Zip Mouth Quotes

As Alaska zipped through something obvious about linear equations, stoner/baller Hank Walsten said, "Wait, wait. I don't get it." "That's because you have eight functioning brain cells." "Studies show that Marijuana is better for your health than those cigarettes," Hank said. Alaska swallowed a mouthful of fries, took a drag on her cigarette, and blew a smoke at Hank. "I may die young," she said. "But at least I'll die smart. Now, back to tangents.

Valkyrie Cain got out of the passenger side. She zipped up her black jacket against the cold, and joined Skulduggery as he walked up to the front door. She glanced at him, and saw that he was smiling. "Stop doing that,” she sighed. “Stop doing what?” Skulduggery responded in that gloriously velvet voice of his. “Stop smiling. The person we want to talk to lives in the only dark house on a bright street. That’s not a good sign.” “I didn’t realise I was smiling,” he said. They stopped at the door, and Skulduggery made a concerted effort to shift his features. His mouth twitched downwards. “Am I smiling now?” “No.” “Excellent,” he said, and the smile immediately sprang back up.

Share them with only people who can help you with information and support. When you meet negative people, zip your mouth.

Shut up, Arthur,' said my mother, and he zipped his mouth shut like an infuriating child. Ginger started to laugh. Not at anything in particular, but just because Ginger was stoned.

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.

Like any good teacher, she tolerated little dissension. She smoked and talked and ate for an hour without stopping, and I scribbled in my notebook as the muddy waters of tangents and cosines began to clarify. But not everyone was so fortunate. As Alaska zipped through something obvious about linear equations, stoner/baller Hank Walsten said, "Wait, wait. I don't get it." "That's because you have eight functioning brain cells." "Studies show that marijuana is better for your health than those cigarettes," Hank said. Alaska swallowed a mouthful of french fries, took a drag on her cigarette, and blew smoke across the table at Hank. "I may die young," she said. "But at least I'll die smart. Now, back to tangents.

In your anger, zip your lips!

He lifted a single eyebrow as he adjusted his pants, zipping his fly. The sound made my back stiffen and I realized how close we’d just been to copulating in the back of a car. “I think you look good just like that.” I stared at him for two seconds before I smacked him on his infuriatingly well-muscled shoulder. “My shirt is ripped open and…” I frantically twisted in my seat and may have shrieked, “Where are my underwear?!” There was no amusement in his voice when he responded, “Someplace safe.” My eyes widened further and, I knew, my mouth hung open dumbly. I was about to lose my mind. “Give them back-” “You don’t need them-” “-to me right now-” “-and you should try new things-” “I am not leaving this limo while commando!” The passenger door on Quinn’s side opened and I yanked the skirt I was wearing back to my midcalf. I didn't miss his dark smile when it was clear that I was not likely to push the underwear issue further until we were in private. And, by then, it likely wouldn't matter.

Wining and dining instead of crying and wailing at a funeral in sympathy with the bereaved is a mockery of condolence. If the dead are capable of anything, they will zip up the mouth of everyone in attendance except those crying and condoling.

Paths of the mirror" I And above all else, to look with innocence. As if nothing was happening, which is true. II But you, I want to look at you until your face escapes from my fear like a bird from the sharp edge of the night. III Like a girl made of pink chalk on a very old wall that is suddenly washed away by the rain. IV Like when a flower blooms and reveals the heart that isn’t there. V Every gesture of my body and my voice to make myself into the offering, the bouquet that is abandoned by the wind on the porch. VI Cover the memory of your face with the mask of who you will be and scare the girl you once were. VII The night of us both scattered with the fog. It’s the season of cold foods. VIII And the thirst, my memory is of the thirst, me underneath, at the bottom, in the hole, I drank, I remember. IX To fall like a wounded animal in a place that was meant to be for revelations. X As if it meant nothing. No thing. Mouth zipped. Eyelids sewn. I forgot. Inside, the wind. Everything closed and the wind inside. XI Under the black sun of the silence the words burned slowly. XII But the silence is true. That’s why I write. I’m alone and I write. No, I’m not alone. There’s somebody here shivering. XIII Even if I say sun and moon and star I’m talking about things that happen to me. And what did I wish for? I wished for a perfect silence. That’s why I speak. XIV The night is shaped like a wolf’s scream. XV Delight of losing one-self in the presaged image. I rose from my corpse, I went looking for who I am. Migrant of myself, I’ve gone towards the one who sleeps in a country of wind. XVI My endless falling into my endless falling where nobody waited for me –because when I saw who was waiting for me I saw no one but myself. XVII Something was falling in the silence. My last word was “I” but I was talking about the luminiscent dawn. XVIII Yellow flowers constellate a circle of blue earth. The water trembles full of wind. XIX The blinding of day, yellow birds in the morning. A hand untangles the darkness, a hand drags the hair of a drowned woman that never stops going through the mirror. To return to the memory of the body, I have to return to my mourning bones, I have to understand what my voice is saying.

Are you a Dominant, Sir?” “Yes.” A smile played at his lips. Hearing her call him that would never get old. “And I’m a submissive?” “Absolutely,” Law whispered in her ear. “You’re the sweetest little sub I’ve ever seen.” A grin curled her mouth up. “So I call you my Doms?” “Yes, pet.” Her smile widened until she looked as if she was trying to keep a straight face. “You’re Dominic, the Dom.” He sighed. “Yes, pet. I think I was aptly named.” “You’re Dom Dominic.” “While true, that’s not exactly how you should phrase it.” He frowned. “You’re Dom Dom.” The smile zipped across her face. “I get to call you Dom Dom.

When she’d seen Likotsi’s photo—a woman in a dapper suit with a bearing that made her think of royalty and a mouth that made her think of worship—a flash of desire had zipped through her body, surprising her.

Derek frowned. “I guess I still think of her as a kid.” “I know. And it’s very sweet how protective you are of my sister.” She tugged on a fistful of hair. “In fact, it’s kind of a turn-on.” Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “Another one? Jesus, how many do you have?” “I don’t know. You keep discovering them.” He turned onto his stomach and crawled up Ginger’s body, his eyes focused on her mouth. “Are you sure we...'' Another round of banging on the door. “Mommy and Daddy!” Willa called from the hallway. “Zip up your pants and open the door.” Ginger kissed him one last time and ran from the bedroom laughing. Derek smiled after her.

On the flat expanse of pancake ice, War stood by the Pale Rider’s side. Though their forms did not touch, their shadows intertwined, black on black, in a smoky caress. “Knew you’d come,” Death said cheerfully. She smiled, and that slow motion of her lips hinted at many things. “The White Rider divided, and the world on the brink of destruction. How could I stay away?” “I could set my watch by you.” “You don’t have a watch.” Her smile broadened into a grin. “An hourglass, maybe . . .” “Please, not another joke about a scythe . . .” She mimed zipping her mouth shut. A pause, as they listened to the sounds of the boy healing and the man summoning doom. “I like him,” War said. Even though she hadn’t specified whether she meant the boy or the man, Death smiled and nodded. “Me too.” “You like everyone.” “Well, yes.” The two shared a quiet laugh, their voices mingling in perfect harmony. A longer pause, and then War asked, “What of Famine?” “What of her? She’s not mine. Not yet, anyway. She will be soon enough.” The Red Rider slid him a look. “That’s cold, even for you.” “Eh, just practical.” A shrug. “Everyone comes to me eventually. It’s the journey that makes it interesting.” “Such a people person!” He flashed her a grin. “My best quality.” “Oh,” said War, sliding her gloved hand into his pale one, “I can think of others that are better.

