still sell earplugs at the pharmacy? I think I might actually die if I have to listen to them doing it.''
I laughed at that, finding myself charmed by her embarrassment. "Tell you what, why don't you come to my place for dinner.
Jessica Gadziala (Peace, Love, & Macarons)
Doctor?” said Jan. “What doctor? I called him this morning and got his secretary on the line. I asked for a flu prescription and was told I could come pick it up tomorrow morning between eight and nine. If you’ve got a particularly bad case of flu, the doctor himself comes to the phone and says, ‘Stick out your tongue and say “Aah.” Oh, I can hear it, your throat’s infected. I’ll write out a prescription and you can bring it to the pharmacy. Good day.’ And that’s that. Easy job he’s got, diagnosis by phone. But I shouldn’t blame the doctors. After all, a person has only two hands, and these days there’re too many patients and too few doctors.
Anne Frank (The Diary of a Young Girl)
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me,
so far from my cries of anguish?
2 My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer,
by night, but I find no rest.[b]
3 Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One;
you are the one Israel praises.[c]
4 In you our ancestors put their trust;
they trusted and you delivered them.
5 To you they cried out and were saved;
in you they trusted and were not put to shame.
6 But I am a worm and not a man,
scorned by everyone, despised by the people.
7 All who see me mock me;
they hurl insults, shaking their heads.
8 “He trusts in the Lord,” they say,
“let the Lord rescue him.
Let him deliver him,
since he delights in him.”
9 Yet you brought me out of the womb;
you made me trust in you, even at my mother’s breast.
10 From birth I was cast on you;
from my mother’s womb you have been my God.
11 Do not be far from me,
for trouble is near
and there is no one to help.
12 Many bulls surround me;
strong bulls of Bashan encircle me.
13 Roaring lions that tear their prey
open their mouths wide against me.
14 I am poured out like water,
and all my bones are out of joint.
My heart has turned to wax;
it has melted within me.
15 My mouth[d] is dried up like a potsherd,
and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth;
you lay me in the dust of death.
16 Dogs surround me,
a pack of villains encircles me;
they pierce[e] my hands and my feet.
17 All my bones are on display;
people stare and gloat over me.
18 They divide my clothes among them
and cast lots for my garment.
19 But you, Lord, do not be far from me.
You are my strength; come quickly to help me.
20 Deliver me from the sword,
my precious life from the power of the dogs.
21 Rescue me from the mouth of the lions;
save me from the horns of the wild oxen.
22 I will declare your name to my people;
in the assembly I will praise you.
23 You who fear the Lord, praise him!
All you descendants of Jacob, honor him!
Revere him, all you descendants of Israel!
24 For he has not despised or scorned
the suffering of the afflicted one;
he has not hidden his face from him
but has listened to his cry for help.
25 From you comes the theme of my praise in the great assembly;
before those who fear you[f] I will fulfill my vows.
26 The poor will eat and be satisfied;
those who seek the Lord will praise him—
may your hearts live forever!
27 All the ends of the earth
will remember and turn to the Lord,
and all the families of the nations
will bow down before him,
28 for dominion belongs to the Lord
and he rules over the nations.
29 All the rich of the earth will feast and worship;
all who go down to the dust will kneel before him—
those who cannot keep themselves alive.
30 Posterity will serve him;
future generations will be told about the Lord.
31 They will proclaim his righteousness,
declaring to a people yet unborn:
He has done it!
Give a man a stick, and he’ll hurl it at the sun
For his dog to race toward as it falls. He’ll relish
The snap in those jagged teeth, the rough breath
Sawing in and out through the craggy mouth, the clink
Of tags approaching as the dog canters back. He’ll stoop
To do it again and again, so your walk through grass
Lasts all morning, the dog tired now in the heat,
The stick now just a wet and gnarled nub that doesn’t sail
So much as drop. And when the dog plops to the grass
Like a misbegotten turd, and even you want nothing
More than a plate of eggs at some sidewalk café, the man—
Who, too, by now has dropped even the idea of fetch—
Will push you against a tree and ease his leg between
Your legs as his industrious tongue whispers
Convincingly into your mouth.
Tracy K. Smith (Life on Mars)
She said I made it to the papers as your domestic partner.”
