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When I lie this close to you, when I smell your scent, when I hear your voice, I know everything that matters. She looked down the length of him. You are the male I want to mate with. That's who you are.

J.R. Ward

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J.R. Ward
Hear
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The look in Manny´s eye was the ocular equivalent of a middle finger.
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Time keeps on... slippin'... slippin'... slippin' into the future.
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Tell you what, you let me go, and I’ll ask you plenty of questions about your race. Until then, I’m slightly distracted with how this little vacation on the good ship Holy Sh*t is going to pan out for me.
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If sex were food, Rhage would have been morbidly obese.
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Unfortunately, beer was only a short-term answer. And head transplants had yet to be approved by the FDA.
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Marissa laughed, utterly delighted with her mate. Later. Food first. Butch settled back immediately, like she'd called his lust to a heel and it behaved because it wanted to be a good boy. As she left, the cop's eyes followed her with rank hunger and adoration. V shook his head. You are a total sap.
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All kings are blind. The good ones see this and use more than their eyes to lead.
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She did nothing to try to control the shakes that rattled her body,and didn't attempt to stop herself from crying. Tears left both of her eyes at the far corners,slipping out and flowing over her temples.Some landed in her ears. Some eased down her neck and were absorbed by the pillow.Others clouded her vision,as if they didn't want to leave home.
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V shook his head. “Remember what you saw in that clearing, cop? How’d you like that anywhere near a female you loved?” Butch put down the Bud without drinking from it. His eyes traveled over Rhage’s body. “We’re going to need a shitload of steel,” the human muttered.
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Besides, you think I'm not used to hurting? For me, it's home sweet home, my brother.
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Written on the mirror, revealed by the steam, were the words, I love you, Jane.
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The one good thing about the Angels was they always colored within the lines. They had to. Suckers.
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you told me I could beat him. You promised.
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Whoa. Fangs. She had fangs. She leaned in, prodded them a little. Eating with those puppies was going to take some getting used to, she thought. On impulse, she brought up her hands, turned her fingers into claws. Hissed. Cool.
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If the Angels won, the entire Earth would be nothing but one giant Christmas frickin' morning, a choking wave of happiness and warmth and caring and sharing taking over everything.
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You want to poof it or ride back with me?
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Her perfume or soap or whatever it was reminded him of sandalwood and something else. Oh, right...orgasms.
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[...]you know what they say about messengers, right? Excuse me? Too much bad news will get you shot.[...]
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If you eliminate all possible explanations, then the impossible is the answer.
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Praying's not going to help. Too late for that, Jane...I gave you a chance to have it on your terms. Now we'll do this on mine
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