Later, I was in a bathroom stall. Eric was on his knees. My dick was in his mouth, my head back against warm ceramic tile that shook with the beat of the music. My fingers were in his hair and everything was hot and wet. I grunted a warning and he backed away, jacking me until I came on the dirty floor. He stood up and kissed me while he jerked himself off. He sighed into my mouth. He tasted like stale beer and mint. He came on his hand. I felt raw. “Thanks,” he said, zipping up his pants. “That was great.” “Sure,” I said, because I was unsure of what else to say. “You too.” And then he left. I

Your facial lips and the butterfly lips of your vagina are connected by a fine invisible circuit. When you take a hard cock into your mouth, the feeling of pleasure zips in pulsing waves down through your body and rings the bell of your clitoris. The vulva swells with blood and the sensation is carnal, exquisite, the essence of femininity.

Riley pulled on his jeans and she almost moaned. Focus, Mercy. "I’ll check,” he said, zipping up those damn jeans as she slid on her own. “But we might get lucky with an insomniac.” When he turned, she saw the marks on his back were almost healed. Fast, even for a changeling. Which meant Riley was more powerful than she’d guessed, more than he let on. There was nothing flashy about him. Just —“What the—” His hands were on her waist and his mouth on hers before she could do more than gasp. Lightning. Bright. Sizzling. Perfect. This time she did moan, wrapping her arms around him and luxuriating in his strength, in the sheer speed with which he’d come at her. With both of them only wearing jeans, her breasts were pressed against the exquisite roughness of the hairs on his chest. She rubbed against him, giving in to the leopard’s innate sensuality. He tore away his lips but they remained less than a millimeter apart. “This is your fault.” “Hell, no.” She sucked on his neck, biting him a little too hard for emphasis. “You jumped my bones.” Tugging back her head with a hand fisted in her hair, he glared down at her. “You were all but licking me the way you were looking.” “Looking’s not the same as touching.” Her mouth watered at the idea of licking him. They’d been in too much of a rush last night. Even the second and third time. As if they’d both been hungry so long, they’d needed to gorge. But—“We don’t have time for this.” He held her for another couple of seconds, pure male muscle and heated skin. “We need to make time.

Oh, and because I don’t have a dating history as big as your mouth, it doesn’t quite measure up?” he asks. “I hate to break this to you, but that isn’t the only thing of yours that doesn’t measure up.” She waggles her pinkie at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He grins. “I think I’m all set,” I interrupt, zipping up my bag. “Don’t forget this.” Still cuddling my sweater, Wes purrs a couple of times before tossing it my way. “Yeah, I can’t imagine why your dad thinks of you as feminine,” Kimmie mocks.

Touch me.' Not quite a command, for his pleading voice is small. She tugs on the zip. Crime and sex, sex and guilt. More dualities. The sinuous movement of her fingers is conveying pleasure. But not enough. He's pressing on her shoulders, she's going down on her knees, lowering herself, taking 'him', as I've heard them say, into her mouth. I can't imagine wanting such a thing for myself. But it's a lifted burden to have Claude satisfied many kindly inches away. It bothers me that what she swallows will find its way to me as nutrient, and make me just a little like him. Why else did cannibals avoid eating morons?

I groan and tear down her pants and rip off her panties in one go. She squeals, but I cover her mouth with mine and nudge her legs aside. She hungrily accepts me as I step closer, her fingers desperately grasping at my pants, trying to shove them down. I help her a little, tagging off the button and zipping myself down. She quickly manages to tug down my pants and boxer shorts at the same time until my cock pops free, bouncing up and down with need. She’s still enamored by the size, and I can honestly say I’ll never get used to how good it makes me feel. I grab a condom from my back pocket, rip it open, and quickly put it on.

She lay on her back with arms extended over her head and legs slightly spread. Cuchillo zip-tied her slender wrists and ankles to each corner of the long metal exam table and stuffed a washrag in her mouth to prevent her from crying out… Only her rapidly-moving eyes betrayed her distress, they darted from her captors to the wiry man tied to the wall…The interrogator stood close to the table, carelessly wielding a lovingly sharpened straight razor and licking his lips, while he ogled the helpless girl. Tuco felt his stomach turn when Cuchillo ran his dirty hand up the inside of her smooth leg and under the hem of her short dress.

When I deliver Spirit’s messages, I have no filter—zero, zip, none. I picture my cranium like spaghetti in a colander. My brain’s the pasta, the water is the information pouring over and through it, and then the messages come right out of the holes that are my voice, expression, and mannerisms. I should learn to watch my mouth, though. A lot of times there’s no proper way to say the stuff Spirit tells me, so I just blurt it out. I was doing a restaurant venue of eighty people, and there was a girl there who lost her brother. I turned to her and said, “Your brother wants you to get rid of your boyfriend. He’s no good.” But get this—the boyfriend was sitting right next to her! So I announced that if I had four slashed tires at the end of the group, we’d all know who did it. The girl broke up with the guy four months later, but that’s beside the point. Or is it?

Police protection?" "If necessary." "I'm touched.Why don't I give you a lift, handsome?" "I'll follow you over," he repeated. "Suit yourself," she began, and grazed a hand over his cheek.Her eyes widened slightly as his fingers clamped on her wrist. "Don't like to be petted?" She purred the words,surprised at how her heart had jumped and started to race. "Most animals do." His face was very close to hers, their bodies were just touching,with the heat from the room and something even more sweltering between them.Something old, and almost familiar. He drew her hand down slowly, kept his fingers on her wrist. "Be careful what buttons you push." Excitement,she realized with surprise. It was pure, primal excitement that zipped through her. "Wasted advice," she said silkily, daring him. "I enjoy pushing new ones.And apparently you have a few interesting buttons just begging for attention." She skimmed her gaze deliberately down to his mouth. "Just begging.

I am absolutely positive they’re wrong.” “Why?” “Because you belong to me, that’s why.” She swept out her free hand. “We’re perfect for each other. I love you. Why do you need arcanematch.com? What’s that woman they claim they found for you got that I don’t have?” The dangerous energy that had swirled around him shifted with disconcerting abruptness into sensual hunger. “Interesting question,” he said. “The answer is nothing. Zero. Zip. Nada. She’s got absolutely nothing that I don’t have. Don’t bother to set up a date with her because there will be three of us there and I don’t think she’s going to feel real comfortable chatting with me, do you?” “Don’t know,” he said. “It would certainly make for an unusual first date.” “Skip the snappy repartee. I am dead serious, Jake Salter Jones.” His mouth tweaked up at the corners. Heat burned in his eyes. “About me?” “About you. And me. We’re a match. Can’t you see that?” “Yes.” “What’s more, there’s no frickin’ way those arcanematch.com people could have found anyone who will love you more than I do.

