Unzip Me Quotes

Because I want her. Now. Here. Everywhere. I want nothing between us. I want her clothes off and the lights on and I want to study her. I want to unzip her out of this dress and take my time with every inch of her.

Then you will simply have to see for yourself. Touch me, lass. Feel my ...sock." His silver gaze sizzled with challenge, as he unzipped his zipper. Uh-uh." She shook her head for added emphasis. Then find me a pair of trews that doona threaten to sever my manparts.

He moves suddenly so that his hand is cupping my sex, and one of his fingers sinks slowly into me. His other arm holds me firmly in place around my waist. “This is mine,” he whispers aggressively. “All mine. Do you understand?” He eases his finger in and out as he gazes down at me, gauging my reaction, his eyes burning. “Yes, yours…” Abruptly, he moves, doing several things at once: Withdrawing his fingers, leaving me wanting, unzipping his fly, and pushing me down onto the couch so he’s lying on top of me. “Hands on your head,” he commands through gritted teeth as he kneels up, forcing my legs wider… “We don’t have long. This will be quick, and it’s for me, not you. Do you understand? Don’t come, or I will spank you,” he says through clenched teeth.

don’t you dare, for one minute, believe that my kindness makes me anything but insurmountable. i did not unzip my chest to every kind of hurt, and stagger back, wounded and alive, just to hear you call me weak for trying. i opened my door to heartache— i gave her the fucking key. my softness for wayward strangers has made me nothing less than a halfway house for aching soles. so when you open your mouth and call me ‘baby’ understand that i am not your next victim in a laundry list of broken girls. you think i don’t know you? people like you? people with mouths for hands. i’ve got skin like topsoil and your teeth could never take root. so when you go looking to make a plaything of a sunburst, you better look for someone with less fire than me. because softness or no, i will eat you alive before i let you make a meal of me.

Are you okay?" I sighed,my sodden coat chilling me to the bone. "Peachy.Made a new friend." He pulled me up by the hand,unzipping my coat and yanking it off me. "Shirt,too,please." "No!" "It's only fair. I seem to recall you making me strip the first time we met.

It means my luck sucks," she said. "It was nice dating a guy wo treated me like a friend instead of a blow-up doll." "You were the one trying to unzip my pants in the truck!" "Yeah, well, I thought you weren't interested. I didn't realize that your divining rod just pointed into a different direction." "You're killing me," he said. But it sounded like he was smiling.

Sometimes I wish I'd find a zipper on the back of my head so I could unzip my skin and find the real me underneath.

MY MOTHER GETS DRESSED It is impossible for my mother to do even the simplest things for herself anymore so we do it together, get her dressed. I choose the clothes without zippers or buckles or straps, clothes that are simple but elegant, and easy to get into. Otherwise, it's just like every other day. After bathing, getting dressed. The stockings go on first. This time, it's the new ones, the special ones with opaque black triangles that she's never worn before, bought just two weeks ago at her favorite department store. We start with the heavy, careful stuff of the right toes into the stocking tip then a smooth yank past the knob of her ankle and over her cool, smooth calf then the other toe cool ankle, smooth calf up the legs and the pantyhose is coaxed to her waist. You're doing great, Mom, I tell her as we ease her body against mine, rest her whole weight against me to slide her black dress with the black empire collar over her head struggle her fingers through the dark tunnel of the sleeve. I reach from the outside deep into the dark for her hand, grasp where I can't see for her touch. You've got to help me a little here, Mom I tell her then her fingertips touch mine and we work her fingers through the sleeve's mouth together, then we rest, her weight against me before threading the other fingers, wrist, forearm, elbow, bicep and now over the head. I gentle the black dress over her breasts, thighs, bring her makeup to her, put some color on her skin. Green for her eyes. Coral for her lips. I get her black hat. She's ready for her company. I tell the two women in simple, elegant suits waiting outside the bedroom, come in. They tell me, She's beautiful. Yes, she is, I tell them. I leave as they carefully zip her into the black body bag. Three days later, I dream a large, green suitcase arrives. When I unzip it, my mother is inside. Her dress matches her eyeshadow, which matches the suitcase perfectly. She's wearing coral lipstick. "I'm here," she says, smiling delightedly, waving and I wake up. Four days later, she comes home in a plastic black box that is heavier than it looks. In the middle of a meadow, I learn a naked more than naked. I learn a new way to hug as I tighten my fist around her body, my hand filled with her ashes and the small stones of bones. I squeeze her tight then open my hand and release her into the smallest, hottest sun, a dandelion screaming yellow at the sky.

I haven't learned How or why Universe contrived to implode And intellectually code The myriadly unique Chromosomically orchestrated DNA-RNA, Quadripartite moleculed, Binary paired, Helically extended And unzippingly dichotomied Regenerative symphonic jazz, as A one and two, Three and four Me---You, Thee---They And more Thine and mine, Sweet citizen, THYMINE-CYTOSINE GUANINE-ADENINE

don’t you dare, for one minute, believe that my kindness makes me anything but insurmountable. I did not unzip my chest to every kind of hurt, and stagger back, wounded and alive, just to hear you call me weak for trying.

I stared at Buddy while he unzipped his chino pants and took them off and laid them on a chair and then took off his underpants that were made of something like nylon fishnet. “They’re cool,” he explained, “and my mother says they wash easily.” Then he just stood there in front of me and I kept on staring at him. The only thing I could think of was turkey neck and turkey gizzards and I felt very depressed. Buddy seemed hurt I didn’t say anything.

Sometimes I get the feeling [my parents have] asked me to hold this big invisible secret for them, like a backpack full of rocks--all these things they don't want to know about themselves. I'm supposed to wear it as I hike up this trail toward my adulthood. They're already at the summit of Full Grown Mountain. They're waiting for me to get there and cheering me on, telling me I can do it, and sometimes scolding and asking why I'm not hiking any faster or why I'm not having more fun along the way. I know I'm not supposed to talk about this backpack full of their crazy, but sometimes I really wish we could all stop for a second. Maybe they could walk down the trail from the top and meet me. We could unzip that backpack, pull out all of those rocks, and leave the ones we no longer need by the side of the trail. It'd make the walk a lot easier. Maybe then my shoulders wouldn't get so tense when Dad lectures me about money or Mom starts a new diet she saw on the cover of a magazine at the grocery store.

No,” I hear myself say. “You’re not supposed to be here.” She’s sitting on my bed. She’s leaning back on her elbows, legs outstretched in front of her, crossed at the ankles. And while some part of me understands I must be dreaming, there’s another, overwhelmingly dominant part of me that refuses to accept this. Part of me wants to believe she’s really here, inches away from me, wearing this short, tight black dress that keeps slipping up her thighs. But everything about her looks different, oddly vibrant; the colors are all wrong. Her lips are a richer, deeper shade of pink; her eyes seem wider, darker. She’s wearing shoes I know she’d never wear. And strangest of all: she’s smiling at me. “Hi,” she whispers. It’s just one word, but my heart is already racing. I’m inching away from her, stumbling back and nearly slamming my skull against the headboard, when I realize my shoulder is no longer wounded. I look down at myself. My arms are both fully functional. I’m wearing nothing but a white T-shirt and my underwear. She shifts positions in an instant, propping herself up on her knees before crawling over to me. She climbs onto my lap. She’s now straddling my waist. I’m suddenly breathing too fast. Her lips are at my ear. Her words are so soft. “Kiss me,” she says. “Juliette—” “I came all the way here.” She’s still smiling at me. It’s a rare smile, the kind she’s never honored me with. But somehow, right now, she’s mine. She’s mine and she’s perfect and she wants me, and I’m not going to fight it. I don’t want to. Her hands are tugging at my shirt, pulling it up over my head. Tossing it to the floor. She leans forward and kisses my neck, just once, so slowly. My eyes fall closed. There aren’t enough words in this world to describe what I’m feeling. I feel her hands move down my chest, my stomach; her fingers run along the edge of my underwear. Her hair falls forward, grazing my skin, and I have to clench my fists to keep from pinning her to my bed. Every nerve ending in my body is awake. I’ve never felt so alive or so desperate in my life, and I’m sure if she could hear what I’m thinking right now, she’d run out the door and never come back. Because I want her. Now. Here. Everywhere. I want nothing between us. I want her clothes off and the lights on and I want to study her. I want to unzip her out of this dress and take my time with every inch of her. I can’t help my need to just stare; to know her and her features: the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the line of her jaw. I want to run my fingertips across the soft skin of her neck and trace it all the way down. I want to feel the weight of her pressed against me, wrapped around me. I can’t remember a reason why this can’t be right or real. I can’t focus on anything but the fact that she’s sitting on my lap, touching my chest, staring into my eyes like she might really love me. I wonder if I’ve actually died. But just as I lean in, she leans back, grinning before reaching behind her, never once breaking eye contact with me. “Don’t worry,” she whispers. “It’s almost over now.” Her words seem so strange, so familiar. “What do you mean?” “Just a little longer and I’ll leave.” “No.” I’m blinking fast, reaching for her. “No, don’t go—where are you going—” “You’ll be all right,” she says. “I promise.” “No—” But now she’s holding a gun. And pointing it at my heart.

God, you're so sweet.” He holds my face in his hands and kisses me deeply. I slowly unzip his hoodie and touch a hand to his bare chest. I relish in the feel of it. Barely an hour ago I was admiring it from afar, and now it's no longer just a tease. When I slide my hand down to his stomach, he groans and his hands slip just under my shirt. “So that's why you didn't want to change.” I can feel his smile against my lips. “You just wanted me to take your clothes off for you.” “Guilty.” I lift my arms for him to pull it off. Instead of returning to kissing me, his eyes roam down my body. I fight the urge to cover myself; even though my bra is still on, I feel exposed. His hands lightly touch each side along the seam. My breath catches in my throat. Meeting my eyes, he says, “You're so damn beautiful.” He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss in between my breasts. I shiver at the light touch of his lips to my sensitive skin. If this is how he makes me feel with such little contact, then how will the rest of this feel? The need is building inside like a spark starting a fire.

I unzipped my duffel bag and started to rifle through it. “What the hell is all that?” Jesse asked. “A diamond core drill,” I replied. “It can go through cobalt and it lets me use this.” I pulled out a tiny scope camera that had a monitor attached to it. “This lets me see where the grooves are in the lock. Each groove corresponds to a number on the combination and I just have to line them up.” Jesse and Roux looked at me like I was speaking Martian. “Where do you even get this stuff?” “Sweet Sixteen present from my parents.” Roux shook her head. “I got a Fabergé egg. What a ripoff.

Every nerve ending in my body is awake. I’ve never felt so alive or so desperate in my life, and I’m sure if she could hear what I’m thinking right now, she’d run out the door and never come back. Because I want her. Now. Here. Everywhere. I want nothing between us. I want her clothes off and the lights on and I want to study her. I want to unzip her out of this dress and take my time with every inch of her. I can’t help my need to just stare; to know her and her features: the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the line of her jaw. I want to run my fingertips across the soft skin of her neck and trace it all the way down. I want to feel the weight of her pressed against me, wrapped around me.

