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S Quotes

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“She stiffened and gasped, and the touch was immediately withdrawn. "Did I hurt you?" Her lashes lifted. "No," she said in wonder. "In fact, I didn't feel any pain." She strained to look between them. "Is there blood? Perhaps I should-" "No. Win..." There was a near-comical expression of dismay on his face. "What I just did isn't going to cause pain or blood." A brief pause. "When I do it with my cock, however, it's probably going to hurt like hell." "Oh." She pondered that for a moment. "Is that the word men use for their private parts?" "One of the words gadjos use." "What do Romas say?" "They call it a kori." "What does that mean?" "'Thorn.'" Win slid a bashful glance at the heavy protrusion straining behind his trousers. "Rather too substantial for a thorn. I should have thought they would use a more fitting word. But I suppose-" She inhaled sharply as his hand moved downward. "I suppose if one wants roses, one must-" his finger had slipped inside her again- "bear the occasional thorn." "Very philosophical.”

“She still had a great deal to do, but she was finally on the right track with an incredible, intoxicating blend of rose, tuberose, and jasmine, sandalwood and an amber blend. Inhaling, the romantic scent conjured exquisite joy. The path had come to her in a dream, the melding of sandalwood and patchouli with amber notes of vanillin and labdanum absolute in a manner that was nothing short of exquisite.”

“She still had her bad days, no question, when the black dog of depression sniffed her out and settled its crushing weight on her chest and breathed its pungent dog breath in her face. On those days she called in sick to the IT shop where, most days, she untangled tangled networks for a song. On those days she pulled down the shades and ran dark for twelve or twenty-four or seventy-two hours, however long it took for the black dog to go on home to its dark master.”

“She still loved the profession and enjoyed the lives and piece to cameras, but she knew it was all a tad too farcical at times. There were far too many stories they reported and forgot. Far too many conflicts that were once headlines and had captured the imaginations of many now awaited resolution, stale and unwanted as yesterday’s tea. It was hard to keep up your spirit when you started realizing it was just a job after all and that a headline did not change someone’s destiny. Except maybe the reporter’s if she or he was picked up by a rival channel for better pay. So getting into the profession wanting to make a difference and working for the greater good as the journalists of yore had done was certainly not an option anymore.”

“She stole surreptitious glances at Christopher, as she had been doing all evening, mesmerized by the sight of him. He was tawny and sun glazed, the candlelight finding threads of gold in his hair. The yellow glow struck sparkling glints in the new growth of bristle on his face. She was fascinated by the raw, restless masculinity beneath his quietness. She wanted to revel in him as one might dash out-of-doors in a storm, letting the elements have their way. Most of all she longed to talk with him... to pry each other open with words, share every thought and secret.”

“She stood almost a foot shorter than him, but that had never been a problem, given most of their conversations had been horizontal. The years had filled out her curves, and she wore those few extra pounds of plush well, especially below the flare of her hips. The ass that dethroned JLo, or some shit. Her shapely figure had its own press corps. A woman like this was built to be bedded, and often.”

“She stood and tripped over something in the dark, then stumbled and fell on Derek. "Ouch," he moaned. "Are you all right?" she whispered, and realized she was lying on top of him. She liked the way his body felt so familiar and comfortable beneath hers. She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes, suddenly regretting all the mean things she had said to him. "Aren't you going to get up?" he asked. "Sure," she answered, and let her hands smooth down his chest and then his arms. She was surprised by the feel of his rock-hard muscles. "I work out," he murmured unexpectedly. "What?" He snickered. "The way you're feeling my chest and arms-" "I am not." She jumped up, indignant, then knelt beside him. "I was searching for your ropes." "Liar," he whispered. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks and was glad it was dark so he couldn't see. "The ropes are tied around my ankles and wrists," he said, but there was still laughter in his voice.”

“She stood at the edge of a glassy river lined with impossibly tall trees, fanning out their wide emerald leaves among the puffy white clouds. Across the river, a row of crystal castles glittered in the sunlight in a way that would make Walt Disney want to throw rocks at his “Magic Kingdom.” To her right, a golden path led into a sprawling city, where the elaborate domed buildings seemed to be built from brick-size jewels—each structure a different color. Snowcapped mountains surrounded the lush valley, and the crisp, cool air smelled like cinnamon and chocolate and sunshine.”

“She stood before him and surrendered herself to him and sky, forest, and brook all came toward him in new and resplendent colors, belonged to him, and spoke to him in his own language. And instead of merely winning a woman he embraced the entire world and every star in heaven glowed within him and sparkled with joy in his soul. He had loved and had found himself. But most people love to lose themselves.”

“She stood for a time, still and meditative, with her face held up to the arch of sky, seeking a shooting star in that illimitable field above her. The stars glittered and winked as if they were live, sentient beings, the angels themselves, watching the doings of earth, not in the serene manner of celestial beings but excited and interested in what they saw below. Their colours flashed in red and ice-blue and dazzling green and amber. There was Auriga with its bright Capella, a star Susan always recognised since her father long pointed out its bright flame. "That's the one I knows well. It's always been in the sky. I've watched it when I've been going to milking and coming home on winter nights, and it's been a kind of companion to me." The Great Bear swung over the house top, guarding Windystone from harm. Orion was hidden, but if she walked along by the yew trees, she could see his fiery stars and steel-green Riga, and the belt like a jewel. But she stayed where she was, alone, quiet, giving herself up to the movement of the rolling heavens, and she was caught up in that heavenly motion and whirled like a dark atom with the swinging earth.”

“She stood in his kitchen, watching him toy with the ring in his lip. It wasn't quite that he was biting it, but sucking it into his mouth. He did that when he was concentrating. It isn't sexy. He's not sexy. But he was, and she was staring at him like a fool. "wow" she whispered (.....)"Wow, huh?" His voice was low, husky. His chair creaked as he stood. His footsteps seemed strangely loud as he closed the couple yards between them. Then he was beside her. "I can work with wow”

“She stood in the hall taking deep breaths and watching her girls sleep. Her calm was short-lived as anger surged. Who the hell would do that? Rachel returned to the kitchen to investigate. There was no number displayed on the beeper. She looked for the number but wasn’t familiar enough with the device yet. Bringing the beeper with her to her bedroom, she looked around. It was full of boxes and a mess, but she had a real bed and her own space. And she’d never been more terrified. She was the only thing between her girls and danger. She glanced at the beeper. Danger may have found a way in.”

“She stood in the snow, effervescent, all pale skin and blonde hair, clad in white and bathed in moonlight. She should have looked angelic, instead she looked like a corpse, freshly raised from the grave, frosted in ice and darkness, swaying precariously in a graveyard.”