Channing threw back his head and grimaced. “Oh God. I’m sorry, Tino. I don’t know where they got that impression.”
Tino wrinkled his nose. “From two guys running around in their underwear, smelling like come, and from the fact that I wasn’t in the room that was supposed to be mine. Don’t be dense, Channing. And she wasn’t mad. There were no offers—no serious offers—to come down and defend my reputation.”
Channing cocked his head and regarded Tino skeptically. “Doesn’t living in a domestic partnership with me reduce the number of cows your father can get for you in marriage?”
Tino crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “The only way he gets cows in that exchange is for someone to check my maidenhead. If some town elder tries to stick a finger up my butt to see if it’s still tight, I’m borrowing your old Dell and taking off his head.
Amy Lane (The Virgin Manny (The Mannies, #1))
It is not that simple to adhere to good routines in tri cities wa dentist hygiene, but it is something that you need to do your whole life. You need to stay committed if you want your smile to constantly be a healthy one. This short article is packed with great dental care guidance.
Avoid drinking soda water as part of your daily routine. Beverages rich in sugar can cause dental caries and staining unless you brush your teeth right away. This assists your teeth and naturally your overall health.
It is essential that you brush your teeth regularly. Do it at least twice, preferably post-meal. Take a minimum of two minutes, brushing every surface of your teeth. Never ever brush too harshly, and constantly make use of a tooth paste with fluoride. You ought to also thoroughly floss your teeth afterward.
Do not ever chew on ice. Chewing ice can crack teeth and make it easier for germs that triggers tooth cavities to stick to teeth and develop troubles. In addition, you ought to make use of care when consuming popcorn or nuts because these can also cause damages. If you fear that you have a broken tooth, visit your dental practitioner as soon as possible.
Brilliant use of lipstick can make your teeth look more beautiful. Light average or red coral shades are going to have your teeth looking whiter than they truly are. Lighter shades have the tendency to have a reverse result. If they are white, they can make your teeth appear yellow even!
You have to successfully brush at least two times daily to keep teeth in good shape. It is essential to brush in the early morning in order to remove collected germs from sleeping. During the night, you brush to clean away food debris you gathered during your day.
Does tarter develop up on your teeth rapidly? If you do, you should buy a great anti-tartar tooth paste and mouthwash. Tartar typically kinds on your bottom front teeth and your upper molars. See a dental expert frequently to eliminate tartar.
Do cold and hot foods trigger your teeth to hurt? Select a toothpaste for sensitive gums and teeth, and see a dental expert when you can.
Go to an additional dental professional for a 2nd opinion if your dentist tells you a deep cleaning is needed. This form of cleaning costs a lot more so make certain that you aren't being ripped off.
Does it appear outrageous to pay out $75 for a tooth brush? Well, many dental experts assert that a more pricey electricity toothbrush is one of the most efficient ways of cleaning your teeth, right alongside getting your teeth cleaned at the dental practitioner office. While you will not be removing everything on your teeth 100 percent, you will still get a remarkable clean. Search for models that have numerous styles of heads, and ensure the warranty is excellent!
Take your time when brushing your teeth. Brushing could be something you already do, however you might rush when brushing. Do not make this mistake. Take care and sufficient time while you brush your teeth. Maximize the time when your brushing your teeth. See to it you brush comprehensive for one full minute or more.
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I'm not moping.”
She rolled her eyes and shoved a dress at me. “ ‘Will you call my phone? Is it working? Why hasn’t it rung?’ Blegh.” She stuck her tongue out. “No guy is worth that. Not even someone as insanely fuckable as Ryder Briggs. Try that on.” She gestured to the dress I held against my chest.
I tossed it onto the bed and peeled off my shirt, slipped the dress on, then dropped my jeans from under it.
Her face pinched on the side as she twisted her lips and studied me. “Nope.” She spun back to her closet and pulled out a blue dress. “Here.”
“This is like three sizes too small,” I pointed out.
“It stretches. Put it on.”
I yanked off the first dress and forced the other over my boobs and down my body. “Oh my God. I don’t think I can breathe.”
“It’s spandex. You can breathe, it just feels tight. Get used to it. You’re wearing it.”
“What? Are you kidding me? I feel like a sausage on a stick.”