Are you jealous?" She has a half-smile, a laugh waiting to escape. "No. Not jealous." I squeeze her to me, lifting her off the ground back onto her tip-toes. "Possessive. You belong to me." I push her away. "Take off that dress." I allow some anger into my voice. "Now!" She jumps in place a little and reaches behind her to unzip. I grab her shoulders and twist her around. Putting my hands at the base of her neck, I rip the dress down the middle, tearing the zipper apart. She half gasps, half cries out. "You won't be wearing that again.

Hey,” Fitz said, leaning closer. “You trust me, don’t you?” Sophie’s traitorous heart still fluttered, despite her current annoyance. She did trust Fitz. Probably more than anyone. But having him keep secrets from her was seriously annoying. She was tempted to use her telepathy to steal the information straight from his head. But she’d broken that rule enough times to know the consequences definitely weren’t worth it. “What is with these clothes?” Biana interrupted, appearing out of thin air next to Keefe. Biana was a Vanisher, like her mother, though she was still getting used to the ability. Only one of her legs reappeared, and she had to hop up and down to get the other to show up. She wore a sweatshirt three sizes too big and faded, baggy jeans. “At least I get to wear my shoes,” she said, hitching up her pants to reveal purple flats with diamond-studded toes. “But why do we only have boy stuff?” “Because I’m a boy,” Fitz reminded her. “Besides, this isn’t a fashion contest.” “And if it was, I’d totally win. Right, Foster?” Keefe asked. Sophie actually would’ve given the prize to Fitz—his blue scarf worked perfectly with his dark hair and teal eyes. And his fitted gray coat made him look taller, with broader shoulders and— “Oh please.” Keefe shoved his way between them. “Fitz’s human clothes are a huge snoozefest. Check out what Dex and I found in Alvar’s closet!” They both unzipped their hoodies, revealing T-shirts with logos underneath. “I have no idea what this means, but it’s crazy awesome, right?” Keefe asked, pointing to the black and yellow oval on his shirt. “It’s from Batman,” Sophie said—then regretted the words. Of course Keefe demanded she explain the awesomeness of the Dark Knight. “I’m wearing this shirt forever, guys,” he decided. “Also, I want a Batmobile! Dex, can you make that happen?” Sophie wouldn’t have been surprised if Dex actually could build one. As a Technopath, he worked miracles with technology. He’d made all kinds of cool gadgets for Sophie, including the lopsided ring she wore—a special panic switch that had saved her life during her fight with one of her kidnappers. “What’s my shirt from?” Dex asked, pointing to the logo with interlocking yellow W’s. Sophie didn’t have the heart to tell him it was the symbol for Wonder Woman.

Listen. I try hard not to learn things about the people around me, but . . . I’ve heard about your father. I know you take care of your family. I know you’re dealing with stuff like”—his chin points at my yard—“that rusty trampoline. But if you unzip your asshole and pry your head out of it, you might realize that there’s more to life than feeling sorry for yourself.

You can't go around like that," she said. "You look like you escaped from a romance novel." Isabelle laid a hand dramatically against her forehead. "Oh, Lord Montgomery, what do you mean to do with me in this bedroom when you have me all alone?" She unzipped her jacket and tossed it to the floor, revealing a white tank top. She gave him a sultry look. "Is my virtue safe?" "I, ah--what?" Simon said, temporarily deprived of vocabulary.

I want her clothes off and the lights on and I want to study her. I want to unzip her out of this dress and take my time with every inch of her. I can’t help my need to just stare; to know her and her features: the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the line of her jaw. I want to run my fingertips across the soft skin of her neck and trace it all the way down. I want to feel the weight of her pressed against me, wrapped around me.

Good night, Jeremy," I said, and closed the door. I stepped away, reached back and started unzipping my dress. He pressed his hands to the glass. I could read his lips. "That's not fair." I smiled and finished unzipping. The dress slid off my shoulders, but stayed there. I looked at him, his gaze fixed on me, eyes dark with lust. "You wouldn't dare," he mouthed. I turned, then let it fall off the rest of the way. And, once off, there was nothing else to remove. "Jaime!" I heard him though the glass, heard him say my name in a deep growl that made me shiver, but I didn't turn around, just lifted my fingers to wave over my shoulder, then strolled into the bathroom for a very long, very cold shower.

I'm up for a Shadow hunt." She tries to let us out, but the lock's stuck. "That's weird." "Is this like an omen?" Daisy asks. Jazz unzips her boot and takes it off so she can slam it at the lock. "It's not an omen." Slam. "Tonight." Slam. "Is going to be great." Slam. "I've got a feeling." Slam. She puts her book back on and looks at us. "Okay, we'll have to climb out of here." She stands on the toilet seat and from there to the toilet-roll holder and then heaves herself over the wall. "Impresive," I say, and then we hear her slam to the ground. "Less impressive," Daisy says. "It doesn't mean anything," Jazz calls. "Trust me. I'm a psychic.

Do you need a hand with the zipper, Gidge?" he asks, leaning down into my ear. I want to say yeah, but not the way you think. I want him unzipping me right now. I want him to lift me up, slam me against the dressing room wall, and take me right here. Fuck this dress, this fundraiser, and everything else!

Unzipping that body bag didn’t bother me,” Ranger said, “but I’m going to have nightmares over this casino.

Kyle nodded and bit her lip. She looked nervous as a virgin. “This feels like jumping off a cliff,” she finally said. “I’ll only do this if you want me to. Do you want me to?” Cole took a step back. Kyle reached around and unzipped her sundress. She held her arms out like a sacrificial lamb. “Say it, so I know for sure.” Cole’s eyes glowed with lust and reverence. “I want you to.” Kyle watched him.

He pushes through a door and you can hear Lauren say, “What the hell, Alex? Did you—?” “It’s Hayden Fucking Holmes. Look, he’s on the FaceTime. Look!” “What?” Lauren twists the phone so she’s looking at the screen and . . . cue the screaming. “Oh my GOD!!! It’s Hayden Fucking Holmes!” There is nothing to really do but laugh, and laugh hard. Hayden and I sit there, our chests falling up and down, chuckling together as Lauren and Alex freak out. “I need to show him my boobs,” Lauren says. “Unzip my dress, Alex, undo my bra.” “On it,” he calls out, as if his wife showing Hayden her boobs is the most natural thing ever. Hayden looks at me and mouths, “He’s okay if she shows me her boobs?” I snort and roll my eyes. There really are no words to explain the insanity that is my brother and sister-in-law.

Ren followed along behind me somewhere quietly. I couldn’t hear him, but I knew he was there. I was acutely aware of his presence. I had an intangible connection with him, the man. It was almost as if he were walking next to me. Almost as if he were touching me. I must have started walking down the wrong path because he trotted ahead, pointedly moving in a different direction. I muttered, “Show-off. I’ll walk the wrong way if I want to.” But, I still followed after him. After a while, I made out the Jeep parked on the hill and saw Mr. Kadam waving at us. I walked up to his camp, and he grabbed me in a brief hug. “Miss Kelsey! You’re back. Tell me what happened.” I sighed, set down my backpack, and sat on the back bumper of the Keep. “Well, I have to tell you, these past few days have been some of the worst of my life. There were monkeys, and Kappa, and rotted kissing corpses, and snakebites, and trees covered with needles, and-“ He held up a hand. “What do you mean a few days? You just left last night.” Confused, I said, “No. We’ve been gone at least,” I counted on my fingers, “at least four or five days.” “I’m sorry, Miss Kelsey, but you and Ren left me last night. In fact, I was going to say you should get some rest and then try again tomorrow night. You were really gone almost a week?” “Well, I was asleep for two of the days. At least that’s what tiger boy over there told me.” I glared at Ren who stared back at me with an innocuous tiger expression while listening to our conversation. Ren appeared to be sweet and attentive, as harmless as a little kitten. He was about as harmless as a Kappa. I, on the other hand, was like a porcupine. I was bristling. All of my quills were standing on end so I could defend my soft belly from being devoured by the predator who had taken an interest. “Two days? My, my. Why don’t we return to the hotel and rest? We can try to get the fruit again tomorrow night.” “But, Mr. Kadam,” I said an unzipped the backpack, “we don’t have to come back. We got Durga’s first gift, the Golden Fruit.” I pulled out my quilt and unfolded it, revealing the Golden Fruit nestled within. He gently picked it up out of its cocoon. “Amazing!” he exclaimed. “It’s a mango.” With a smirk, I added, “It only makes sense. After all, mangoes are very important to Indian culture and trade.” Ren huffed at me and rolled onto his side in the grass.

If it were me, I’d take that apology to the board meeting tomorrow. I’d set it down real careful like on the table in front of them. Then, after I had their full and undivided attention, I’d unzip my pants and piss on the damn thing. When I was finished, I’d fold my dick back up and walk my ass outta there.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as I looked around the empty lot. I wavered on getting out when a giant lightning bolt painted a jagged streak across the rainy lavender-gray sky. Minutes passed and still he didn’t come out of the Three Hundreds’ building. Damn it. Before I could talk myself out of it, I jumped out of the car, cursing at myself for not carrying an umbrella for about the billionth time and for not having waterproof shoes, and ran through the parking lot, straight through the double doors. As I stomped my feet on the mat, I looked around the lobby for the big guy. A woman behind the front desk raised her eyebrows at me curiously. “Can I help you with something?” she asked. “Have you seen Aiden?” “Aiden?” Were there really that many Aidens? “Graves.” “Can I ask what you need him for?” I bit the inside of my cheek and smiled at the woman who didn’t know me and, therefore, didn’t have an idea that I knew Aiden. “I’m here to pick him up.” It was obvious she didn’t know what to make of me. I didn’t exactly look like pro-football player girlfriend material in that moment, much less anything else. I’d opted not to put on any makeup since I hadn’t planned on leaving the house. Or real pants. Or even a shirt with the sleeves intact. I had cut-off shorts and a baggy T-shirt with sleeves that I’d taken scissors to. Plus the rain outside hadn’t done my hair any justice. It looked like a cloud of teal. Then there was the whole we-don’t-look-anything-alike thing going on, so there was no way we could pass as siblings. Just as I opened my mouth, the doors that connected the front area with the rest of the training facility swung open. The man I was looking for came out with his bag over his shoulder, imposing, massive, and sweaty. Definitely surly too, which really only meant he looked the way he always did. I couldn’t help but crack a little smile at his grumpiness. “Ready?” He did his form of a nod, a tip of his chin. I could feel the receptionist’s eyes on us as he approached, but I was too busy taking in Grumpy Pants to bother looking at anyone else. Those brown eyes shifted to me for a second, and that time, I smirked uncontrollably. He glared down at me. “What are you smiling at?” I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, trying to give him an innocent look. “Oh, nothing, sunshine.” He mouthed ‘sunshine’ as his gaze strayed to the ceiling. We ran out of the building side by side toward my car. Throwing the doors open, I pretty much jumped inside and shivered, turning the car and the heater on. Aiden slid in a lot more gracefully than I had, wet but not nearly as soaked. He eyed me as he buckled in, and I slanted him a look. “What?” With a shake of his head, he unzipped his duffel, which was sitting on his lap, and pulled out that infamous off-black hoodie he always wore. Then he held it out. All I could do was stare at it for a second. His beloved, no-name brand, extra-extra-large hoodie. He was offering it to me. When I first started working for Aiden, I remembered him specifically giving me instructions on how he wanted it washed and dried. On gentle and hung to dry. He loved that thing. He could own a thousand just like it, but he didn’t. He had one black hoodie that he wore all the time and a blue one he occasionally donned. “For me?” I asked like an idiot. He shook it, rolling his eyes. “Yes for you. Put it on before you get sick. I would rather not have to take care of you if you get pneumonia.” Yeah, I was going to ignore his put-out tone and focus on the ‘rather not’ as I took it from him and slipped it on without another word. His hoodie was like holding a gold medal in my hands. Like being given something cherished, a family relic. Aiden’s precious.