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. My arms are at my sides so the jets won’t make my skirt fly up. Peter’s holding my face in his hands, kissing me. “Are you okay?” he whispers. His voice is different: it’s ragged and urgent and vulnerable somehow. He doesn’t sound like the Peter I know; he is not smooth or bored or amused. The way he’s looking at me right now, I know he would do anything I asked, and that’s a strange and powerful feeling. I wind my arms around his neck. I like the smell of chlorine on his skin. He smells like pool, and summer, and vacations. It’s not like in the movies. It’s better, because it’s real. “Touch my hair again,” I tell him, and the corners of his mouth turn up. I lean into him and kiss him. He starts to run his fingers through my hair, and it feels so nice I can’t think straight. It’s better than getting my hair washed at the salon. I move my hands down his back and along his spine, and he shivers and pulls me closer. A boy’s back feels so different than a girl’s back--more muscular, more solid somehow. In between kisses he says, “It’s past curfew. We should go back inside.” “I don’t want to,” I say. All I want is to stay and be here, with Peter, in this moment. “Me either, but I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Peter says. He looks worried, which is so sweet. Softly, I touch his cheek with the back of my hand. It’s smooth. I could look at his fce for hours, it’s so beautiful. Then I stand up, and immediately I’m shivering. I start wringing the water out of my nightgown, and Peter jumps out of the hot tub and gets his towel, which he wraps around my shoulders. The he gives me his hand and I step out, teeth chattering. He starts drying me off with the towel, my arms and legs. I sit down to put on my socks and boots. He puts my coat on me last. He zips me right in. Then we run back inside the lodge. Before he goes to the boys’ side and I go to the girls’ side, I kiss him one more time and I feel like I’m flying.

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.

Rider made this sound in the back of his throat. It was deep and masculine, part groan and growl, and it made me shiver. He folded one hand along my cheek and lowered his head to mine, but he didn’t kiss me. No. His warm breath glided over my forehead as his hand slid across my cheek, his fingers spreading into my hair at the base. His other hand landed low on my back, and the weight did insane things to my insides. He drew it up my back, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. My eyes fluttered shut as his lips brushed over the curve of my cheek. It was the craziest torture. My entire body tensed, prepared for the moment when his lips met mine. And it was the sweetest pressure, a feather-light brush of his lips over mine. Once. Then twice. I felt the touch everywhere, a jolt to the system that zipped through my veins, and then the pressure increased. Rider kissed me then. It was a real one, soft and beautiful, and when the kiss deepened, it wasn’t a shy one. He knew what he was doing, and even though I didn’t, an innate knowledge told me it didn’t matter. His lips mapped out mine, and my insides were in tight coils. Kissing was awesome. Amazing. Astonishing. I could probably think of a couple of more words to describe it. Kissing blew me away, and when he lifted his mouth, both of us were breathing hard. He rested his forehead against mine. Neither of us spoke for several moments. I still wasn’t thinking. I had no idea how my hands had gotten to Rider’s chest, but his heart pounded under my palm as fast as mine did. My mind was blissfully blank as I breathed in his scent, a mix of his citrusy cologne and the faint trace of paint. “Did you like that?” he asked, dragging his fingers out of my hair and over the line of my jaw. Screaming yes, oh, God, yes, would’ve probably been a little too excessive, so I managed a somewhat subdued, “Yes.” As Rider grinned, his lips brushed mine. “Good. Because I really liked it.

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

Something I can help you find?” he asks. Because to be fair, I’m digging through his drawer. “Nope,” I tell him. “Found it.” “Everly, what in the hell are you doing?” He’s finished buttoning his shirt and is staring at me, hands on hips, the corners of his eyes creased as he frowns. “I’m putting on your underwear,” I tell him, stepping into a pair of his briefs. I was digging around for a black pair. Why the hell do they even sell them in white? Just, no. “Why?” He still looks bewildered, but he’s stopped staring at me to tuck in his shirt. “You got me all worked up and horny in there.” I point a thumb in the direction of the bathroom. “I gave you an orgasm.” He seems confused by my accusation. I snort. “Right. Which you know only makes me want your dick more.” I glance over at the clothing I brought, contemplating what will work with this underwear. I’ve been chatting with his assistant Sandra all week about what people wear to this party. Sawyer was zero help on that front. “Wear whatever you want,” he’d said. As if I can pick an outfit with that kind of direction. “I hope you’re wearing your new cufflinks with that shirt,” I tell him, eyeing his outfit of black slacks and grey dress shirt. He holds up the cat cufflinks I gave him at Christmas and fastens his left sleeve. “I still don’t understand what my underwear has to do with anything.” “Oh!” I pull a solid black sleeveless dress with a full skirt and a wide waistband off the hanger and step into it. “Because you’re obviously planning on having your way with me at this party. Probably gonna shove me into a coat closet and fuck me with your hand over my mouth so no one hears us. And if anyone’s panties are getting left behind at this party, it’s gonna be yours.” He nods slowly and fastens his right sleeve. “Do women your age still use the phrase ‘having your way with me?’” “I just did. Anyway, yours are more absorbent. Can you zip me?” I turn my back to him and swipe my hair over one shoulder, waiting. I feel his fingers on the zipper, the fabric gathering slowly up my back. He finishes and rests his thumbs on the back of my neck, rubbing small circles into my skin as he kisses the nape of my neck. I shudder, feeling his touch all the way to the black briefs. “That’s a pretty elaborate plan I came up with,” he murmurs. I turn and nod, sadly. “I know. You’re kind of a menace.” “It’s good of you to put up with me.” I shrug. “Someone’s got to.” “I’m not going to be able to rip those underwear off of you.” “Haha!” I point at him with one hand and slip a heel on with my other. “I knew it!

You have a gift. Not just your talent, or smarts, or luck, or— He paused and closed his mouth, as if trying to slow his breathing. He poked Trip’s chest. Looks. You, Mr. Spector, have the cultural DNA and magical zip code to weave beautiful bullshit, and you’re a fool to waste it.

looked up at me. Very content with herself, she opened her mouth, showed me the great job she did on me--- by holding all of my cum in her mouth. Once she got a real nasty look at me, only then she finally felt satisfied enough to swallow it, wetting her lips and savoring the after taste.   I simply looked at her with my head tilted sideways. You....fucking...slut. If only I could have said that out loud, but as a hell of a compliment.   "Knock knock knock..." There goes the door again.   "Okay, that's it! Get the fuck up, now!" My fatherly instinct came over me for a moment as I dragged her off her feet and zipped my pants-- a bit of a bulge still relatively visible under my pants. I pulled my shirt down as a last ditch effort.   I approached the front door and opened it with curiosity.   "Sorry,

Simon appeared at the doorway behind Tori and Derek. He waved to me and mouthed "run while you can." Not a bad idea. I snuck around them and zipped out the door to where Simon waited. Then I glanced back at Tori. "Don't worry about her," he said. "Probably the most fun she's had in days." He led me into the next room. "Sadly, I can't say the same for Derek, and as soon as he stops arguing long enough to notice you're gone—" "Hey!" Derek called. "Where are you two going?" Simon took my elbow and steered me at a jog through the house as Derek's footsteps pounded behind us.