“Well, you look like sex on a stick, all tan skin, blue eyes, long legs. Guys will go crazy. You’re wearing it. Trust me, I don’t like the idea of you looking so damn hot in my dress either, but if you can meet someone to get your mind off Ryder, it’s worth it.
Renita Pizzitola (Just a Little Crush (Crush, #1))
Ruxs spun Green around, pushing his cheek and chest against the cool glass. His hands were flat against the window, trying but failing at pushing to give himself some room. Ruxs’ bulk held him firmly where he wanted him and he loved it. He felt helpless, defenseless against Ruxs’ indiscretions. “Fuck,” Green moaned, sticking his ass out. “Mmm. Fuckin’ look at you.” Ruxs’ hard shaft was hot and heavy between his ass cheeks, pushing aggressively at his opening. He heard Ruxs spit, then that thick cock was easily sliding back and forth in his crease. Ruxs’ mouth was pressed against the back of his earlobe. He flicked the fleshy skin with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, nibbling, and nipping at it, driving Green insane. With his tender lobe still in his mouth, he teased Green with what he knew he desperately wanted. “I should fuck your slutty ass right now, not even give a fuck who walks by and sees you.” Green
A.E. Via (Here Comes Trouble (Nothing Special #3))
Want some?" he asks, pointing to his dinner.
Maybe eating will calm my nerves. "What is it?"
"Enchiladas. Mi'ama makes kick-ass enchiladas." He stabs a small portion with a fork and holds it out to me. "If you're not used to this kind of spicy food--"
"I love spicy," I interrupt, taking it into my mouth. I start chewing, enjoying the blend of flavors. But when I swallow, my tongue slowly catches on fire. Somewhere behind all the fire there's flavor, but the flames are in the way.
"Hot," is all I can say as I attempt to swallow.
"I told you." Alex holds out the cup he'd been drinking from. "Here, drink. Milk usually does the trick, but I only have water."
I grab the cup. The liquid cools my tongue, but when I finish the water it's as if someone stokes it again. "Water . . . ," I say.
He fills another cup. "Here, drink more, though I don't think it'll help much. It'll subside soon."
Instead of drinking it this time, I stick my tongue in the cold liquid and keep it there. Ahhh . . .
"To I wook otay?" I ask.
"With your tongue in the water like that, actually, it's erotic. Want another bite?" he asks mischievously, acting like the Alex I know.
"Mo mank ooh.
Simone Elkeles (Perfect Chemistry (Perfect Chemistry, #1))
You’re just a kid. Have fun. Go play in the fluff.”
“Not over here, though,” said a pale, miserable figure from behind a nearby pile. “I’ve constructed a Fortress of Solitude.”
Lex watched the dentist for a moment more, then gave up. “What’s wrong, Edgar?”
“Nothing.” He pouted. “Okay, everything.” He sighed dramatically as he approached, greasy black hair falling into his face. “I bit my tongue this morning, I dropped guacamole onto my favorite boots, Teddy Roosevelt made fun of my mustache, and—oh yeah—I’m dead.” He crossed his arms with a small huff.
“Hey, Quoth,” Lex said to the bird atop his shoulder, “go poop on Teddy Roosevelt.” The raven gave a slight nod as he launched into the air and flew over to the tangle of presidents, where he stopped, aimed carefully, and dropped a plump white bomb directly onto the face of America’s twenty-sixth.
Edgar stuck out his tongue. “Where’s your big stick now, Teddy Bear?”
“Dammit, Poe!” Teddy roared, shaking his fist. “I’ll get you for this!”
Edgar let out a screech not unlike that of a seven-year-old girl. He dove back into his fortress, sending clouds of the white fluff into the air. Lex watched them float around, her mind clicking onto something—
“Oh my God, that’s it!” She jumped up from the desk. “Elysia, I’ll catch you later. Edgar—you’re a genius.”