So what's your story?" Maddie didn't try to hide the singsong lilt of her voice as she spoke. She didn't want to. She'd learned at a very young age that nothing annoyed manly men more than girly girls, and if Maddie had one talent, it was truly exceptional girliness. "Shut up and be quiet," Stefan snapped. "That's just a tad redundant, FYI." "Shut up!" he hissed near her ear. Maddie couldn't help but shift her weight from foot to foot, almost pacing in place. She was careful of the ice and the snow, though. No use falling to the ground and having Stefan accidentally pull the trigger. "You really do give a lot of orders," she told him. He tightened his grip. "I'm the one with the gun." "Well, yeah. Sure. Technically. But I'm the one with the winning personality, and that should count for something." "You should be scared," he said in the same tone a movie villain might use to say You should be dead when the hero materializes five years later, hungry for vengeance. Stefan was confused, and Maddie couldn't blame him. So she turned back and shrugged. "Maybe. But I don't think you're a bad guy." He let her go and spun her around, grabbing Logan's unzipped coat and pulling her closer. "I. Have. The. Gun," he reminded her. Maddie smiled and pulled away. "And I have Taylor Swift's signature scent. Doesn't make me a pop star. It just makes me smell like Taylor Swift, which isn't as great as it sounds because, to a bear, Taylor Swift smells delicious. Stefan stuttered for a moment, then fell silent.

Thank you for meeting me. And for not being a serial killer.” I laugh, and take his hand. “Agreed. I was actually planning on being a serial killer but decided against it. My day is kind of full. Meetings.

Next to me, Addie unzips the puffer jacket and nearly rips it off, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She glances at me, and then crosses her arms. “Don’t stop on my account, little mouse.” “I feel like you’re making it super-hot in here on purpose,” she grumbles, reaching forward to turn down the heat. “If I wanted your clothes off, I would just remove them myself.” She arches a brow. “You’re saying you currently don’t want them off?” she challenges.

When people ask me to pray for them or their loved ones, I explain that I’d be happy to hold HeartLight—sacred space—for them. The visualization I use is a sugar snap pea. In my mind’s eye, I unzip the pod, scoop out the peas, and place the person inside. Carefully, I rezip the pod and envision it as a ‘station,’ somewhat like an incubator, of vivid green, pulsing with vital energy that’s working for the person’s highest and best good—body, mind, and spirit.

I growled. Couldn’t she leave me alone? She hadn’t spoken in my head for the past forty-five minutes. Why now? I wasn’t asleep. I was awake, wide awake, and I needed this. I needed him. Go away, I willed. “Please,” I groaned. “Please what, Mac? You’ll have to ask for it this time, spell it out in graphic detail. I’m done giving you everything you want without making you ask for it.” “Right. Words mean nothing to you, but now you insist on them,” I said against his mouth. “You are such a hypocrite.” “And you’re bipolar. You want me. You always do. You think I can’t smell it?” “I’m not bipolar.” Sometimes he struck way too close to home. I popped the button on his pants, unzipped them, and shoved my hands inside. He was rock hard. God, he felt good. He stiffened, air hissing between clenched teeth. Make haste . . . He comes . . . “Leave me alone,” I snapped. “Over my dead body,” he said roughly. “You’ve got my dick in your hands.” He told me where it was going to be next and my bones turned to water, tried to spill my body across the floor and let him do anything he wanted to me.

We’d been little more than children when we fell in love. Now everything was ashes, ashes of ashes burned at temperatures where ash burns, but our full-fledged sex life had only just begun, and I would never stop loving her. It was the prospect of another two or three or five years of sex in the ashes that made me think of death. When she pulled away from me and dropped to her knees and unzipped my knapsack and took out my Swiss Army knife, I thought she might be thinking of it, too. But instead she was stabbing the five remaining condoms dead.

As I turn the corner, I hear Peter calling out, “Wait! Wait! Sir!” He’s following a security guard who is approaching a red backpack on the floor. The security guard bends down and picks it up. “Is this yours?” he demands. “Uh, yeah--” “Why did you leave it on the ground?” He unzips the backpack and pulls out a teddy bear. Peter’s eyes dart around. “Can you put that back inside? It’s for a promposal for my girlfriend. It’s supposed to be a surprise.” The security guard is shaking his head. He mutters to himself and starts looking in the backpack again. “Sir, please just squeeze the bear.” “I’m not squeezing the bear,” the security guard tells him. Peter reaches out and squeezes the teddy bear and the bear squeaks out, “Will you go to prom with me, Lara Jean?” I clap my hands to my mouth in delight. Sternly the security guard says, “You’re in New York City, kid. You can’t just leave a backpack on the ground for your proposal.” “It’s actually called a promposal,” Peter corrects, and the security guard gives him a look. “Sorry. Can I just have the bear back?” He spots me then. “Tell him Sleepless in Seattle is your favorite movie, Lara Jean!” I rush over. “Sir, it’s my favorite movie. Please don’t kick him out.” The security guard is trying not to smile. “I wasn’t going to kick him out,” he says to me. To Peter he says, “Just be more aware next time. In New York, we’re vigilant. If we see something, we say something, do you feel me? This is not whatever little country town you guys are from. This is New York City. We do not play around here.” Both Peter and I nod, and the security guard walks away. As soon as he’s gone, Peter and I look at each other and break out into giddy laughter. “Somebody reported my book bag!” he says. “My promposal got fucked.” I take the teddy bear out of his bag and hug it to my chest. I’m so happy I don’t even tell him not to cuss. “I love it.

I don’t think this is a children’s princess party!” I shout over the noise of the rambunctious men as a shower of dollar bills land at my feet. One of the men yells “TAKE IT OFF!” “Gee, you think?!” Ariel yells back. “Some guy just unzipped his pants and pulled his dick out!” Isabelle whimpers, shoving her face harder into Ariel’s arm. “What did you do?!” “What do you think I did? I looked at it. It was a pretty good dick. Nice length, excellent girth. I give it an 8.5 on the dick scale,” she says with a shrug. “He lost a point and a half for calling his dick Sanford and informing me that Sanford spits when he’s excited. Like I haven’t heard that one before. Lame.

He didn’t even bother to keep a physical hold on me; he knew he had me where it counted. He had Eve and that was enough to make me comply without hesitation. I slid into the passenger seat of his car and ignored the burn radiating down my arms from being restrained. He rounded the hood and settled into the driver’s seat. “Where are you taking me?” “The airport, and if you promise to behave, I’ll free your hands.” “Fuck you.” With a sigh, he started the ignition and pulled onto the street. “Have it your way.” “My way? How about you bring my daughter back and leave us the hell alone?” He clenched his jaw. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he unzipped his pants with the other. “Get your head in my lap.

Okay, up!” he says, taking off his jacket. “Shower time.” “What?” I cough again, because it’s hard to stop, even though my stomach is already sore from the effort. “Jesus, Canning.” Wes gives me a smartass grin over his shoulder, the same one he’s been giving me since we were fourteen. “Rules are for breaking. There’s no lock on the door, but whatever.” When he turns around, I see he’s unbuttoning his shirt. “What are you doing?” “Don’t want to get my shirt wet,” he says as his tattoos ripple into view. He tosses the shirt onto the chair and then unzips his jeans. I’m still hesitating, though, my hands on the sheet that covers my lap. The words are on the tip of my tongue: We’re going to get in so much trouble for this.

If she's not driving me up a wall she's driving me insane. Sometimes all she does is look at me. I never know what to do when she does this, so I just sit there as she stares, her eyes raking over every inch of me, wondering what the hell she's thinking and knowing she'll never tell me. Sometimes she won't speak for so long the silence begins to make me sweat. I wake up thinking about her. I fall asleep thinking about her. I accidentally brushed against her going through a doorway and the way my body reacted you'd think she'd pinned me the wall and offered to unzip my pants. I had to leave the building just to get some air. I've started dreaming about her. I wake up in the middle of the night overheated and out of my mind. I've had trouble sleeping all my life-but this might be the worst sleep I've had in years.

I hope Peter’s still out there. I don’t want to lose my nerve. So I quicken my pace and that’s when I spot him, alone in the hot tub, his head tipped back with his eyes closed. “Hi,” I say, and my voice echoes into the woods. His eyes fly open. Nervously, he looks over my shoulder. “Lara Jean! What are you doing out here?” “I came to see you,” I say, and my breath comes out in white puffs. I start taking off my boots and socks. My hands are shaking, and not because I’m cold. I’m nervous. “Uh…what are you doing?” Peter’s looking at me like I’m crazy. “I’m getting in!” Shivering, I unzip my puffy coat and set it on the bench. Steam is rising out of the water. I dip my feet in and sit down on the ledge of the hot tub. It’s hotter than a bath, but it feels nice. Peter’s still watching me warily. My heart is racing out of control and it’s difficult to look him in the eyes. I’ve never been so scared in my life. “That thing you brought up earlier…you caught me off guard, so I didn’t know what to say. But…well, I like you too.” It comes out so fumbly and uncertain, and I wish I could start over and say it smoothly and confidently. I try again, louder. “I like you, Peter.” Peter blinks, and he looks so young all of a sudden. “I don’t understand you girls. I think I have you figured out, and then…and then…” “And then?” I hold my breath as I wait for him to speak. I’m so nervous; I keep swallowing, and it sounds loud to my ears. Even my breathing sounds loud, even my heartbeat. His pupils are dilated he’s looking at me so hard. He’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before. “And then I don’t know.” I think I stop breathing when I hear him say “I don’t know.” Did I screw things up that badly that now he doesn’t know? It can’t be over, not when I finally found my courage. I can’t let it be. My heart is pounding like a million trillion beats a minute as I scoot closer to him. I bend my head down and press my lips against his, and I feel his jolt of surprise. And then he’s kissing me back, open-mouthed, soft-lipped kissing-me-back, and at first I’m nervous, but then he puts his hand on the back of my head, and he strokes my hair in a reassuring way, and I’m not so nervous anymore. It’s a good thing I’m sitting down on this ledge, because I am weak in the knees. He pulls me into the water so I’m sitting in the hot tub too, and my nightgown is soaked now but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. I never knew kissing could be this good.

