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Finally, he knew the kind of loving that made two one and understood Jane was his world. His ocean, his country, his sun, his rain, his very heart.

Karen Marie Moning

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Karen Marie Moning
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: November 1
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Cincinnati
Ohio
Knew
Two
Jane
Country
Finally
Heart
Loving
Made
Rain
Kind
Ocean
World
Sun
Understood

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He looked blank. “He’s the one who’s been doing the magic against us?” “Duh,” I said. “Doona be ‘duh’ing me, lass,” he growled, his burr thickening.
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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.
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You believe in God? Dude. Only God could have created physics.
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The other day upon the stair, I saw a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again today how I wish he'd go away! ~Gabrielle O'Callaghan towards Adam Black
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You have splendid breasts, lass, he purred, cupping the plump mounds. Splendid, he repeated stupidly, and she almost laughed. Men loved breasts any shape or form, they just loved them. -Drustan to Gwen
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I lock eyes with my reflection and don’t look away. The day you look away you start to lose yourself. I’m never going to lose myself. You are what you are. Deal with it or change.
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I like sex for breakfast, kid. I eat early and often.
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Its our actions that define us. What we choose. What we resist. What we're willing to die for.
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Life's a choice: you can live in black and white, or you can live in colour. I'll take every shade of the rainbow and the gazillion in between!
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Using your own time to make someone else’s life better is, like, the nicest thing you can do for anybody.
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You never knew what you could get away with until you tried.
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Jericho. Mac. Thank you for saving my life. Again.
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Lies are horny little buggers, they breed like rabbits and bound around just as insanely and then you have to try to keep track of them.
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Sometimes I worry that there’s not enough room in my brain for both my dreams and reality that I’m a hard drive with limited gigabytes and one day I won’t be able to maintain the firewall between them. I wonder if that’s what senility is.
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His coworker was velvety-skinned, a sexy boy-on-the-cusp-of man.
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Time heals. No, it doesn't. At best, time is the great leveler, sweeping us all into coffins. We find ways to distract ourselves from the pain. Time is neither scalpel nor bandage. It is indifferent. Scar tissue is not a good thing. It is merely the wound's other face.
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When he'd pushed inside me and I'd feel him begin to penetrate, it had turned me into a wild thing-hot, wet, and desperate for more of him. With every kiss, every caress, every thrust, I'd just needed more. He'd touched me, I went nuts. The world dwindled down to one thing: him.
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Grief shared was grief lessened.
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Barrons had just given me the most carnal, sexually charged hungry look I'd ever seen in my life, and I was pretty sure he didn't even know he had done it.
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I have studied humans for a small eternity. Intent infuses their every movement. Road maps to their inner navigation, plastered all over their skin. Born to be slaves.
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