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If sex were food, Rhage would have been morbidly obese.

J.R. Ward

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J.R. Ward
Sex
Food
Would
Morbidly
Rhage
Obese

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Tore up from the floor up. Followed by a big outtie. John Mathew
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But Tudor mansions on manicured grounds didn't look right with their grand front doors wide open to the night. It was like a debutante flashing her bra thanks to a wardrobe malfunction.
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Great rationalizations. All of which her adrenal gland middle-fingered and then carried right on.
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And love … love was worth dying for. Worth living for, too.
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Life was short, no matter how many days you were granted. And people were precious, each and every one, no matter how many you were lucky enough to have in your life. And love... love was worth dying for. Worth living for, too. -Tohrment
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When he nodded, the physician disappeared into thin air, and then a moment later, Payne felt a warm palm encompass hers. It was Vishous's un-gloved hand against her own and the connection between them eased her in ways she couldn't name. Verily, she had lost her mother . . . but if she lived through this, she still had family. On this side.
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You don't know this yet. But you are Mine - Wrath
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That's the problem with white horses. You have to pay for them yourself or you'll always be using someone else's reins.
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The thread of will-they-or-won't-they was the real driver of every word and glance and shift of body. So...this was a date, Blay thought. A subtextual negotiation slipcovered in talk of books read and music enjoyed.
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Ehlena: Look, the reason I called was -- Rehv: Because you needed an excuse. You shut me down in the exam room, but really wanted to talk to me. So you called me on the phone. And now you have me. (That voice dropped even lower) Do I get to pick what you do with me?
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But looking at this closet, so nice and arranged with their crazy lives at rest among these carefully placed clothes and footwear, she felt good about where they were. Normal was not a bad things in this lunatic world it really was. No matter how it happened to be defined.
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Uh-huh, right. Let me count all the ways you and I aren't going there.
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In an earlier life, were you a pair of brakes? Try a brick wall.
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...Bringing the very heavens close enough to touch. It was Zsadist. His eyes closed, his head back, his mouth wide open, he sang. The scarred one, the souless one, had the voice of an angel.
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As always, Blay was the anchor who kept him from being swept away.
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In the far corner, a tenor began to sing, Zsadist's crystal-clear voice sailing up toward the warrior paintings on the ceiling far, far above them all. At first John didn't know what the song was...although if he'd been asked what his name was, he would have said Santa Claus, or Luther Vandross, or Teddy Roosevelt. Maybe even Joan Collins.
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It was hard to know what was worse: him being with her and all her sisters, or him being with none of them because his heart was held by another. -Cormia
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United by their clasped hands, they became again the two halves, the light and the dark. The Destroyer and the Savior. A whole.
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V had a passing thought that she used the word anyway like an eraser on a crowded chalkboard. She said it whenever she needed to clear off the things she'd just shared to make room for more.
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V? What? I will die rather than hurt you. ~Vutch moments~
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