He is still there, standing a few yards from where I passed him about an hour ago. He has been waiting for me, in the hope that I would return the way I came. He looks up as the bus approaches and his eyes meet mine again, but this time there is not hate, there is almost warmth. He smiles at me and shakes his head a little – Well played – and then he unzips his jacket, hooking his thumbs into its folds so that he can pull it apart and show me what is in there. His jacket is lined with a patchwork of colourful cotton squares, and each of them displays a swastika. They are various different colours and sizes: red, white and black; yellow, black and purple. The man grins up at me: Good work, you got me this time. The bus rolls up the hill and away, but that image will always stay with me, along with the thought of what might have happened if I hadn’t spotted the hate in time.

I panted as he pulled me back through the entryway, hands on my waist, kissing the whole way, and collapsed backward onto the gray leather couch, which felt softer than my skin. I fell on top of him, straddling his lap. He kissed his way down my neck and across the collar of my blouse, leaving a trail of fire behind. "Enough of that," I panted, ripping my shirt over my head. Thank goodness I'd worn a decent bra today---blue satin with a bow in the middle, not frayed or torn anywhere. He eyed it with a growl of approval, but maybe it wasn't a growl for the bra at all, because a moment of fumbling over my back and---pop---I shook off my now unfastened bra. "And to think you didn't like me at first." He drank me in unabashedly, his eyes roaming from belly to breasts to nose to eyes, and each inch his eyes traveled made me feel more and more powerful. Like I could go anywhere, do anything. Except all I wanted to do was right here. I ground against him, feeling his cock already hard and strong under his zipper. "Who says I like you now?" He gasped and pulled me tighter onto him. "If this is what you do to people you don't like, what do you do to people you do like?" I silenced him with another kiss as I rubbed up and down him again. Now my own sex was throbbing, and I sucked in a breath with every movement. I kept moving up and down as he kissed my breasts, tongue tracing lightly over each nipple. When I couldn't take it anymore, I tumbled to the side, lying down on the couch and pulling him on top of me. Because his was an expensive couch and not the cheap one my old roommate had bought at Ikea, there was plenty of room for us to writhe without making me feel like I might topple off the edge. He went down to kiss my breasts again... and kept going. His tongue slid down my stomach, did a lazy circle around my belly button. I clenched my teeth, holding back a beg for more as he slowly, slowly, way too slowly unzipped my skirt and tugged it down. I kicked it off, along with my underwear, when he reached my knees, nearly clipping him on the ear. When I felt close to the edge, I reached down and pulled him up. My hand moved down and took over, zeroing in on just the right spot on my clit. It didn't take long. I shuddered against his shoulder, biting back a cry, then wondered why I was biting it back and let it out. Breathing hard, my head collapsed back into the cushion. I was a little worried that now post-orgasm clarity would descend upon me and be like, What the hell are you doing, Julie? but the post-orgasm clarity seemed to approve. With a wink and a nudge, it made me pull away, and the desire roared back inside me. "That's why it's great to have a clitoris," I told Bennett. "Multiple orgasms.

She held up three hangers inside a vinyl garment bag and hooked them sideways on the coatrack to unzip. "Raw silk. Vintage. Sort of a purple-black." "Aubergine," he declared and cracked the opening wider. "I love a man who can make colors sound dirty." She grinned. "Cross-dyed." He wondered if Trip had helped pick this out, if he'd seen her model it and convinced her to splurge. "Great suit." "I gotta stand next to J.R. Ward. Feel me?" She fluttered her short nails at him. "Baby, I went and bought a pair of Givenchy boots I cannot even afford because the Warden is gonna be there in full effect, and you know what that means!" He didn't really, but he got the gist. "So you want nighttime for daytime." "Extra vampy, hold the trampy. Like, more Lust For Dracula than Breaking Dawn." Rina squeezed her shoulders together to amp her cleavage. "If I'm hauling the girls out, no way can I do sparkly anorexia.

One of the best things about reconnecting with Annika is how natural it feels to be with her. Standing on the sidewalk, I wonder if she remembers how it felt to be in love with me. I haven't forgotten how it felt to be in love with her. As soon as we're settled in the back of the cab, she snuggles up next to me. Her body relaxes until I can feel her melting into me. She goes limp and falls asleep with her head on my chest. I don't mind at all, and I hold her until we get home. With my arms around her, she feels like mine again. It's only when we're inside her department that I realize the evening- and the performance required of her to endure it- has taken everything she had and there's simply nothing left. She's done. She walks into the bedroom, and I follow. She pulls a T-shirt out of a dresser drawer and turns her back to me, not because she's upset that I followed, but so that I can unzip her dress. I oblige, and as soon as I've lowered it, the dress hits the floor. Her bra and underwear follow, which tells me that modesty is still a completely foreign concept to her. I'm not going to ogle her like the horny college student I once was, but I appreciate the view of her naked backside just the same. She turns around and when I see the front view, maybe I ogle just a little. I mean, I'm human.

By midmorning, my excitement and anticipation had turned into complete misery because of the cold. But all of a sudden two mallard ducks flew by me at eye level. I grabbed my duck call and blew on it about three times. The ducks stopped, turned, floated down, and sat in the decoy spread in front of me. I grabbed my gun, but my body was so cold that I couldn’t raise it to my shoulder. Actually, I was even colder than before, because when nature called, I was forced to unzip my coveralls. When I was finished doing my business, my fingers were too numb to zip the coveralls back up! Despite not being able to shoot, I felt a great sense of pride and accomplishment as I reflected on calling in wild ducks for the first time. It was amazing to me that the ducks were swimming around painted decoys because of the sounds I made with a call. I was instantly hooked and it really didn’t matter to me that I was too cold to shoot. Unfortunately, my dad pulled up to my blind in his boat about the same time. He watched the ducks fly away from my decoys. He pointed at them in amazement. “Why didn’t you shoot?” he asked me. Due to my pride, I decided to tell him, “I didn’t want to mess y’all up with my gunfire.” My dad shook his head in disbelief. “But I called them in with these duck calls I made,” I proudly told him.

I hurt my hip, too.” “Let me see.” She made a face and yelped when her cheek protested even that slight movement. “You don’t need to see my hip. It’s fine.” “If the skin’s broken, it’ll need cleaning, too,” he said, unbuckling her belt. “Stop that.” “Think of me as your doctor,” he said, as he unsnapped and then unzipped her jeans. “My doctor doesn’t usually undress me,” she snapped. “And my patients already come undressed.” He laughed. “Life your hips,” he said. “Up!” he ordered, when she hesitated. She put her one good hand on his shoulder to brace herself and lifted her hips as he pulled her torn jeans down. To her surprise, her bikini underwear was shredded, and the skin underneath was bloody. “Uh-oh.” She was still staring at the injury on her hip when she felt him pulling off her boots. She started to protest, saw the warning look in his eyes, and shut her mouth. He pulled her jeans off, leaving her legs bare above her white boot socks. “Was that really necessary?” “You’re decent,” he said, straightening the tails of her Western shirt over her shredded bikini underwear. “I can put your boots back on if you like.” Bay shook her head and laughed. “Just get the first-aid kit, and let me take care of myself.” He grimaced. “If I’m not mistaken, you packed the first-aid kit in your saddlebags.” Bay winced. “You’re right.” She stared down the canyon as far as she could see. There was no sign of her horse. “How long do you think it’ll take him to stop running?” “He won’t have gone far. But I need to set up camp before it gets dark. And I’m not hunting for your horse in the dark, for the same reason I’m not hunting for your brother in the dark.” “Where am I supposed to sleep? My bedroll and tent are with my horse.” “You should have thought of that before you started that little striptease of yours.” “You’re the one who shouted and scared me half to death. I was only trying to cool off.” “And heating me up in the process!” “I can’t help it if you have a vivid imagination.” “It didn’t take much to imagine to see your breasts,” he shot back. “You opened your blouse right up and bent over and flapped your shirt like you were waving a red flag at a bull” “I was getting some air!” “You slid your butt around that saddle like you were sitting right on my lap.” “That’s ridiculous!” “Then you lifted your arms to hold your hair up and those perfect little breasts of yours—” “That’s enough,” she interrupted. “You’re crazy if you think—” “You mean you weren’t inviting me to kiss my way around those wispy curls at your nape?” “I most certainly was not!” “Could’ve fooled me.” She searched for the worst insult she could think of to sling at him. “You—you—Bullying Blackthorne!” “Damned contentious Creed!

That is when, I walked into the home as if I would have like any other day, with my head down, going to take a bath and get ready for supper, with guardian Hope. Plus went up to the steps up to my room dripping wet my braindead mind puzzled.' 'My sweet brown shaggy teddy bear was the only thing I grabbed covering my body from dinner, then I went into my room. My pink nighty top on my bed from the night before. Truly, I did not care about my nakedness anymore; after all, I am wild, continuous, unbroken, and untamed.' 'Moderate retardation books,' said Hope when she picked them up under her breath, showing them back into the unzipped backpack. 'I feel so weird, like never before; I sat stark naked in my bed soaking wet, rocking hoping for nightfall to come. to see if the next day I would have to go to school.' 'How? I don't know. Just like fast-forwarding it will only dawn another day. That's going to repeat all the hell ones more, I'm just sure of that.' 'Previously this is my question, I asked myself, as I am laying in my bed holding onto my teddy bear far too tightly. 'Is it me who is the problem, or the ones that are all around me?'' I answer myself- 'I know that there is not one person on this planet, who truly cares if I am even here or not.' Oh, 'God' - 'Why does my life have to be like this?' 'I do not think I can take any more of living in this town or going to this school!