“I am aware of that,” a muffled voice replied
Gina Damico (Croak (Croak, #1))
They would need a logo for the app, something that instantly enticed users to download and use Picaboo. Reggie and Evan sat together and created the logo over the course of a few hours, going back and forth on ways to symbolize the disappearing nature of the app. They settled on a friendly ghost who was smiling and sticking out its tongue. Evan drew the ghost in Adobe InDesign while Reggie tossed in ideas. Reggie named the ghost Ghostface Chillah, after the Wu-Tang Clan rapper Ghostface Killah. Evan studied the hundred most popular apps in the app store and noticed that none had yellow logos. To make Picaboo stand out, he put the Ghostface Chillah logo on a bright yellow background. Reggie slapped the logo on Facebook and Twitter pages he made for the app. While Evan worked hard on the design and vision for the product and Bobby coded, Reggie contributed less. Plenty of successful Silicon Valley founders do not write code; but they play other roles, relentless hustling in the early days of their companies, dominating nontechnical jobs like marketing and user growth. Reggie simply wasn’t doing that. Having recently turned twenty-one, he wanted to enjoy the Los Angeles nightlife, and he stayed out into the wee hours of the morning. While Evan and Bobby lived the plot of Silicon Valley, Reggie was more Entourage. Evan had always remembered and valued what Clarence Carter had told him when he worked at Red Bull, “When everyone is tired and the night is over, who stays and helps out? Because those are your true friends. Those are the hard workers, the people that believe that working hard is the right thing to do.” His co-founders felt Reggie was not pulling his weight, and it was beginning to cause resentment.
Billy Gallagher (How to Turn Down a Billion Dollars: The Snapchat Story)
Everyone knows your written story is a lie. But if you're going to get people to believe your lie out loud, then you have to muffle them in your breezy, shocking, junky, juicy, sexy, needless words. As for your darlings? That's the goo of anticipation. What sticks 'em to their seats. And the whole entire point of the project is that you're launching yourself into the void. Spitting in blood and crossing your heart to vouch for an experience you'd never known. That you couldn't feel, touch, or taste until the moment it was on your tongue and you realized — Everyone is buying this crap. Even me.
It pumped me up just to think about.
Adele Griffin (All You Never Wanted)
Jack prepared another needle with the antibiotics.
“You’re not sticking me with that.”
“Come on. It’ll only hurt for a second, and I’ll get to look under that sheet again.”
“Jack, I’m not kidding. I don’t like shots. Enough already.”
“You need the medicine. Now gimme your cheek.”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”
She let him give her the shot and stuck her tongue out when he finished. He loved how easily she made him laugh.
“Sore ass is more like it.”
-Jenna & Jack
Jennifer Ryan (Saved by the Rancher (The Hunted, #1))
the residents’ peace of mind.’ ‘No, of course not.’ ‘And if you are finding it hard to distance yourself from your contract here by being friends with Mrs Martin, maybe that’s something we need to deal with.’ Flora nodded, understanding the warden perfectly well. Keep your beaky nose out. Or else. ‘Sorry. I just wanted to ask you to keep an eye on her, that’s all.’ ‘Which is exactly what I’m paid to do.’ The warden turned her back on Flora and opened her office door. ‘As for the flowers,’ she said, turning around again, her face back to its usual expression of rosy-cheeked benevolence, ‘maybe Joy has a secret admirer. Isn’t she rather close to the Captain? I’m sure it’s nothing to get in a tizzy about.’ Flora stood looking at the blank oak door for a full minute after the warden had closed it. Resisting the urge to stick out her tongue like a five-year-old, she turned on her heel and stalked off towards the exit. She rounded a corner and walked directly into a woman carrying a stack of magazines. The magazines went flying, and the
Joanne Phillips (Murder at the Maples)
Right as I go to kiss Echo, someone knocks on the door. Damn it all to hell. “Go away!”
“Be nice! It’s probably housekeeping.” Echo shoves at my chest and while she doesn’t have enough strength to push me away, I drop back like a domino, and she hops out of bed.
“Be right there,” she calls out, then she lowers her voice to address me. “We’re lucky we didn’t get kicked out last night over the clothes.”
“We?” I repeat. “I’m not the one clogging hotel filters with boxer shorts.”
She pins me with a glare. I turn onto my side and prop my head up on my hand, deciding to enjoy the show of Echo hot as hell and strutting across the room. Spaghetti-strapped tank top and boy shorts that show a hint of her ass. On second thought... “You may want a robe if you’re going to open that door.”
Hell, a shirt would help.
“I’m going to crack it open to tell them that we’re still sleeping.”
