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Whenever you're here, I'm there for you

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Jarod Kintz

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“Now if only they have a proper bath and hot water, it would be heavenly." His eyes deepened. There was no other way to describe them. They darkened somehow and became more intent and serious. He had given her that same look several times now on the trip, and it never failed to make her breasts feel heavier and an ache began deep within her. "I will make certain of it," he said. A naughty image of him joining her in the bath flitted across her mind. Did people do that, or was she being depraved?”

“Her last step landed her against him. He stood so close. His arms were raised above her head, ready to move the ladder to the next location. She ducked under his arm, and their bodies brushed. Her shoulder skimmed his chest; her hip tapped his groin. His intake of breath drew her gaze. He released a short pant. Widened his stance. His zipper no longer lay flat. It bulged. Largely. Her lips parted on her own indrawn breath. They'd touched, and he'd gotten an erection. Her breasts grew heavy. Her panties dampened. Embarrassingly so.”

“At the end of the party, each person will have selected certain players he would like to see more of, while others he will discard, regardless of how skillfully or pleasantly they each engaged in the pastime. The ones he selects are those who seem the most likely candidates for more complex relationships—that is, games. This sorting system, however well rationalized, is actually largely unconscious and intuitive.”

“A fast but skillful driver, Peter guided his Jaguar onto the M6 Highway, then accelerated to a dizzying speed. Thank goodness she'd seen something of the scenery on her way to Scotland, Toni reflected, as the landscape passed in a blur of greens and blues and tans. She managed to stay alert until they passed York, at which point her eyelids refused to stay open. She felt her body sinking lower and lower into the leather upholstery until finally she could fight the drowsiness no longer.”

“She slid into the warm, scented water, wryly accepting Zulema's assistance and bending her head obediently as her hair was carefully wetted and then shampooed. Cocooned in towels, she emerged again and sat down to have her hair combed out and her nails painted. Why all the fuss? She wondered. 'You look tired, sitt. Lie down and rest for a while,' Zulema urged. 'The party will last for hours.' Party? So someone was throwing a party. Her curiosity satisfied, Bethany smiled and lay down. She could hear a helicopter.”

“-No me acuerdo, ¿Cómo cabe recordar lo que uno ha sido en el pasado? Quizá fuera una ostra, o un pájaro, o quizá profesor de matemáticas... De todos modos nuestra anterior vida en Rusia parece algo que hubiera ocurrido antes del principio de los tiempos, algo metafísico, o como quiera usted llamarlo. No, metafísico no es la palabra adecuada... Sí, ahora sé de qué se trata. Es como una metempsicosis.”