Happy Valentine’s Day, Covey.” He puts his hands on my waist and picks me up for a hug like I weigh nothing. Setting me down, he says, “Can we kiss in public since it’s a holiday?” “Where’s my valentine first?” I say, holding my hand out. Peter laughs. “Damn, it’s in my backpack. Geez. So greedy.” Whatever it is, I can tell he is excited to give it to me, which in turn excites me. He takes my hand and leads me over to the table where his backpack is. “First sit down,” he says, and I obey. He sits down next to me. “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.” I do, and I hear him unzip his bag, and then he puts something in my hand, a piece of paper. I open my eyes. “It’s a poem,” he says. “For you.” The moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of beautiful Lara Jean. And stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of beautiful Lara Jean. I touch my hand to my lips. Beautiful Lara Jean! I can’t even believe it. “This is my favorite thing anyone has ever done for me. I could squeeze you to death right now I’m so happy.” To picture him, sitting at his desk at home, scribbling away with a pen and paper, endears him to me so completely. It gives me shivers. Currents of electricity from my scalp down to my toes. “Really? You like it?” “I love it!” I throw my arms around him and squeeze with all my might. I will put this valentine in my hatbox, and when I’m old like Stormy, I will take it out and look at it and remember this exact moment. Forget Genevieve; forget everything. Peter Kavinsky wrote me a poem.

the time-honored formula of rate times time equals distance. “Gav, based on those signal strength indicators, it means the guy is moving at a steady rate of about ten miles per hour. The interval between decibel changes is steady.” “Yeah. I see that, too.” “What goes at a steady rate of ten miles per hour?” “Beltway traffic. On a good night.” “You know what else?” “No,” he said. “Enlighten me.” “A boat.” She heard a knock at the door, its rhythm following the code she’d established with the master chief. “Gav, I have to run,” she said. “Please keep me updated on anything new from ECHELON.” She stuck the Post-it note next to the most prominent river within the radius of the cell site. Then she hurried to the door and unchained it. Moore’s big face stood blinking at her, a huge black bag slung over his shoulder. Jad and Cary were to either side of him, also carrying black duffels the size of golf bags. She stood aside to let them enter. “The downside to being the one with the suite,” said the master chief, grunting with his load, “is that you get to store all the kit. Sorry, Lisanne.” He shouldered past her, nearly knocking her over the sitting room’s small coffee table. The three of them put their burdens on the floor, then maneuvered chairs close to the cases, unzipping them and inspecting their new gear. They were in civilian clothes. Moore had sweated through his short-sleeve Madras shirt. “Jesus,” said Lisanne. “You guys get enough stuff? Clark said you could spend liberally…But I’m the one who always ends up defending the budget.” Cary unzipped one of the long canvas bags. “You, of all people, should be able to appreciate quality in this

Hey, I have an idea,” Lex said. “Give me a sec.” He kept trying. “Idea as in ‘good idea,’ or idea as in ‘let’s take the Ferris wheel, everyone, I’m sure it’ll be a carefree ride of thrills and delights and whimsy’—” “Does this help?” Driggs opened his eyes and, in the space of a yoctosecond, popped right into a solid body. Lex half expected to hear a wacky boing sound effect. She grabbed his arm to keep him that way, while he kept on staring at her bare chest. “So,” he said, swallowing, “good idea, then.” “Thank you.” He pulled her close and gave her a kiss. “And thank you for sparing me your devil corset.” She held it up and waved it in his face. “It’s a standard bra, Driggs. From, like, Target.” “Satan employs many disguises.” “Like you’re from the Land of Superior Underwear. Let’s see what sort of designer boxers you’ve chosen to grace my presence with today.” She unzipped his pants and looked. “Dude. Penguins?” “Um, penguins are officially recognized as the most adorable bird on the planet,” he said, a hint of anxiety creeping into his voice. “What’s wrong with penguins?” “Nothing—” “And igloos. See their little igloos?” “Yes—” “The Santa hats are a bit much, I’ll give you that, but they were a Christmas present, okay? And if I’d known that I was going to die while wearing them and be forever doomed to their Arctic quirkiness—and of hypothermia, too, how’s that for irony—” “Driggs,” she interrupted, grabbing his chin and boring her eyes into his. “I thought we were on a tight time frame here.” “Right.” He scratched his head. “I think that perhaps, since I’m talking way too much, there is the slightest chance that I might be a tiny bit nervous.” Lex smirked. “Relax, spaz.” “Oh, no way. You do not get to use that against me.

I am excited to report that I may have gotten a job as an elevator attendant. It's a three-flight elevator, and my primary objective is to push one of three buttons, 1,2, or 3. I know, it seems complicated, but I am sure I am intellectually mature enough to handle it. I feel confident that I have this job because the owner of the elevator operating company, Mr. Pushkin, of Pushkin Push-button Services, shook my hand, winked at me, examined my index finger for button-pushing capabilities and then licked my armpit. It was very flattering. Since he is obviously a man who is continually rising in the elevator world, I asked him for some life advice. And do you know what he told me? He leaned in close so that his blue eyes were about two inches from my face, and then he leaned around to my ear and whispered, “Some men never leave the ground floor, and some men rise to the top. Still other men, like myself, enable these penthouse executives to reach the pinnacle of their company. But I never carry on conversation in an elevator, or at a urinal, and I’d never install a urinal on an elevator, for fear that men would be more inclined to converse freely as they traveled and emptied their bladder.” And without hesitation I replied, “Mr. Pushkin, I never shake a man’s hand after he just got done pissing, or shake my penis more than three times after pissing, but I am certain that I could operate an elevator equipped with a urinal. I know how to keep both my mouth and my pants zipped shut.” That’s when he glanced down and noticed that my fly was down. I was so embarrassed until he reached his hand down to my crotch and zipped me up as he winked and said, “It happens to the best of us.” And that’s when I noticed that not only was his fly unzipped, but his penis had been hanging out the whole time he’d been talking to me.

I shifted one strap over my shoulder, then the other. I circled my head around and swiveled my hips, creating a sort of hula hoop helix, a study in the curves of a woman's body. He reached for me, but I stepped back, just beyond his reach. "Not yet..." "Argh," he said, but he said it with a smile. "Yes, mademoiselle." I turned around and grazed the tops of his knees with my butt, then spread my legs and bent over, because I knew the dress would ride up. I'd known this Hervé Léger was good for dancing, but I hadn't known until then that it was made for holding men entranced. I stood up while his hand moved up and down my inner thigh, and then his other hand joined in. He unzipped the back of the dress and it fell to the ground with an unsexy sandbag-like thud. I had never stood in front of a man in just a bra, panties, and heels. My first instinct was to be embarrassed, to want to cover up or turn down the lights, to jump on him so he wouldn't have such a complete view of every inch of me. Yet his gaze only grew in intensity. But then Pascal pulled me at the knees so I buckled and tripped on the way to his lap. He flicked my bra open and off so my arms flew wildly in front of me. Then, in a rather impressive move, he slid my panties off and circled me around me so I was the one sitting and he stood over me. All of a sudden, he had the control. "Hey," I said. A quiver came into my voice now that he was on top and I didn't know what to do. Pascal unbuttoned his shirt and unbuckled his belt. I got the picture and began to kick off my shoes, but he stopped me. "Leave them on," he said. "You look so fucking sexy in those heels." I blushed, but now wasn't the time to be sheepish. He leaned over me. I squeezed his waist with my legs and held his neck in the crook of my elbows so I could keep his face to mine. We rocked together forcefully but in sync. He swiftly slid off his boxer briefs and put my hand on him. He was even harder than before, harder than I had ever felt with Elliott. Pascal was roaring in triumph as he sat over me, himself in hand.

I spin around in a circle and sing, “Do you want to build a snowman?” And then we’re both giggling again. “You’re going to get us kicked out of here,” he warns. I grab his hands and make him spin around with me as fast as I can. “Quit acting like you really belong in a nursing home, old man!” I yell. He drops my hands and we both stumble. Then he grabs a fistful of snow off the ground and starts to pack it into a ball. “Old man, huh? I’ll show you an old man!” I dart away from him, slipping and sliding in the snow. “Don’t you dare, John Ambrose McClaren!” He chases after me, laughing and breathing hard. He manages to grab me around the waist and raises his arm like he’s going to put the snowball down my back, but at the last second he releases me. His eyes go wide. “Oh my God. Are you wearing my grandma’s nightgown under your coat?” Giggling, I say, “Wanna see? It’s really racy.” I start to unzip my coat. “Wait, turn around first.” Shaking his head, John says, “This is weird,” but he obeys. As soon as his back is turned, I snatch a handful of snow, form it into a ball, and put it in my coat pocket. “Okay, turn around.” John turns, and I lob the snowball directly at his head. It hits him in the eye. “Ouch!” he yelps, wiping it with his coat sleeve. I gasp and move toward him. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Are you okay--” John’s already scooping up more snow and lunging toward me. And so begins our snowball fight. We chase each other around, and I get in another great hit square in his back. We call a truce when I nearly slip and fall on my butt. Luckily, John catches me just in time. He doesn’t let go right away. We stare at each other for a second, his arm around my waist. There’s a snowflake on his eyelashes. He says, “If I didn’t know you were still hung up on Kavinsky, I would kiss you right now.” I shiver. Up until Peter, the most romantic thing that ever happened to me was with John Ambrose McClaren, in the rain, with the soccer balls. Now this. How strange that I’ve never even dated John, and he’s in two of my most romantic moments. John releases me. “You’re freezing. Let’s go back inside.

Once, I was doing a late-night case with one of the neurosurgery attendings, a suboccipital craniectomy for a brain-stem malformation. It’s one of the most elegant surgeries, in perhaps the most difficult part of the body—just getting there is tricky, no matter how experienced you are. But that night, I felt fluid: the instruments were like extensions of my fingers; the skin, muscle, and bone seemed to unzip themselves; and there I was, staring at a yellow, glistening bulge, a mass deep in the brain stem. Suddenly, the attending stopped me. “Paul, what happens if you cut two millimeters deeper right here?” He pointed. Neuroanatomy slides whirred through my head. “Double vision?” “No,” he said. “Locked-in syndrome.” Another two millimeters, and the patient would be completely paralyzed, save for the ability to blink. He didn’t look up from the microscope. “And I know this because the third time I did this operation, that’s exactly what happened.” Neurosurgery requires a commitment to one’s own excellence and a commitment to another’s identity. The decision to operate at all involves an appraisal of one’s own abilities, as well as a deep sense of who the patient is and what she holds dear. Certain brain areas are considered near-inviolable, like the primary motor cortex, damage to which results in paralysis of affected body parts. But the most sacrosanct regions of the cortex are those that control language. Usually located on the left side, they are called Wernicke’s and Broca’s areas; one is for understanding language and the other for producing it. Damage to Broca’s area results in an inability to speak or write, though the patient can easily understand language. Damage to Wernicke’s area results in an inability to understand language; though the patient can still speak, the language she produces is a stream of unconnected words, phrases, and images, a grammar without semantics. If both areas are damaged, the patient becomes an isolate, something central to her humanity stolen forever. After someone suffers a head trauma or a stroke, the destruction of these areas often restrains the surgeon’s impulse to save a life: What kind of life exists without language? When I was a med student,

Tell me more about your fiance

By the feel of her breath I realized that I was only fractions of an inch from María’s face. Her fingers ran over my face, from my chin to my eyes, closing my eyes as if inviting me to sleep; her hand, a bony hand, unzipped my pants and felt for my cock. Why I don’t know, maybe because I was so nervous, but I said I wasn’t sleepy. I know, said María, me neither. Then everything turned into a succession of concrete acts and proper nouns and verbs, or pages from an anatomy manual scattered like flower petals, chaotically linked. I explored María’s naked body, María’s glorious naked body, in a contained silence, although I could have shouted, rejoicing in each corner, each smooth and interminable space I discovered. María was less reserved. Soon she began to moan, and her maneuvers, at first timid or restrained, became more open (I can’t think of another word for it just now), as she guided my hand to places it hadn’t reached, whether out of ignorance or negligence. So that was how I learned, in fewer than ten minutes, where a woman’s clitoris is and how to massage or fondle or press it, always within the bounds of gentleness, of course, bounds that María, on the other hand, was constantly transgressing, since my cock, treated well in the first forays, soon began to suffer torments in her hands, hands that in the dark and the tangle of the sheets sometimes seemed to me like the talons of a falcon or a falconess, tugging on me so hard that I was afraid they were trying to pull me right off, and at other times like Chinese dwarfs (her fingers were the fucking dwarfs!) investigating and measuring the spaces and ducts that connected my testicles to my cock and each other. Then (but first I had pushed my pants down to my knees) I got on top of her and entered her. “Don’t come inside of me,” said María. “I’ll try not to,” I said. “What do you mean you’ll try, you jerk? Don’t come inside!