Sure,’ Mary said, putting on a smile. ‘I have to get back. But please, feel free to look around as much as you’d like.’ Roper gave her a look that said, we don’t need your permission for that, but Jamie thanked her anyway and let her walk off.  He sucked on his teeth the way he did when he wanted a cigarette, and watched Mary go out of earshot. ‘Find anything?’ he asked, turning to Jamie. She let out a long breath. ‘Don’t know yet. Looks like Grace wasn’t as faithful to Ollie as she made out.’ ‘Lover’s tiff?’ ‘Could be.’ Jamie thought about it. ‘Spurned ex, maybe. Maybe it’s the drugs. Maybe something else entirely.’ She rubbed her eyes. It’d been a long morning and she needed to eat. ‘Come on. Let’s head back to HQ, get this written up. We’ll come back when Grace shows her face.’ Roper nodded without a word and headed for the door, already reaching for his cigarettes. Chapter 6 Jamie zipped up her jacket and dug her hands into her pockets, following Roper out the door. He’d sped on ahead so that he could light up before Jamie told him not to. She didn’t like that fresh stink in her car, and she definitely wouldn’t let him smoke in there anyway. And he definitely wasn’t above running out and doing it before she had time to protest. Her effort to make him quit by forcing him to stand in the cold obviously wasn’t working. He was a seasoned smoker and spent most nights standing outside pubs, come rain or shine, sucking down smoke.  That and the fact that he was far too stubborn to give in to such a weak ploy. It was like those goats that stand on the side of damns to lick the salt off. One missed step and it was guaranteed death. But they were single minded. And so was Roper. If she cared more she might have tried harder, but she knew from experience that when guys like Roper made a decision, they’d stick to it forever. As far as he was concerned, the drinking and the smoking was as much a part of him as his belly button was. It couldn’t be changed, and trying would only invite self-loathing. Guys like him had to hit rock bottom. Only then could they start coming back up. But sometimes they just stayed there, scraping the ground until they gouged a hole deep enough to die in.  She should call her mum. It had been a while. Outside, Roper was already two drags in by the time she reached the steps. A couple of the people outside had moved on and the guy in the sleeping bag had woken up and headed inside, though the urine stain that had seeped into the stone under him still remained. Jamie tried not to breathe through her nose as she hopped down the steps, her shin still throbbing from the morning’s bout with Cake.  She opened her mouth to tell Roper to hurry up when she almost got knocked over. A guy in his forties with an expensive suit and a long lambswool coat was rushing by, his head turned towards the steps. ‘Filthy fucking cretins,’ he almost yelled at the three homeless people still perched on the steps, before colliding with Jamie. He stumbled sideways, down into the roadway, shoving Jamie backwards.  ‘Get off!’ he shouted, flapping his arms. Jamie steadied herself and stared at him. Roper even stopped smoking his cigarette and came forward. ‘Hey!’ he called. ‘You’re not having any!’ the man yelled again, striding forward away from the shelter. ‘You should all be drowned. Wash this goddamn city clean!

My wife and I can't recall how many years we've been married, but we'll never forget our first backpacking trip together. We'd just begun dating and I was her trail-hardened outdoorsman, a knight in shining Cordura, the guy who could handle any wilderness emergency. She was my...well, let's just say I was bent on making a good impression. This was her first backpacking experience and I wanted to have many more with her as my hiking partner. I'd checked and double-checked everything--trail conditions, equipment, weather forecast. I even bought a new stove for the occasion. We set off under overcast skies with packs loaded and spirits high. There was precipitation in the forecast, but it was November and too early for snow, I assured her. (Did I mention that we were just a few miles south of Mount Washington, home to the worst, most unpredictable weather in the Northeast?) As we climbed the few thousand feet up a granite ridge, the trail steadily steepened and we strained a bit under our loads. On top, a gentle breeze pushed a fluffy, light snowfall. The flakes were big and chunky, the kind you chase with your mouth open. Certainly no threat, I told her matter-of-factly. After a few miles, the winds picked up and the snowflakes thickened into a swirling soup. The trail all but dissolved into a wall of white, so I pulled out my compass to locate the three-sided shelter that was to be our base for the night. Eventually we found it, tucked alongside a gurgling freshet. The winds were roaring no, so I pitched our tent inside the shelter for added protection. It was a tight fit, with the tent door only two feet from the log end-wall, but at least we were out of the snowy gale. To ward off the cold and warm my fair belle, I pulled my glittering stove from its pouch, primed it, and confidently christened the burner with a match. She was awestruck by my backwoods wizardry. Color me smug and far too confident. That's when I noticed it: what appeared to be water streaming down the side of the stove. My new cooker's white-gas fuel was bathing the stove base. It was also drenching the tent floor between us and the doorway--the doorway that was zipped tightly shut. A headline flashed through my mind: "Brainless Hikers Toasted in White Mountains." The stove burst into flames that ran up the tent wall. I grabbed a wet sock, clutched the stove base with one hand, and unzipped the tent door with the other. I heaved the hissing fireball through the opening, assuming that was the end of the episode, only to hear a thud as it hit the shelter wall before bouncing back inside to melt some more nylon. My now fairly unimpressed belle grabbed a pack towel and doused the inferno. She breathed a huge sigh of relief, while I swallowed a pound of three of pride. We went on to have a thoroughly disastrous outing. The weather pounded us into submission. A full day of storm later with no letup in sight, we decided to hike out. Fortunately, that slippery, slithery descent down a snowed-up, iced-over trail was merely the end of our first backpacking trip together and not our relationship. --John Viehman

Yes.” Then his lips were against mine, softly, sweetly, a featherlight touch. The kind of kiss you imagine when you’re a tween dreaming about your first kiss. He’d obviously intended for it to be sweet and gentle. Which meant that it should have made me feel dreamy and nostalgic and swoony. It did none of those things. From the moment his lips touched mine, it was like someone had plugged my mouth into an electrical socket. A surge zipped through me, giving me goose bumps and heating my blood. It lasted for only a few seconds but it almost zapped my ability to hold myself upright. He pulled back slightly, still within kissing range. I felt his warm breath against my face and it took all my restraint not to press my mouth against his and keep this going. Which he may not have wanted. I swallowed, trying to figure out what to do next. I settled on finding out what he’d thought of our experiment. “How,” I started to speak, surprised at the breathy quality to my voice. “How was that?” His lips pulled up into a smile. “I think I need more data before I can draw any conclusions.” Again, perfectly sound logic. I nodded, feeling as if I couldn’t quite catch my breath. I noticed that he was looking at my lips. As if he’d only had a fleeting impression and now needed to do a more thorough investigation. The look in his intense blue eyes made the air around me feel charged with energy, like lightning could strike us both then and there. That feeling didn’t lessen when he pressed his lips against mine again, this time kissing me. Not just a peck, but moving his mouth against mine with a gentle firmness that left me weak and shivering. He made the nerve endings in my lips explode from sheer pleasure. Now both of his hands were on the side of my face, guiding my head this way and that as he kissed me over and over again. Some

Blobb inquired around about the Trystero organization, running into zipped mouths nearly every way he turned.

Well, well,” she murmured. “That knocked his socks off. It will be a few hours yet before she has him smiling. Although, to hear Julia tell it, a little torture might be in that boy’s best interest.” “Hours of torture?” Philbert asked, shaking his now silver head. Lucy could remember when it had been a deep chocolate, thick and wavy. Of course, it was still thick, still waved. She raised her hand to her own light hair. Silver now too, she knew. But hopefully, still stylish. “Yes.” Lucy nodded. “Why, do you think that too much?” “It’s not for me to say, my lady.” The corner of his mouth went up. “Some men will break under hours of torture, wanting for a woman. Some men endure decades.” Something zipped through Lucy’s heart. Something uncomfortable, something wonderful. And when her eyes met his… something that made her flush all over again.