“We’re eighteen and in a hotel. Did you want them to laugh?”
Her face turns red, and she shushes me.
Damn, she’s going to answer the door like that. I roll off the bed and grab a pair of jeans. “Let me. My luck it’ll be the maintenance guy, then he’ll be stalking you for the rest of the trip.”
Echo sticks her tongue out at me, but steps back to let me by. “Be nice.”
My lips tilt up as I rub my thumb against her cheek. “I’m always nice.”
Katie McGarry (Breaking the Rules (Pushing the Limits, #1.5))
Second-grader brings gun to school. Jesus, what ever happened to just sticking out your tongue?
Tim Dorsey (The Stingray Shuffle (Serge Storms series))
Don’t worry,” Julie said. “I’ll go along and keep them out of trouble.”
“Nobody invited you,” I told her.
She gave me that cutesy look of hers that makes me want to vomit. “Not yet. But somebody might if I asked nicely.”
“Why don’t you stick to your own business?” I said.
Dad flipped on the TV and looked back at me. “What’s the matter? You think Julie’d cramp your style?”
What could I say?
“I’m going to run over and ask Jack right now,” Julie said. “I’d love to go to the boat show.”
“Don’t feel bad about horning in where you’re not wanted,” I called out.
She stopped in the doorway and looked back at me. “One question, Eddie. If Jack had his choice of somebody to take to San Francisco, which one of us do you think he’d take?”
“You make me sick.”
“You’d better be nice to me,” she said. “Otherwise we may not let you go along with us.”
“Well,” I said to Mom once Julie was gone, “can I go?”
“Let’s see what happens.”
“You mean you’re waiting for Julie?”
“You bet,” Dad said from the next room. “She’ll keep you in line.”
“When did I ever get out of line?”
Dad began to count on his fingers. “Let’s see. There was the time you sneaked out the ski boat to impress that girl. And the time you hitchhiked into Los Cedros without telling anybody. And the time—”
“I’m sorry I asked,” I said.
A few minutes later Julie came strolling back into the kitchen. “Guess what.”
I borrowed a tactic from Ricky Batt and stuck out my tongue.
“Jack says he’d be glad to have me come along.”
“Rotten, rotten, rotten,” I said.
Mom smiled. “I’m sure you’ll all have a good time.
P.J. Petersen (The Freshman Detective Blues)
Who's that?" Playing an old game, Roy pointed at Juanita. Serena grinned and raced to plant a kiss on Juanita's cheek. "'Nita!" she cried triumphantly. Juanita pointed her toward Lily. "Quien es?" "Mama and baby!" Serena climbed into Lily's lap for a hug. As Cade bent his large form beneath the flap to join them, Lily pointed in his direction. "What's his name?" "Papa-padre-daddy," she crowed, laughing as Cade lifted her and sat down with her in his lap. She liked having several names for everything and everyone, and could chatter incessantly in two languages. Cade pointed at an unshaven Travis who glared blearily at their laughter as he untangled himself from his damp bedroll. "Que esta?" Unaware of the Spanish niceties as to being addressed as a "what" instead of "who," Travis glared at their cheerfulness until Serena flung herself at him and hugged his neck. "Snake-oil man!" she cried. Laughter erupted all around—despite the dreary rain, despite their fear and weariness. Welcome waves of amusement relieved some of the tension. Travis growled and tickled Serena until she ran to Roy for help, then grinning, he met Cade's eyes. "Can't you teach her something else to call me?" "Tio Travis?" Cade suggested. "Tio, tio!" Serena cried, sticking her tongue out at Travis and hiding behind Roy's back. "Why do I get the feeling that means 'snake oil' in Spanish?" Travis muttered, reaching for the tin cup of coffee Juanita offered him. "It means 'uncle.' Whether you know it or not, you've just adopted a niece. That means you get to carry her today." Cade took his cup and settled back cross-legged beside Lily. "I don't think I'm ready for the responsibilities of a family man. I'm not even certain how I got into this." Travis threw Lily a wry look. "You're more trouble than you're worth, you know." "Look who's talking." Undisturbed, Lily called Serena to come eat her breakfast. She had spent eight years raising Travis's son. It was time he took on a little responsibility. Travis shrugged his shoulders, unabashed. "You could have had a smart, good-looking man like myself and you chose that man-mountain over there. You lost your chance, Lily." Lily didn't need to reply to that. She merely looked at his rumpled curls and beard-stubbled face and grinned. Relieved that she could still find humor in the midst of her grief, Cade finished his food and leaned over to kiss her before rising to finish packing the horses. Lily watched him go with astonishment. Cade never made public displays of affection. Their
Patricia Rice (Texas Lily (Too Hard to Handle, #1))
Nick bumps my shoulder with his, playfully. He kicks up some extra snow on purpose, whishing it onto my knees.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I tell him.