He reaches into the backseat, returning with his laptop case. “Way ahead of you, babe.” Unzipping it, he pulls out his laptop while I openly gawk at the side of his face. “If you’re going to keep acting crazy every time I call you that, then I’ll be forced to stop doing it.” I press my lips together. “Sorry. It’s just… Babe. I like babe.” “I thought you might.” He slinks a side-look at me that’s part teasing, part totally sexy and boyfriend-y, and… fucking mine. Great Odin’s raven, I have zero chill right now.

As though to prove her point, she pushes to her feet, standing in the deserted walkway. But just as she's reaching for the grab rail, the car jolts again. Her hand flails through the air, missing the bar, and she topples forward, body hurtling toward me. I reach out, but before I can catch her, she slams into me. Her shoulder bangs against my sternum as she tumbles onto my lap. I let out a grunt, wincing as her hand lands right on my crotch. "Oh, my God." Ada snatches her hand away, scrambling backward off me as I bend forward, breathing through the pain that radiates through my gut. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Ewww!" she squeals. "Ew?" I turn to her, incredulous, balls aching like they've got a goddamn migraine. "You just smashed my junk, and all you can say is ew? You know, a normal person would apologize after almost dismembering someone." Ada doesn't bother looking at me, let alone apologizing as she unzips her camera bag and starts frantically digging through it. "What are you doing?" I ask. "Looking for hand sanitizer obviously." She pulls out a miniature bottle of Purell and squeezes an absurd amount into the palm of her hand. "You're ridiculous. You do realize that, right?" I can't count the number of times girls have attempted to cop a feel since Cipher aired. And here she is, acting like she contracted the bubonic plague by accidentally touching me.

Burleson later shared his first impressions of me with a TV interviewer: “I couldn’t believe what I saw. This man had no face. It was completely black, solid black, like he had a crust over him. His jacket was unzipped down to his waist, full of snow. His right arm was bare and frozen over his head. We could not lower it. His skin looked like marble. White stone. No blood in it.

Remember that ladylike behaviour of yours?” I call out, letting her hear the smile in my voice. “This is the time for it. No pushing, shoving, screaming, or—“ I don’t get any further. She’s heard the shift in my voice and crossed the hallway in a heartbeat. She wastes only a moment in gaping, then shoves past me to dash across the pile of clothes, laughing. “Tarver, Tarver. There are—can you see them all?” She’s running the flashlight over the offerings, revealing swaths of fabric of every colour. I’ve got my mouth half open to reply when she starts unzipping the mechanic’s suit, and then my mouth falls the rest of the way open by itself. It’s dark inside the room, but I catch a quick glimpse of pale skin beneath the remnants of her dress before I remember myself, and decide to take a good, hard look at my boots. To judge by the sounds over on the other side of the room, she’s forgotten I exist. The mechanic’s suit must have been really uncomfortable, even wearing it over her dress, if she’s that eager to get it off while I’m standing here. “There’s dresses,” she whispers, and I catch a movement in my peripheral vision. Oh, God, come on. It’s the mechanic’s suit and the ruined green dress being kicked across the floor away from her. So what does that mean she’s wearing right now? She didn’t actually say I couldn’t look. “Don’t look,” she cautions me, as though she just read my mind. Dammit.

He unzipped his jeans and watched me as I got on the bed. “Socks too, dear. We’re not animals.

It was surprising how quickly the girls opened up to my mother. Gemma told her the entire story of the Darkroom and the Dulcinea Award. She also reviewed the complete bird lexicon. My mother was as baffled as I was by the ubiquity of blowjobs as an introductory sexual act. “I don’t understand,” said Mom. “Don’t girls give hand jobs anymore? Much less effort required.” “The blowjob is the new hand job,” I said. “Really?” said Mom. “How many girls are entered in the contest? And what do they get—money?” “Most girls don’t even know there is a contest,” Gemma said. “If you don’t want to do something, why do you do it?” said my mom. “There’s this thing the boys do,” Mel said. “They make it seem like there’s something wrong with you if you don’t do it. So, you’re hanging out with some guy you like. You’re kissing and stuff and the next thing you know, he’s unzipped his fly. And you’re like, what happened? But you don’t say that because it’s awkward and—and you’re already not thinking clearly, because you like the person and everything you’ve done so far feels good. You don’t want to ruin the mood, so you do it. And while you’re doing it, you’re not feeling anything at all, and you’re telling yourself it’s not a big deal. But then, later, you feel something. You feel wrong, like dirty and used, and stupid. And you wonder what happened to you, the you who has a backbone.” “I need another drink,” I said. “Me too,” said my mother. Me too, said Gemma and Mel. My mother would have given them both a shot of bourbon, but I nixed that idea when I saw her pull two more glasses from the cabinet. Gemma showed us a few samples of the scoring system but wouldn’t relinquish the entire stack of entrants. “Swallows were spies, right?” said my mother, as she gazed down at the page. “Spies? What do you mean?” Mel said, perking up. “The Russians called female spies ‘swallows’ and male spies ‘ravens’ in the Cold War,” I said. “See, Mel. You’re a spy. That’s all,” said Gemma. “I would cut off the penis of any man who talk about me like this,” said my mother, as she gazed down at a score sheet. “You know what I would like to see? A bad-blowjob contest. That would teach them.” Gemma and Mel, who had seemed so lost, suddenly looked up at Mom like she was their new queen.

You’re not leaving yet.” “No,” I said, taking my backpack back and unzipping it. “I wanted to, um…” I thrust my hand into my backpack and gripped a stack of what must’ve been three hundred double-spaced and double-sided papers. I pulled them out and handed them to him. “To give this to you, as a… housewarming gift.” Blaise arched a brow and slid onto one of the stools beside me. “What is it?” I glanced down at my feet, heart pounding inside my chest. “It’s the story that I’ve been writing… about us. It’s our story. It’s not finished yet. I still have to write the last chapter, but I wanted you to read it.” With brown eyes so big, Blaise peered over at me. “You wrote a story about us?” Somehow my cheeks burned even hotter. “Yeah, I did. And I plan on publishing it one day because I love us so fucking much.” I moved closer to him, so I stood between his legs, and then I grabbed his face. “And I love you more than I ever thought I could. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Blaise Harleen.

You know I’ve always wanted to touch you right here?” She presses her palm to the side of my groin, right over the ridge of muscle. I still. “What do you mean?” My voice comes out gravelly. “You used to unzip your wetsuit and sometimes it would hang a little too low, and I couldn’t help but stare. I wanted to do this.” She runs her tongue along my stomach, and my body jerks off the sand. “Fuck, Lane. A little warning, next time?” She laughs softly. “So there will be a next time?” I shut my eyes. Fool. “I had no idea you ever thought about me like that.

I arched my hips, wiggling my behind at him in invitation. Smack it, fuck it, I didn't care. I just wanted him to take whatever the fuck he wanted from my body. Use me, abuse me, make me forget my own goddamn name. His weight shifted on the mattress, and I turned my face to watch him unzip his fly. Then my mouth went dry and I needed to swallow several times as he palmed his dick and met my eyes with a dark, hungry gaze. "I bet that hurt," I murmured, breaking away from his stare to eye his inked cock. Cass responded by stroking himself, his thumb highlighting the designs decorating the base of his shaft.

Try to make me.” His eyes pop open and then his mouth is crashing against mine. He is punishing with his lips, bruising with his mouth. His large hand grabs me roughly by the jaw, commanding the kiss as his tongue invades me, claiming me. His cock is so hard, the thick ridge of it against my thigh practically hurts. The kiss deepens and Vane lets his hand wander to my breast and roll my nipple between his fingers. He swallows the little cry that comes out of me at the shock of pain and then he shoves my dress up around my waist and unzips himself. His pants are barely down before he’s lining himself up at my center and guiding my legs around his hips.

If I could fuck this tight mouth every fucking day, I would be a happy man.” She sinks down the length of me and chokes, comes up for air, then drives back down, her tiny hand wrapped around the base. The pressure in my balls grows. Kas gets in between her legs and unzips his pants. Darling hesitates on my dick as she anticipates being filled up by my twin. “Don’t stop, Darling,” I tell her. “Don’t fucking stop.

When I was on stage, a fifty-something woman walked toward the stage and told me she wanted to show me her tattoo. She proceeded to unzip her pants and partially pull them down. Like a sucker I said, “I don’t see a tattoo.” She replied: “I had a tattoo of a mouse, but my pussy ate it!

Melinda, what are you doing?” he asked, unzipping his jeans to take them off and take a shower of his own. “Nothing,” she said, averting her eyes. He frowned and stepped toward her. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Were you covering up? In front of me?” he asked, astonished. “Jack, I’m going to pot,” she said, cinching the towel tighter. “What?” he asked, laughter in his voice. “What are you talking about?” She took a deep breath. “My boobs are drooping, my butt fell into my thighs, I have a potbelly, and if that’s not bad enough, I’m so covered with stretch marks, I look like a deflated balloon.” She put a hand against his rock-hard chest. “You’re eight years older than I am and you’re in perfect shape.” He started to laugh. “I thought you were trying to cover a tattoo or something. Mel, I didn’t have two children, a year apart. Emma’s only a few months old. Give yourself a little time, huh?” “I can’t help it. I miss my old body.” “Oh-oh,” he said, putting his arms around her. “If you’re thinking like that, I’m not doing my job.” “But it’s true,” she said, laying her head against the soft mat of hair on his chest. “Mel, you are more beautiful every day. I love your body.” “It’s not what it was…” “Hmm. But it’s better,” he said. He tugged at the towel and she hung on. “Come on,” he said. She let go and he pulled it away. “Ah,” he said, smiling down at her. “This body is amazing to me—incredible. More lush and irresistible every day.” “You can’t mean that,” she said. “But I do.” He leaned down and touched her lips with his, one hand on her breast, the other moving smoothly down her back and over her bottom. “This body has given me so much—I worship this body.” He lifted her breast slightly. “Look,” he said. “I can’t bear it,” she complained. “Look, Mel. Look in the mirror. Sometimes when I see you like this, uncovered, I can’t breathe. Every small change just makes you better, more delicious to me. You can’t think I’d have anything but complete admiration for the body that gave me my children. You give me so much pleasure, sometimes I think I might be losing my mind. Baby, you’re perfect.” “I’m twenty pounds heavier than when you met me,” she said. He laughed at her. “What are you now? A size four?” “You don’t know anything. It’s much more than a four. We’re headed for double digits…” “God above,” he said. “Twenty more pounds for me to gobble up.” “What if I just keep getting fatter and fatter?” “Will you still be in there? Because it’s you I love. I love your body, Mel, because it’s you. You understand that, right?” “But…” “If I had an accident that blew my legs off, would you stop loving me, wanting me?” “Of course not! That’s not the same thing!” “We’re not our bodies. We’ve been lucky with our bodies, but we’re more than that.” “It was my butt in a pair of jeans that got your attention….” “My love for you is a lot deeper than that, and you know it. However—” he grinned “—you still knock me out in those jeans. If you’ve gained twenty pounds, it went to all the right places.” “I’m thinking—tummy tuck,” she said. “What nonsense,” he said, leaning down to cover her mouth in a bold and serious kiss.