I’m going.” He glares at me. “Don’t make me call Reagan.” His face falls. “You wouldn’t do that to me.” “I would. I’ll tell her to come and get your sorry ass.” Reagan is one of the only people in the world he can’t be stubborn with. She always wins. He loves her more than his own life, and everyone knows it. He has picked up my plate and is holding it below his chin, shoveling the last of my pancakes into his mouth. “Good pancakes,” he says. “I wouldn’t know,” I reply drolly. Peck snorts. Damn, that’s a pretty sound. Pete points to her plate. “Are you going to eat those?” he asks her. She covers her plate with her hand to block his questing fork, but she’s smiling. “So

We should probably get some things out of the way,” I say, wincing as the words come out of my mouth. “Like dinner?” he says. He fills my plate with food. “Yeah, let’s get dinner out of the way.” He grins. He jabs his fork toward my plate. “Eat.” “But I feel like there’s this thing between us.” He nods and takes a bite of his chicken. He chews with one eye closed, and watches me with the other. After he swallows, he says, “There’s definitely something between us.” He takes another bite of his dinner. “But…” I sniff the dinner in front of me. My mouth is watering. But I’m afraid to take a bite. “But what?” “But while I’m here, I think it’s best if you go on with life as normal.” He looks around the room. “This is my normal life.” He points to his shin. “I’m injured, remember? No training for me. No football.” He makes a motion that encompasses his apartment. “This is my life.” He reaches over and squeezes my good hand. “I’m really glad you’re here. I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks.” “Why?” I want to bite it back right away, but can’t. He chokes on his food. “Why what?” he asks when he can finally get a breath. “Why have you been trying to talk to me?” “I missed you.” “You don’t even know me.” “Whose fault is that?” I sigh. “Sam…” He mocks me. “Peck…

Sam finishes icing the last cupcake and brings it over to me. “For you,” he says and smiles at me. “I can’t eat that. Do you know how many calories that is?” I push his hand back. He waves it in front of my face and it smells divine. I breathe it in and close my eyes. He breaks it in half and shoves half into his mouth. “Sure you don’t want to try it?” He taunts me with it. I open my mouth and lean toward it, although I don’t intend to actually eat it. But suddenly, my mouth is full of cupcake. And oh my God, it’s the best cupcake I have ever had. I moan around it. Sam’s eyes smolder. “Make that noise again,” he says quietly, leaning forward until his lips are a hair’s-breadth away from mine. I can smell the icing on his breath. “You got more cupcakes?” I whisper. “Hell yeah,” he says, and he goes to get another cupcake. He breaks it in half and feeds it to me. He starts to shove the other half into his mouth, but I grab his wrist to stop him and I eat the other half too. He watches me closely, and I can see the pulse in his neck speed up. “Sorry,” I murmur around the cupcake in my mouth. But I’m giggling. “Some

I would like to have somebody to take care of.” I cough into my fist. “Someday. Like Paul and Friday. And Logan and Emily. And Matt and Sky. And Pete and Reagan. I want to be a couple.” “You want kids?” She searches my face. “Yeah.” But I don’t want them tomorrow or anything. “I’m still undecided about kids,” she says quietly. I nudge her shoulder. “You like kids. I’ve seen you with PJ and Kit.” “Just because I like them doesn’t mean I could raise one.” She points to her mouth. Then to her tapping toe. “It might be difficult.” “Raising kids is always difficult,” I say with a grin. “Look at Logan and Emily. Emily was terrified one of their kids would inherit her dyslexia.” I tilt my head and study Peck. “Is stuttering hereditary?” She shrugs. “I have no idea. If so, I’m never having kids. Ever.” Note to self: research that tomorrow and never tell her the answer.

Sam whispers something to Emilio and then Emilio steps back and hitches his hip against the wall. He grins. Something is up. I just don’t know what. “So,” Sam says really loudly. Friday is holding her phone up and she has the video on. What’s going on? I glare at Sam, because apparently I’m the only one who’s not in on the joke. “What?” I ask him. Then he pulls a box from his pocket and drops down on one knee in front of me. I cover my mouth with my hand. He pops the top of the box and I see a great big diamond ring shining back at me. “So, you wanna?” he says. “Do I wanna…?” I repeat. My heart is in my throat. “Marry me, cupcake.” He stares up at me, blinking those beautiful blue eyes. “Now?” We’re about to leave. I jerk my thumb toward the airport. I can’t make any more words. He laughs and shakes his head. “Not right this second, but soon. We can make little cupcakes together. You can be my plus-one. Or it can just be me and you. But you and me is not negotiable. I kind of need you, cupcake. Have ever since I met you.” I look down at him. He adjusts his stance. “How much longer are you going to make me kneel here on my bad knee?” He grins at me. “Oh, God!” I cry. I help him up and then I hold out my hand. “P-put it on me. I w-wanna.” My hand is shaking in the air, and he takes it in his and slides the ring onto my finger. That’s when I realize it’s Emilio’s mother’s ring. I look at him and he shrugs and smiles. Then Sam picks me up and spins me around. I’m dizzy when he finally sets me down and I cling to him. Cameras snap all around us, and I bury my face in Sam’s chest. He laughs and holds me close. “You sure?” he asks me quietly, so only I can hear. “More sure than I have ever been of anything.” And I mean it. I really do. Emilio gives me one last hug. “Did you know about this?” I ask him. He shrugs. “He came to see me yesterday to ask me for permission.” “And?” “And he just asked you, didn’t he?” He chuckles. “He’s a good one.” Emilio brushes a lock of hair back from my forehead. “I wouldn’t let just anyone marry one of my daughters. Particularly not the first one I ever had.” My

Elvis starts to sing “Viva Las Vegas” as Sam and I walk side by side down the aisle. I cover my mouth and laugh. “I want you to repeat after me, Sam,” Elvis says. He lifts one corner of his lip in that classic snarl. “I, Sam, promise you, Peck, never to step on your blue suede shoes. I promise never to leave you at Heartbreak Hotel. I promise to be your hunka-hunka burning love, forever and ever, amen.” “Wait,” Sam says. “That’s Randy Travis. Not Elvis.” “Close enough,” Elvis says. Sam rolls his hips like Elvis did when he repeats the words. I can’t stop laughing. I laugh so hard that I have to wipe tears from my eyes. But I don’t feel bad, because Emily is doing the same thing. And the rest of the brothers and their wives are laughing it up too. “Now you, Peck,” Elvis says. He swivels his hips and someone does a rim shot on a set of drums. “I, Peck, solemnly swear to love you tender for the rest of my life, and never leave you with a suspicious mind.” I repeat the words. I barely stutter, and it warms my heart when I realize that. Suddenly, Elvis gets serious. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” Sam’s eyes meet mine, and he takes my hands. I pass my flowers to one of my sisters and look up at him. We recite the official vows, and I have to blink hard to get through them, particularly when I look at the TV screen and see Marta crying into her handkerchief. “Who gives this woman to be married?” Elvis asks. Emilio’s voice rings out. “Her mother and I.” This time, a hot tear tracks down my cheek and Sam very gently wipes it away. “You okay?” he whispers. “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Elvis declares. “Now let’s have a little less conversation and a really big kiss.” He swivels his hips again and I laugh through my tears. Sam