“Especially with that doggy breath.”
He scoops up some snow, makes it into a ball, bounces his hand up and down. “Take that back.”
I giggle. “Nope.”
I bend down to grab some snow and topple headfirst. The cold of it bites into my cheeks. I try to push myself up, but I can’t. I’m all awkward and clumsy with the snowshoes on.
I struggle some more.
He grabs me under my arms and hauls me up. Smiling, he sticks out his tongue, and with tiny little movements starts licking the snow off my cheeks. It should be disgusting. It’s not. It’s all warm, and good feeling, and amazing. I close my eyes and let him.
“You smell good,” he whispers.
“I haven’t showered.”
“Doesn’t matter, you smell good.”
His voice, sensual and warm, mellows me.
Our lips touch and part, touch again. I breathe him in. He moves his face away a little and studies me. I smile. I can’t help it.
“I like you,” I say. “A lot. Even with the whole werewolf thing.”
He smiles back. “I like you too.”
“Mm-hmm,” he says, leaning in for another kiss. “A wicked lot.
Carrie Jones (Need (Need, #1))
Frank Sinatra behaved himself around Russell Bufalino. One night at the 500 Club in Atlantic City I heard Russell tell Sinatra: “Sit down or I’ll rip your tongue out and stick it up your ass.” If he had a drink in him Sinatra was an asshole. He’d put on a gorilla suit when he got drunk. He’d go to fight some guy knowing somebody would stop it. He was a bad drinker. Me, if I drink, I want to sing and dance. I guess he figured he was already a singer and a dancer.
Charles Brandt ("I Heard You Paint Houses", Updated Edition: Frank "The Irishman" Sheeran & Closing the Case on Jimmy Hoffa)
When your five-year-old pitches a fit, you stop their behavior in its tracks and teach them alternative ways of handling what they are feeling. When they stick their tongue out at you at six, you don’t ignore it but give them a stern look and make it very clear that this isn’t acceptable behavior. When they test you by asking for candy or more television time when they are seven, you end their manipulation and lay out your boundaries. When they slam the door in your face at age eight, you enter their room and calmly but unequivocally call them on their show of disrespect. When they are distracted while doing homework at age nine, you sit with them day in and day out until they learn how to still their spirit and honor their work—and you resist doing the work for them, helping only when they are truly unable to do something themselves. When they pretend they don’t hear you or talk back to you when they are ten, you rise to the occasion and teach them that this behavior is unacceptable. When they lie or steal from you when they are eleven, you become even firmer, allowing
Shefali Tsabary (The Conscious Parent: Transforming Ourselves, Empowering Our Children)
me back. I look his upside-down triangle-shape head, and he look me back. Then I sticked out my tongue and pull my two ears and say, “Why are you not inside bicycle shop when your head is like bicycle seat?” The class, that day, it was shaking with all the laughters from the childrens, and I was feeling very clever with myself until Teacher slap her ruler on the table three times and say: “Quiet!
Abi Daré (The Girl with the Louding Voice)
Madison’s enthralled from the very first moment. I’m sitting on the blanket, my legs stretched out, while Kennedy lays down, her head in my lap. I cringe my way through the movie, absently stroking Kennedy’s hair.
I glance down at her after a while, realizing she’s not watching the screen, her attention fixed on me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she says. “It’s just strange.”
I caress her flushed cheek. “Being here with me?”
“Yes,” she says. “Just when I was starting to doubt I’d ever see you again.”
“You didn’t think I’d keep popping up every so often?”