Are we going to share the sleeping bag?” “I thought I’d go stay with Cookie.” “Oh.” Disappointment flooded her way more than the river had. It was just as cold, but not as wet. “Phoebe, we talked about this,” he reminded her. “You deserve better than a quickie out in the open.” “We’re in a tent,” she said before she could stop herself. “And it doesn’t have to be quick.” As soon as the words were out, she wanted to pull the sleeping bag over her head and disappear. Instead, she closed her eyes and waited for Zane to stalk off in disgust. When he didn’t move, she opened first one eye, then the other. He was staring at her with the hungry expression of a man who has been starving all his life. The need burning in his dark irises warmed her way more than the sleeping bag. He wanted her. She could feel his desire all the way to her toes. She wasn’t sure why he wanted her or for how long, but she couldn’t worry about any of that now. She watched the battle rage inside of him. Base need fought his desire to be a gentleman. She wasn’t exactly sure how to influence the outcome, but she was determined to get her way in this. After considering several options, she settled on a simple, yet direct approach. She unzipped the sleeping bag and sat up. While she was sure her hair was wet and spiky and that the flashlight didn’t exactly flatter her skin tone, Zane didn’t seem to notice any of that. His gaze dropped to her bare breasts and didn’t budge. There was an audible exhalation of air, a swearword, then a low groan that sounded very much like surrender. A heartbeat later, the flashlight clicked off. Phoebe blinked in the darkness. “Zane?” “We’re gonna have to do this by feel. Otherwise we’ll be putting on a show.” She thought about how flashlights in the tents created detailed shadows and blushed at the thought of entertaining the others.

Now, his amorous kiss had stirred in me the unspoken wistfulness I had kept so well hidden within. I willingly opened myself to his affection. As we held each other tightly, I felt his throbbing manhood as if it was our first sensual encounter. His masculinity intoxicated me. When he stared into my eyes, I was at a loss. Just like the time he made love to me with his piercing eyes during my E.R.O.S. initiation ceremony, my knees grew weak. I was frozen in time. I did not know how to respond to this sudden surge of emotional upheaval. I thought I had mastered the art of love, yet I was floored by this man I thought I knew so well.               He led me to a secluded part of the floral pasture, shadowed by several large trees. With utmost urgency, his nimble fingers pulled off my sweatshirt and he lifted up my arms, inhaling the boyish scent from my hairless armpits. He sniffed and lapped at my tenderness. My excitement heaved to his every touch. He tore off his shirt to reveal the muscly splendour of his teenage chest. I wrapped my hands around his brawny neck as he hooked his bulging arms round my slender waist. He unzipped our pants to let them fall around our ankles before yanking them away, leaving our exposed briefs draping haphazardly across our nether regions.

I moved closer to him. He did not back away, but stood entranced in the dark. I pulled him towards me. I heard his palpitating heart booming through the quiet night. Yet, I encountered no resistance. As I reached to unzip his jeans, his sinewy body trembled. His awkwardness was a sign of inexperience in the gutsy game of seduction, and I was eager to entice this callow Caucasian into my web of sensual delight.               Flashes of my Bahriji schooling rushed through my mind as my lips caressed the tautness of his comely mouth, teasing him open with my slithering tongue. Heartened by my gutsiness, his tension slowly melted to flames of sizzling arousal. I grabbed his wrist and led us deeper into the darken forest. Pinning him against a towering tree our twirling tongues coalesced wantonly. Our pent-up desires burst forth like torrid infernos, consuming our sanity to debaucherous lunacy. We tore at each other’s clothes, athirst to ravage our lusty lubriciousness within the stillness of this stifling forest. Fervent tongues caressed with yearning intimacy over, around and atop every desirous crevice of our fiery souls.               Our pulsating hardness drummed in capricious potency, demanding satisfaction within our forbidden orifices, where only sacred mystics dared to venture. Throwing caution to the wind, I suckled at his bulging protuberance. Beguiled by my prowess, he jabbed his bulbous rosiness down my craving throat while my pleasuring hand evoked a rhythmic carnality that had wooed mankind since the dawn of humanity.               The Caucasian unleashed his deliverance in a flourish of heaving crescendos. Jets of piquant liberation gushed down my yearning orifice, as I drank his nourishing fill with gusto.               Not much coaxing was needed to spew my abundance onto Jules’ athletic frame. My seething virility coated his musculature. We amalgamated in a passionate kiss before the instructor returned alone to camp. I stayed to gather myself, to cherish an end to a licentious evening with a closeted homosexual. He had spoken no words after our frenzied indulgence.               Little did I suspect a lurking snooper nearby when faint rustling sounds, muffled by the careening wind, tantalized the stillness of the night.

His seductive eyes never left mine as he unbuttoned my dress shirt. He urgently unbuckled my belt and unzipped my pants to reveal a pair of white undergarments, the only piece of clothing separating my nakedness and His Highness’s muscular physique. The man’s eucalyptus scent drifted up my nostrils, sending me into shivers of unbridled curiosity. Goosebumps were coursing through my body in a state of uncertain expectation. Fascinated by P’s erratic behavior, I did not know how to react in front of my superior. His every move captivated me. Going with the flow, as per my guardian’s instruction, was my only choice. I surrendered to his alpha masculinity. In my young life, I had never encountered a man as mercurial as His Highness. I desired to understand this naked aristocrat who was bewitching me with his recklessness; I was hypnotized by his unpredictability. Little did I guess that P had started spinning a charismatic spider’s web, holding me spellbound to his every wish. My journey as his captive boy toy had begun.

Did you pack all those clothes?” “Of course.” “Where are they?” Alessandra blinked at him. “In my overnight bag. On the backseat.” “Open it, will you?” Harry finished the Pepsi. They were going to have to stop soon to get some coffee. He was exhausted. On the other hand, all he had to do to stay awake was breathe. Every time he inhaled, his side felt as if it were on fire. He took a deep breath. Ouch. Alessandra didn’t move. “You want me to . . . ?” “Grab your bag and open it,” he said patiently. “You have about three pairs of really tight pants somewhere in there. One black, one gray, and one navy blue, I think. Get ’em out. We need to talk about your clothes.” “They’re leggings,” she informed him, wrestling the cheap nylon bag George had bought for her up into the front seat. “Whatever. And that black turtleneck,” Harry said. “The tight one with the lines.” “It’s a rib knit,” she said, unzipping the bag and rummaging around. “Rib knit. At last. My life is surely more complete now that I know that.

Tom smiled, then reached down and unzipped Prophet’s jeans the rest of the way. Then he pushed them off Prophet’s hips while Prophet willed himself not to come. “Step out of them,” Tom ordered, and Prophet did, kicking them to the side. Tom appraised him in a most appreciative way that Prophet swore made his entire body blush. “Turn around, Proph—hands on the cushions.” Prophet swallowed. Okay, nearly swallowed his own tongue too, but managed, “Even if Cillian was watching, you know he turned the camera off on his end the second you told me to strip.” Tom growled, low in his throat. “Yeah. And that was two seconds too long.” “You’re going to make this couch suffer, aren’t you?” Tommy smiled. “Definitely.” “But me first.” “Yeah, Proph, you’re always first.” Prophet

Rachel laughed about the same time she realized that the sound she just heard was the sound of water being turned off. Probably the shower. Probably Sam . . . Before she could utter an uh-oh, a door had opened below. “Sam!” she called to him, to let him know that she was there. “It’s Rachel.” “Why, so it is.” He stood at the foot of the steps, holding a white towel in front of him, grinning and taking his time to wrap it around his tanned waist. “I guess you just stopped by to say ‘hey.’” “No, actually, I brought my sketches over.” Rachel eyed him steadily, as if oblivious to the fact that the only thing that prevented her from getting a glimpse of Sam in all his glory was a bit of terrycloth. Feeling a flush spread from her neck to her hairline, she turned her back and made a show of casually unzipping the backpack and sliding the sketches onto the table. “Oh? What sketches are they?” He still stood in the doorway at the bottom of the steps, his arms folded across his considerable chest, as if in no hurry to do anything about the fact that he was wearing nothing more than a towel and a few errant drops of water. “My sketches of the Melrose.” “You want to show me your sketches?” The hint of amusement in his voice was unmistakable. “I’m flattered, Rachel, I truly am. And here all this time I thought you didn’t like me.” “I didn’t.” She looked up a bit too sharply. “I don’t. But we have a job to do. And it would make much more sense if there was one set of sketches. After all, we don’t want to end up with two versions of the wreck site. You’ll forget things, I’ll forget things . . .” Sam nodded and started up the steps. “I couldn’t agree more. I’m all for collaboration.” “Sam. Aren’t you forgetting something?” “What’s that?” He crossed the cabin in three slow strides and was within inches of her before she knew it. “Your clothes.” “Oh. The towel thing bothers you? I’m surprised, Rachel, you being a scientist of sorts.” He stretched an arm out toward her and she ducked. Sam laughed and reached behind her to open one of the overhead storage cabinets.

I let out a strangled sob before standing and walking to my purse. I take a deep breath as I unzip it and take out the tattered Rainbow Brite doll. I see recognition flash across his eyes as he stares back at me, completely dumbfounded with his mouth hanging open. “What the fuck?” he says, horrified,his voice barely a whisper.

To her, it’s just an innocent peck on the cheek. To me, it’s enough to make my dick try to manually unzip my slacks, in hopes that it’ll get a kiss too.

We’ve got the house all to ourselves. Maybe after I run that hot bubble bath for you, I’ll help you wash your back.” “As filthy as I am, I’m going to have to make do with the shower or I’ll leave two inches of mud in the bottom of the tub.” “We should conserve water and shower together,” he said as he followed her into the house. “Gee, I couldn’t do that. I’m a nice girl, remember?” He groaned and bent forward to untie his filthy boots. “There was nothing in your owner’s manual warning about your unnaturally good lip-reading ability.” “But then I wouldn’t know you think I’m a nice girl, but…” He wasn’t even sure what he was in trouble for. “I was trying to make him see the difference between him and his wife, and you and me. I didn’t mean anything by it.” “Relax,” she said with an impish gleam in her eyes. “I swear, it’s so easy to push your buttons.” “You have a really twisted sense of humor.” But he forgave her when she unzipped her jeans and wriggled out of them right there in the hall. She probably didn’t want to track trail dust all through the house, so he’d do the same. But he’d watch her first, since he wasn’t one to pass up a striptease by a beautiful woman.