He went into the hall bathroom that separated the two bedrooms and lifted the lid. He yawned. He scratched his head and felt foreign objects in his hair. While he continued to aim the stream into the commode, he leaned to the left to look in the small mirror over the sink and almost had heart failure. He actually might have jumped and briefly missed the pot. Sean had little-girl “things” in his short hair—clips, bows, ponytail bands, jeweled bobby pins. And there was something else—he scraped off some Scotch Tape. His hair was too short so some of that stuff was taped on! But that was the least of it—he had a bright red Angelina Jolie mouth that went way out of the lines. Blue eyelids and pink cheeks. He looked like a clown. He zipped his pants. Then he wet a finger under the faucet and rubbed it over his eyelid. Nothing changed, except that he saw his fingernails were bright green. He washed his hands vigorously. Oh, God—he’d been tattooed in his sleep! He took the bar of soap to his lips; no amount of scrubbing helped. “Frannnnn-ciiiii!” he yelled. A moment later she tapped at the door and he jerked it open. She was casually drying her hands on a dish towel while he was scowling. “Magic marker, I think,” she said, before he could ask the question. “Why?” he asked desperately, totally stunned. Franci shrugged. “She’s not allowed to touch my makeup. And she thinks you look wonderful.” Then she grinned. He stiffened and pursed his lips. “I’m pretty sure I’m out of uniform.” She chuckled. “We’ll think of something. Are you staying for dinner?” “I can’t go out like this!” “Okay, let’s try some fingernail polish remover on your green nails, have some dinner, and then I’ll see what I can do about your, ah, makeup. Really, Sean, rule number one—never close your eyes on a three-year-old.” *

Oh, fuck!” Star cries. “You’re having a fucking baby!” She cups her hands around her mouth. “I’m going to be the best aunt ever!” she yells. She starts to jump up and down, and her ankle gives out. She really shouldn’t be on those stilts when she’s drunk. She hops a little. She’s going to feel that ankle tomorrow. “I think I just hurt myself,” she says, and her eyes well up with tears. “I think I need to sit down.” Then she plops her ass right down in Josh’s lap. “You’re a lump, aren’t you?” he says to her as he adjusts her body for comfort. “Are you calling me fat?” She looks at him over her shoulder. He grins and shakes his head. “Only in the best possible way.” Sam

Elvis starts to sing “Viva Las Vegas” as Sam and I walk side by side down the aisle. I cover my mouth and laugh. “I want you to repeat after me, Sam,” Elvis says. He lifts one corner of his lip in that classic snarl. “I, Sam, promise you, Peck, never to step on your blue suede shoes. I promise never to leave you at Heartbreak Hotel. I promise to be your hunka-hunka burning love, forever and ever, amen.” “Wait,” Sam says. “That’s Randy Travis. Not Elvis.” “Close enough,” Elvis says. Sam rolls his hips like Elvis did when he repeats the words. I can’t stop laughing. I laugh so hard that I have to wipe tears from my eyes. But I don’t feel bad, because Emily is doing the same thing. And the rest of the brothers and their wives are laughing it up too. “Now you, Peck,” Elvis says. He swivels his hips and someone does a rim shot on a set of drums. “I, Peck, solemnly swear to love you tender for the rest of my life, and never leave you with a suspicious mind.” I

Would you zip your fucking mouth before you dig yourself a bigger hole?” “It’s my house. I can dig around in it as much as I want.” He sounds like a two-year-old, and it makes me laugh. Then I snort.

What is the ideal storage condition for seeds? It is just the opposite of the moisture and warmth that make them sprout. You’ll want to store them in a cool, dry place—the driest, coldest place in your home. Some people freeze their seeds. But I find they get moisture even if they are in a zip-lock bag because it never seems to be totally airtight. I prefer refrigerating them in a wide-mouth jar with a screw lid. Label your containers and store them in the refrigerator on a back shelf. In each jar place a desiccant packet from a medicine vial, or add a little powdered milk wrapped in a tissue to soak up any excess moisture in the jar.

The noise of his zip was like the drag of a fingernail down her spine, and Juliet moaned, helpless to stop, as he pushed first his jeans, then his underwear, down and off. He stood tall and proud in front of her, his abs taut, his shoulders back, his stare still fixed between her legs, dark and hooded and intense. His nudity was breathtaking, his cock jutting out thick and hard as he shoved his hands on his hips. It was a thoroughly arrogant pose. Like a prince. Or a feudal Lord. And her body responded in kind, waiting with baited breath for his next royal command, his next move. Knowing she’d do just about anything for him in this moment with the wild beat of her pulse echoing though her ears and her gut and the slick heat at her heart. Open her mouth. Roll over. Get on all fours. Beg.

Better channel your words into prayer, than into complaints. Zip your mouth and make a plan.

I stand on the roof of the Hancock building, near the zip line where the Dauntless flirt with death. The clouds are black with rain, and the wind fills my mouth when I open it to breathe. To my right, the zip line snaps, the wire cord whipping back and shattering the windows below me. My vision tightens around the roof edge, trapping it in the center of a pinhole. I can hear my own exhales despite the whistling wind. I force myself to walk to the edge. The rain pounds against my shoulders and head, dragging me toward the ground. I tip my weight forward just a little and fall, my jaw clamped around my screams, muffled and suffocated by my own fear. After I land, I don’t have a second to rest before the walls close in around me, the wood slamming into my spine, and then my head, and then my legs. Claustrophobia. I pull my arms in to my chest, close my eyes, and try not to panic. I think of Eric in his fear landscape, willing his terror into submission with deep breathing and logic. And Tris, conjuring weapons out of thin air to attack her worst nightmares. But I am not Eric, and I am not Tris. What am I? What do I need, to overcome my fears? I know the answer, of course I do: I need to deny them the power to control me. I need to know that I am stronger than they are. I breathe in and slam my palms against the walls to my left and right. The box creaks, and then breaks, the boards crashing to the concrete floor. I stand above them in the dark.

I headed straight for the half-bathroom I remembered seeing on my other visits over. I peed and started washing my hands, and it was when I reached for a towel that I happened to look down and saw something small and brown run across the floorboard. I froze. Leaning over just a little, I peeked around the toilet and saw it again. Two little eyes. One bare tail. About two inches long. It darted off, disappearing around the trash can. I wasn’t proud of myself… but I screamed. Not loud, but it was still a scream. And then I got the hell out of there. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d ever moved so fast going down the hall, thankful I’d seen him after I’d pulled my pants on and zipped them up, going as far away from the bathroom as possible. Which ended up being the kitchen. Rhodes was standing by the island, tearing paper towels off when he noticed me coming. A frown came over his face. “What’s—” “There’s a mouse in the bathroom!” I squeaked and went past him, pretty much leaping onto the stool beside the counter, then jumping from there to the back of the couch with a frantic look toward the floor to make sure I hadn’t been followed. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Amos stood up so fast the chair he was in fell backward, and the next thing I knew, he’d leaped onto the couch and ended up beside me, his butt propped up on the back of it, legs dangling inches off the floor in the air. Johnny and Jackie either didn’t care or were so stunned by Amos and me, that they hadn’t moved a single inch from the table. “A rat?” Rhodes asked from the exact same spot he’d been in. I shook my head at him, exhaling hard to try and bring my heart rate down. “No, a mouse.” His eyebrows crept up about a half-inch, but I noticed it. “You’re screaming because of a mouse?” Did he have to ask so slowly? I swallowed. “Yes!” He blinked. Beside me, Amos suddenly snorted deep in his throat like he hadn’t knocked his chair over. Then I noticed that Rhodes’s chest was shaking. “What?” I asked, eyeing the floor again. His chest was shaking even more, and he barely managed to wheeze out, both eyes squeezing closed, “I… I didn’t know you were into parkour.” Amos snorted again, lowering his legs and planting his feet. “You backflipped onto the table…,” Rhodes choked out. He was wheezing. The son of a bitch was wheezing. “No, I did not!” I argued, starting to feel just a little bit… foolish. I hadn’t. I didn’t know how to backflip. “You jumped from the island to the couch,” Rhodes kept going, raising a fist to hold it right in front of his nose. He could barely talk. “Your face… Ora, it was so white,” Am started, bottom lip starting to tremble. I pressed my lips together and stared at my favorite traitor. “My soul left my body for a second, Am. And you didn’t exactly walk over here either, okay.” Rhodes, who decided that this was what he was going to find hilarious, barely choked out, “You looked like you saw a ghost.” Amos burst out laughing. Then Rhodes burst out laughing. One quick glance confirmed that Johnny was chuckling too, Jackie was the only one giving me a smile. I was glad someone had a heart. They were cracking up, totally and completely cracking up. “You know, I hope it crawls into one of your mouths for being so mean to me,” I muttered, joking. Mostly. Rhodes grinned so wide, he came over and slapped his son on the back while they both kept laughing. At me. But together. And maybe I wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight now, worried there might be a mouse next door, but it would be worth it.