“Oh, sure, but that’s not you,” she says. “I knew that guy would keep coming back. I thought I’d be dealing with him for the rest of my life. Drunk, high, out of his mind… but I never thought I’d see you again, real you, yet you’re here. I thought it would always be him.”
I know what she means as she motions toward the screen. I can tell I was strung out. It’s painful.
“I’m here,” I say, “and I’m not going anywhere.”
“I want to believe that.”
She smiles, and I don’t know if she believes it yet, but she looks content in the moment. I brush my thumb along her lips as they part, and I want to kiss her so fucking bad right now, but I know I’ll catch hell from my daughter if I try.
“Ohhhh, Daddy!” Madison says, grabbing my attention, catching me off guard as she launches herself my way. Laughing, Kennedy sits up, moving out of the line of fire as Madison damn near tackles me, leaping on my back and trying to cover my face with her hands from behind. “You’re not supposed to do that!”
“What?” I laugh. “I didn’t do anything!”
“You’re kissing her!” she says as I pull her hands away from my mouth when she tries to cover it. I playfully pretend to bite her, making her squeal. “Stop, Daddy!”
She flings herself on me, falling into my lap, as I glance up at the screen, realizing Breezeo is kissing Maryanne. I scowl, tickling Madison. “It’s just a movie. It’s not real.”
She giggles, slapping my hands away. “You didn’t really kiss her?”
“Well, yeah, but it doesn’t count.”
“Because it’s Breezeo, not me.”
“It’s still yucky,” she says, making a face.
“You think kissing me is yucky?”
I tickle her again, and she struggles, laughing, trying to get away, but I’m not going to let it go that easy. Grabbing ahold of her, pinning her to me, I nuzzle against her cheek as she shoves my face. “Help, Mommy!”
“Oh, no, you’re on your own there,” Kennedy says. “You got yourself into that one.”
“Ugh, no fair!” Madison says, slapping her hands over my mouth. “No kissing ‘till the end!”
“Fine.” I let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “You win.”
She sticks her tongue out at me.
The girl seriously sticks her tongue out, gloating, as she leaps at her mother and kisses on her—planting big, sloppy kisses right on Kennedy, making sure I see it. She’s gone again then, right back to her movie now that the love scene is over.
“Unbelievable.” I shake my head. “I get no love.”
Grinning, Kennedy lays back down with her head in my lap. She stares at me, reaching up, her fingertips brushing across my lips. “You be good, and I’ll make it worth it for you later.”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “Is that right?
J.M. Darhower (Ghosted)
Lena?" He glanced at the dictionary. "Are you 'pleased, contented, joyful, delighted'? Do you feel 'Lucky, fortunate'? Are things 'clever and fitting,' 'successful and suitable' for you?"
Lena stopped slicing vegetables and closed her eyes. "Read me the list again, please," she said.
He shut the book.
"What have I done, you got to stop and think an hour before you can tell me. All I ask is a simple yes or no! You're not contented, delighted, joyful?"
"Cows are contented, babies and old people in second childhood are delighted, God help them," she said. "As for 'joyful,' Lee? Look how I laugh scrubbing out the sink . . ."
He peered closely at her and his face relaxed. "Lena, it's true. A man doesn't appreciate. Next month, maybe, we'll get away."
"I'm not complaining!" she cried. "I'm not the one comes in with a list saying/stick out your tongue. Lee, do you ask what makes your heart beat all night? No! Next will you ask, What's marriage? Who knows, Lee? Don't ask. A man who thinks like that, how it runs, how things work, falls off the trapeze in the circus, chokes wondering how the muscles work in the throat. Eat, sleep, breathe, Lee, and stop staring at me like I'm something new in the house!
Ray Bradbury (Dandelion Wine (Green Town, #1))
I wonder what it’s like. Touching tongues with someone.” “Me too.” “It’s probably really disgusting, but maybe we should try it. Then we’d know for sure.” “Okay. Stick out your tongue.” “Hold on. I have to swallow.” I took a drink of ginger ale. “Now I’m ready.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I stuck my tongue out and waited as Oliver leaned toward me, presumably with his tongue out too. But he missed my mouth and ended up licking my cheek. “Gross,” I said, wiping my cheek with my sleeve. “Sorry, my eyes were closed. I’ll try again.
Melanie Harlow (Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms, #2))