He yanked off his shift, and she kicked off her sandals. Then she was on her knees on the bed, unfastening his belt and unzipping his zipper. He was already full to bursting. She glanced up at him. "It looks like you're eager to see me." "Hell, yeah.

an artist. My mother’s deluded sense of reality.” What pisses me off is that she talks like she got the short end of the stick. Like her life is full of hard knocks. She doesn’t have a fucking clue what tough luck is like. I think of the mint-green trailer home, of sitting out a storm in a makeshift shelter while we watched our home blow over. “I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?” I ask. A bird begins to warble. In the distance, another returns its call. Her voice is quiet. “I never asked you to feel sorry for me. You asked a question. I gave you an answer,” she confides. “You’re just full of self-pity, aren’t you?” “It isn’t like that.” “Always the victim.” I’m unsympathetic. This girl doesn’t know a damn thing about tough luck. “No,” she hisses at me. She thrusts the fishing rod into my hands. “Take it,” she says. She unzips

Fuck.” I unzip my jeans and pull out my dick. Spitting on my hand, I slowly start to stroke it, imagining I have one hand in her hair that’s shoving her mouth on my cock. She steps in what I know is her shower, and I see water spraying onto her body. Closing my eyes, I pick up the pace with my hand and see her on her knees inside the shower. Her pretty blue eyes look up at me while her parted lips just beg to be fucked. “Whatever my girl wants,” I pant, my hips bucking in the driver’s seat. I wrap my hands into her wet, dark hair and slide my cock inside her hot, wet mouth and begin to fuck it. “Blake.” I moan, my hand picking up the pace as I imagine her pretty blue eyes crying while I fuck that pretty face. My balls tighten, and my breath quickens seconds before I come in my hand. “Fuck,” I hiss, reaching up, I remove my shirt and use it to clean up my mess. Looking up at her window, I see the light to her bathroom turn off, then the one to her bedroom. Taking a deep breath, I lean my head against the headrest, trying to calm my racing heart. “Soon, Blake. Soon.” I won’t have to use my hand or imagination. I’ll have her mouth, pussy, and ass to use. I will fucking own her. JUNIOR YEAR I exit the room and start walking down the hallway to my bedroom. Shoving the door open, I slam it shut to find Matt sitting on the side of my bed. “Get the fuck out.” I walk past him toward my adjoining bathroom. He jumps to his feet. “What in the fuck did you tell Lincoln?” Spinning around, I shove his chest. “I didn’t say shit!” He stumbles back and then shakes his head, giving a rough laugh. “You should have my back.” “And you should have known not to fucking touch her,” I shout back. “If you would have let me fuck her …” “You mean rape her?” I correct him. “Fuck, Matt! What in the hell were you thinking?” Abstinence is part of our oath, until our senior year when we are granted a chosen. If I had told Lincoln that he was going to rape the woman, he’d for sure be stripped of his Lord title. Matt

He leans down and kisses me. All 286 pounds of me melts into the daisies. I don’t want him to stop. Brandon is a good kisser; tender, not too much tongue and he keeps his spit in his own mouth. As he’s kissing me, his hands are doing all kinds of things. One is up underneath my shirt trying to unhook my bra, while the other unbuttons and unzips my jeans. I am amazed at his multitalented hands.

I need you to unzip me.” Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuck.

You want me to step on your cock a bit first?” “Fuck yes.” Jay quickly unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock out, stroking it to full hardness. “Please, step on it.” “Then hold it very still for me.

Confused, I taste the steak and, as I lick my lips, I'm immediately transported with visions of Anti-Keanu and me embracing, so real it's like I'm there. He's unzipping the side of my dress and pulling it over my head. He kisses my neck, and his tongue gently licks my clavicle. My body is covered in spices---peppery and floral. I'm in a bed of flowers, now naked, his tongue exploring my body. A tribal drumbeat surrounds us, and my body rocks to the rhythm, to his touch. My neck grows hot, covered in a thin sheet of perspiration---

Disco shook his head. “I ain’t going back, neg.” “It will be dark in a few hours,” I said. “You don’t have a tent or a sleeping bag.” “He can use mine,” Olivia said. “Then you won’t have a tent or a sleeping bag.” “I’ll share yours,” she stated. Disco’s amusement sputtered into asthmatic coughs. “I’m serious,” she said. “Disco is too big to share a tent with you or Vasily. I’m small.” “Not small enough to fit in my sleeping bag with me.” “We’ll unzip it, use it as a cover.

My hair flips over my shoulders, and boobs hiding them some of my shy blush faces I remember it all, now A compounding ache nails at my fragile body into my young heart, and more cries drop onto my shirt and through me. ‘I’m still only yours.’ I scream in class as I run out the door looking for him, yet here am I, at this point, I don’t know. This is not my school and those girls are not my girls. I may be dreaming this yet I do not, I feel it all! Uniform though it’s a low-slung, protected whisper, it sounds loud in my ears, I hear the call-out within me, and it was him, yet through me, I never stopped loving him and only him. I want him to know that leaving him left me as broken as he still seems to be, even if I feel as if I have died every day, we have been apart. (Night in his room) Discovering everything with my fingers. But he’s not here I think yearningly. I run my hands over my boob, I do it all the same as always, pausing to feel the erect nipples under my timid, I softly circle my razed hands and then flat fingers over the hills that are the only mine, and touch the beautiful scratchiness within me like when he unzips me down there and blows on my belly and mon into it with every feeling. I pinch the strain that I have down there asking if it’s all good, ‘I don’t mind, he said.’ Like he was with my hair coming all around me and my body at that time it was down past my ass. Steadfastly, between my thumb and forefinger he plays with me and my hair and hands, the sweet biting and scratching as we do a thing in bed, a silent cry I might make for being happy, it makes me want more… and more what can I say I am a teen girl. Courageous now I slip my right hand into my sleep shorts, where I instantly, join with his body for sex. I never thought about anything, not even a condom, he can pull out. With my eyes shut I evoke his touch, running through me like come out of me, and whipping it with my undies that he keeps, my finger plummeting on his chest, when we ride for it, them into him sucking off slick and wet desiring as he having sex with me onto. With my hot breath, I can almost feel his teeth on my lady's lip, sucking my clit, my jaw, and his on my lid skin, the same with him. The other hand is working my left nipple and boob, massaging like his fingers down below, and squeezing them and there and shaking it some too, nerve-wracking my tender nipple, at this point from all the suckage.

Sebastian,” I whispered. “I need you to fuck me. I can’t . . . I can’t finish without you today.” “If you insist,” he said, and he unzipped his pants. He paused when he did. “I don’t have a condom.” “I have an IUD,” I told him. “And I’m clean. I get tested regularly.” “I do too,” he said. “Are you sure?” “Please,” I said. “Please, I need you in me.

Several weeks after my seventeenth birthday, I had sex for the first time. Robbie and I did it on an unzipped sleeping bag in his parents’ basement. Robbie was the nicest guy I knew. It hurt a little, but I didn’t care. I cried afterward, not because I was upset, but because I was relieved. He held me the entire night, and that part was better than the sex.

Guess what?” he said. He leaned forward and unzipped his backpack. “What?” He pulled out a bag and handed it to me. “I found these in the garage. I tried to clean them up for you because they were covered in old dirt, but I can’t do much without water.” I held the bag and stared at him suspiciously. It’s the most I’d ever heard him say at once. I finally looked down at the bag and opened it. It looked like a bunch of old gardening tools. “I saw you digging with that shovel the other day. I wasn’t sure if you had any actual gardening tools, and no one was using these, so…

Grabbing another knife, I toss that as well, but I miss, and Ryder glares over at me. “Open the fucking fanny pack!” he screams. Roxy laughs. “What’s in it?” Leaning back on my knees, I unzip it and show her the grenades inside. “Do you always keep your grenades there?” she inquires, the firing still going on around us. “Not always, sometimes I keep knives or tacos in it,” I murmur as I palm one.

I started to unzip the tent again as he chuckled, and I guess, dipped a finger into the band of my pants and tugged me back, surprising me yet again with this change in him. His voice was warm. “Come on.

Sorry I didn’t help you,” I say to him. “I was just...well...you started choking and I realized that the thought of you dying relieved me. For about ten seconds there, I started to look forward to living a life where I wasn’t trying to live up to the ridiculous standards you’ve set for me.” I lean forward and look at him with complete sincerity. “Chase. I’m worried that if I marry you, I might end up killing you in your sleep someday.” Chase is staring at me like he doesn’t recognize me. “I’m serious. Slicing your throat would bring me more satisfaction than marrying you, and I feel like that’s a big red flag. I think we should break up. You know...for the sake of your longevity.” I stand up and realize almost everyone in the restaurant is staring at us, including the couple at the table seated right next to us. I turn my back to the couple, but look over my shoulder at the woman. “Can you unzip me? I can’t breathe in this fucking dress.

I let him charm me more, I let him let me think I was special—I knew at my core that he was waiting to unzip his face. I’m blindsided by how abruptly it all happened, how fast he left his phone off the hook.

When he says that he can’t lose me, and I see the worry that fills his eyes…it gives me something I’ve never had—the feeling of being worth anyone’s concern.

The blind was freezing cold and dark inside, and I was all alone and kind of scared. I unzipped the sleeping bag and wrapped it around me. Within ten minutes I was dead asleep on the floor. Dawn broke, and two and a half hours later, I finally opened my eyes. Oh, my goodness. I’ve been asleep a while. I pushed the sleeping bag off and stood up to peek out the window. Right in front of the deer stand were two deer--a doe and a small four-point buck (legal back then). My heart started beating hard in my chest. I grabbed my gun and eased the old rifle up onto the ledge. Then I squeezed the trigger and boom! The buck fell right over while the doe took off. I was so fired up. I climbed down the ladder, dragging the sleeping bag with me, and sat down by the dead buck. With no cell phone, I just sat, wrapped up in the sleeping bag, and waited for my dad. And, yes, I fell asleep again, right next to the warm body. “Son, get up.” A voice penetrated my sleepy head. I jumped up and wrestled my way out of my warm cocoon. Dad was there, and he was excited too. He’s not a big hugger, but he patted me on the back. “You got one.” I smiled up at him. “I can’t believe you just laid down beside him, though.” “Sir, I got tired and lay down and went to sleep.” “Gotcha. Well, he’s a good one,” Dad said.

He hands me a tissue, and I realize he has a packet in his messenger bag for his trip. “Do you have allergies?” “No, I have a daughter who’s sad, so I stocked up.