Dallas latched on to the forearm of my hand curled around her throat and plastered her back against the hood of the car as I continued fucking her hard. The door behind us opened, and Jared walked in. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to—” “Get the fuck out,” I roared. My demand shook the walls so hard I was surprised they hadn’t cracked. The door promptly closed. Perhaps because it was, by far, the most pleasurable experience I’d ever had, the orgasm wasn’t instant. It skulked forward, gripping each of my limbs with its claws, taking over me like a drug. I knew I’d regret what was about to happen. Yet, I could not even entertain the idea of stopping. Dallas quaked beneath me. The muscles of her thighs strained. Sliding into her hot tightness a few more times, I finally erupted inside her. It was glorious. And at the same time, felt as if someone had sucked my chest empty. I came, and I came, and I came into Dallas’s cunt. When I finally pulled out, everything between us was sticky. I peered down between her legs. My thick white cum dripped from her swollen red slit to the hood of my car. Pink flakes of blood scattered inside the cloudy, milky liquid. Panting and out of breath, I realized this marked the first time that I’d lost myself to a moment. That I’d forgotten everything. Including the fact that she was present. My gaze rode up her bruised pussy to her torso. Sometime during sex, I’d torn the top of her dress without even noticing. Red marks covered her exposed breasts. Full of scratches and bites. Her neck still bore the imprints of my fingers—how hard had I grabbed her? And though I dreaded seeing the aftermath on her face, I couldn’t stop myself. I looked up and nearly keeled over to vomit. Flushed pink cloaked her face. A single silent tear traveled down her cheek. A glossy sheen coated her hazel eyes, almost golden in their tone and empty as my chest. The corner of her lips had produced a thin line of blood. Her doing. Not mine. She’d bitten them to tamp down her pained cries. Shortbread wanted me to fuck her bareback so badly, she’d suffered through the entire ordeal. Incomparable guilt slammed into me. Bitterness hit the back of my throat. I’d taken her without considering her pleasure. Against my better judgment. And in the process, I’d ruined her first genuine experience of sex. “Sorry.” I jerked away from Dallas, shoved my dripping half-mast cock back into my pants, and zipped up. “Jesus. Fuck. I’m so—” The rest of the sentence vanished in my throat. I shook my head, still in disbelief that I’d fucked her to the point of blood and tears. Without even sparing her a glance. She sat up. That lone tear still shimmered from her cheek, somehow even worse than a loud sob. “Do you have any gum?” The perfect, even composure braided into her voice rattled me. In fact, everything about Dallas rattled me. On autopilot, I produced two pieces of gum from my tin container, forking them over to her. She tucked both into her pretty pink mouth that I would never kiss and fuck again. “Shortbread…” I stopped. An apology wouldn’t even begin to cover it. “No. It’s my time to speak.” She made no move to flee. To slap me. To call the police, her parents, her sister. My cum still dripped fat white drops through her exposed pussy. A single streak of blood smeared across the hood of my car. I stood far enough from her that I wasn’t a threat and listened.(Chapter 44)

I took a step away, pulling my sheets over her and intending to take a position in the armchair by the fire for the night but she caught my hand before I could leave. I looked at her in surprise and found her eyes open, her gaze locked on mine. “Don’t go,” she breathed, her grip tightening. “I don’t think you really-” “Please don’t leave me alone,” she begged and the vulnerability in her voice broke down any further protests I’d been going to make. She sat up a little and tugged on my arm, trying to pull me down into the bed with her. And I couldn’t really deny the fact that I’d thought about getting her in my bed more than once before. Not that I’d lay a finger on her in her current state but even seeing her here, surrounded by gold and half undressed was sending zips of turbulent energy right through me. She pulled on my hand again and I gave up trying to talk myself out of it as I kicked my shoes off and got in beside her. She smiled at me and it wasn’t sarcastic or taunting, the difference that made taking my breath away for a moment. I settled back against the pillows and she rolled against me, pressing her nearly naked body flush to mine. I could feel myself getting hard just from that small amount of contact. I tried to prise her away from me but she wriggled closer, pressing her full breasts against me and giving me a clear view of them trying to break free of the confines of her bra. “Fuck, Roxy, I cant sleep next to you while you’re dressed like that,” I said, rolling her away from me more forcefully. She blinked up at me in confusion for a moment before pushing herself upright and looking down at her undressed state. “Oh, sorry,” she mumbled before pulling off the unbuttoned shirt and throwing it to the floor. “Better?” My mouth dried up and a growl escaped me as the Dragon writhed beneath my skin. “You need to be putting more on, not taking things off,” I said tersely. She huffed like I was the one who was being ridiculous. “Give me your shirt then,” she demanded, reaching out to pull at my black t-shirt. “I don’t think it will help if I start taking off my clothes too,” I said, catching her wrist to stop her. “You’re so fucking bossy,” she muttered, a bit of her usual fire rising to the surface. “Just do as you’re told for once.” Before I could respond to that, she shoved my hand aside and moved to straddle me in one quick movement. I was so surprised that for a moment I couldn’t even react as she yanked on my shirt and pulled it over my head. My hands found her waist, my thumbs brushing against her hip bones as she looked down at me with her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders and that sexy as sin underwear begging me to touch it. She laughed as she waved the shirt at me triumphantly, doing a little victory dance which meant she was grinding right against my hard-on and sending my body haywire. Before I could say or do anything, she pulled the shirt over her head and covered herself with it. I was so much bigger than her that it fell right down to pool around her thighs, trapping my hands beneath the material where I still held her. Her gaze locked with mine and for a moment it was like none of the shit that had passed between us had ever happened and we were just us, alone...in my bed. (DariusPOV)

