Snatching my hand in the death grip of his fingers, he pulls me off the wall to line his chest, closing his body around me in a muscular cage which smells of leather and soap.

We've been here before. She knows I won't stop until she screams. Her pride won't let her scream until she's on the cusp of death.

Kicking the door shut with the heel of my boot, I wedge her against it, raining kisses on her skin, wishing I could climb inside her and kiss away the welts left on her heart and mind.

Lifting, smiling back at her giggle, her relief, I tease, “If you want to bleed sweetheart, I can make you bleed. I promise if I do it will be way more fun.

Kissing her again, softly, I leave my t-shirt next to her pillow.It's the silent promise that I'll come back again tonight.

Desire filters toxins through my system at the sight and I lower again, shoving her against the padded wall to snake my tongue over the elixir of pain.

Pulped in his crushing strength, his hug is enough to smear me over his body like war paint.

Just once, he looks back at Arsay, and I feel like an entire encyclopedia of information and words is exchanged between them. I wish I could speak telepathy too.

Hold tight, and I promise to do the same. We don't need a safety net Zena. We have each other.

He follows me down, catching his weight on either side of my head so he can leer his face into mine, coiling muscles and immobility at me, “I want you to lay into me. Fight me.

He's going to bite me!Instantly the last light in the room fades out as if announcing the reign of darkness.

I had a dream about you last night... You tried to propose with a digital ceramic heater.

Why do some people stop growing at age 30, just going from work to the couch and television, when others stay vibrant, curious, almost childlike into their nineties?

The greatest life is the joy of contentment.

Literature that awakens and inflames feelings is the food of hearts.

She wants me. And I am terrified, knowing how much I want her back.

Nobody needs to worry about my toughness.

To be boosted by an illusion is not to live better than to live in harmony with the truth ... these refusals to part with a decayed illusion are really an infection to the mind.

Preparation is the be-all of good trial work. Everything else - felicity of expression, improvisational brilliance - is a satellite around the sun. Thorough preparation is that sun.

One of the greatest assets you have is your imagination.

Fifty percent of the United States of America is underneath the ocean. And we have better maps of Mars than those areas.