She started coughing and water burst from her mouth like she’d been drowning. I pulled her forward, slapping her back to help her get it all up and the tremors rocking her body reverberated through mine as she pressed against my chest. More cold water flooded from her, drenching her as she cried out in panic and I pulled her against me more firmly. “You need to wake up,” I commanded. “I don’t want to die like this,” she breathed and my heart lurched as the ice thickened around us again. This wasn’t a dream she was having. It was a nightmare. And I got the sinking feeling that I knew exactly what it was about. The ice kept thickening and I was shivering now too. If she didn’t snap out of this soon she could really hurt herself and it would be my fucking fault. “Shit,” I breathed, taking her hand in mine and squeezing her cold fingers as I pushed my magic into hers. For once the well of her power didn’t burn with overwhelming magic and I thanked the stars that she’d obviously gotten through a good amount of her reserves today. The display she was currently putting on was clearly burning through her power and I’d only topped mine up after class so I was confident that I could wrangle hers under control. I pressed my magic into her body, expecting the fight she’d put up when we trained together but to my surprise, her power welcomed mine like greeting an old friend. The surge of excited energy I felt when power sharing with her zipped through me but this was even more intense than usual because she wanted it. On some base level, at this moment in time, she fully trusted me. I tried not to focus on how good that felt and shifted my attention to helping her reshape her magic instead. I had to fight to pull her away from her water magic which clearly wasn’t helping anything right now but she started to writhe in my arms, looking for an outlet for this panic that gripped her. My natural inclination was to encourage her towards fire but if she managed to overwhelm my control with that Element then it could be disastrous. I’d had a little practice with the other Heirs in power sharing and had managed to help them wield the Elements I didn’t possess more than once even though it wasn’t as easy. Essentially as I wasn’t the one shaping the power, it was doable, so all I had to do was encourage her towards it. I decided that Earth magic was probably the safest bet while she was so out of control and fought to push her towards that. My grip on her tightened and I ground my teeth as I twisted my power in the unnatural direction but all of a sudden, Roxy grabbed onto my suggestion and I felt the magic flooding from her. I opened my eyes, glancing around to find the entire Orb springing to life with flowers of every colour imaginable. (Darius)

Jack kept track of the triplets while she slipped on his jacket. It was large, roomy, and scented with his maleness. All earthy and musk. The bottom leather edge fell mid-thigh and, once zipped, held down her polka dots. His body warmth embraced her, chasing away the chill and further indignity. Grateful, she smiled and mouthed, Thank you. He spoke low. "We've denied the wind the big reveal." We, as in he and she. Together. A lusty gust pressed his gray cotton T-shirt to his chest. Etching his firm pecs and six-pack. The man was built. "You won't get cold?" she asked. "I've plenty of heat, Peep." That he did. She was feeling overheated herself. Not only from the jacket but from his nearness.

Can I just say something?” “Could you please stop interrupting me?” “Yep!” “Thank you.” “No problem.” “BE QUIET!” “Got it!” replied Ben, and he mimed zipping up his mouth.

A burst of energy zipped through me and pushed me to my feet. I was at the door and waiting when Mia pushed it open. She looked mildly surprised to see her kitchen full of people. She dropped her bag by the door. “Hi. What did I miss?” Hudson got up and started toward her. Mitch straightened up from his spot behind Maddy. “Lola has puppies, Neville still has testicles, you have a new neighbour, and we may have part of a treasure map to stolen treasure.” Her eyebrows went up and her mouth dropped open. Hudson held open his arms. “Welcome home!

Silently, slowly, Audra retreated the way she'd come until her backside met something that shouldn't have been there. Shit. Luckily, the chef emitted a groan that drowned out the sound of her squeak. She squeezed past Jay, shaking her head, but he grinned and started forward. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realise this place had an onsite brothel. I thought this was the kitchen," Jay boomed and Audra clapped both hands over her mouth so she wouldn't burst out laughing. The sounds of choking, coughing and frantic zipping only made it worse. "I hope you didn't pay too much for that one. She didn't even swallow. I'd ask for my money back, if I was you." He raised his voice.

top, just to race to the bottom. Travis dug in his bag and found his camera. The air around him suddenly felt ten degrees warmer. Sweat beaded on Travis’s forehead. A hot wind whooshed from above him. He clutched at his camera and looked up. The golden underbelly of the dragon was only about ten feet above him, flying over him quickly. The thing had to be a hundred feet long from the snout to the tip of its tail. Travis felt his jeans go wet. If he lived to tell this tale, he’d leave out that detail. He reminded himself to breathe. As fast as it had come, it was gone. Travis couldn’t move. He watched the dragon turn and head back toward him. Travis clutched the camera and took a picture as the dragon opened its wide mouth. Its teeth were three feet long and wicked sharp. Seconds before the jaws clamped down on him, he dropped the camera. The air from the dragon’s throat blistered his skin, but it didn’t spew fire. Travis’s final thought was, What a horrible way to die. As the dragon flew away, thoroughly pleased with his meal, he didn’t realize he left behind not one, but two souvenirs. The camera. And a foot. Chapter One The sea’s salty air reached into the hideout and woke Obsidian. Not ready to get up, he stretched his wing, feeling for Skye. Instead of finding her warmth, he met the grimy cave floor. A shot of panic zipped from his horns to his tail. She

ree-ree-reeeeee!” shouted Tim as he charged Broden, his teeth flashing and his tail wildly whipping along behind him, ready to smash his big toe. “Ahhhhhh!” he screamed, then Broden ran as fast as lightning as he dropped the gigantic bucket of food as he went squishy-squash through chicken caca all the way across the grass and toward the back door. His heart pounded and Broden thought he’d never been so scared in his life. He probably would have made it to the house and he probably would have been able to slam the door shut without Tim the Terrible catching him, but then a really awful thing happened. Broden’s right foot went slippery sliding in a humongous chicken-poopy mountain and he went flying through the air. “Ree-ree-reeeeeee!” screamed Tim as Broden landed on his back, his head landing on a dung hill pillow. Looking over, there was Tim, his mouth open and ready to bite his nose right off as he flew through the air right at him. “Nooo!” Broden cried out, trying to roll over and get out of the way of Tim’s attack. But he was too late. Tim the Terrible swooped down and landed right on his back as Broden was scrambling and crawling in an attempt to escape. Tim’s horsey-ride didn’t last long, though. When Broden looked back at Tim, wondering how he could escape the barbarian, a totally amazing thing happened right before his eyes. His chicken leapt into the air from her stump and spread out her glorious, shimmering black-feathered wings. For one moment, it seemed as if she were hovering in the sky with the sunshine glowing behind her and through her wings. But the next moment, it was as if she had a jetpack on as she came zooming through the air. Straight at Tim. His chicken came zipping down and Broden’s eyes got as big as

Fire!” the gnoll commander said. The unified clatch-zip sound sent deadly missiles hurtling toward Nath’s body. The bolts bounced off his chest and broke. He caught one well-aimed bolt between his teeth. Eying the soldiers, he took the bolt from his mouth and said, “You should be reloading, not gaping. Not that it will do you any good.

Guess what I got in the trunk? An Igloo cooler. And guess what's in the cooler? A human head.' Shad violently expelled the cigar out the window. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his camo jacket. 'No joke,' Garcia said. 'Property of one Francisco Goyo, deceased. I can't begin to tell you how much gas I've wasted on the case. The fat prick got dumped in a dozen different zip codes.' 'Why,' Shad asked, 'do you got his head in an Igloo?' 'So it won't stink up the car.