3
" Writing, music, sculpting, painting, and prayer! These are the three things that are most closely related! Writers, musicians, sculptors, painters, and the faithful are the ones who make things out of nothing. Everybody else, they make things out of something, they have materials! But a written work can be done with nothing, it can begin in the soul! A musical piece begins with a harmony in the soul, a sculpture begins with a formless, useless piece of rock chiseled and formed and molded into the thing that was first conceived in the sculptor's heart! A painting can be carried inside the mind for a lifetime, before ever being put onto paper or canvass! And a prayer! A prayer is a thought, a remembrance, a whisper, a communion, that is from the soul going to what cannot be seen, yet it can move mountains! And so I believe that these five things are interrelated, these five kinds of people are kin. "
― C. JoyBell C.
8
" Katarina wasn’t afraid of Baden. Not anymore.
He took a step to the side, intending to move around her. Oh, no. She flattened her hands on his shoulders, keeping him in place.
“I want to know what’s wrong with you.” She said. “Tell me.”
He snapped his teeth at her in a show of dominance. “You think you want to know my problem. You’re wrong.”
Her tone dry, she said, “I’m so glad you know my mind better than I do.”
“Very well. I need sex.” He threw the words at her as if they were weapons. “Badly.”
Whoa. Blindside!
Heart pounding, she jerked her hands away from him. “Sex...from me?”
“Yesss.” A hiss. “Only from you.”
Only. Amazing how one little word could send pleasure soaring through her, warming her. “You told me never to touch you.” Which she’d just done, she realized. My bad.
“I’ve changed my mind.” His gaze dropped, lingered on her lips.
Burning her... “But you and I...we’re a different species.” As if that mattered to her body. Gimme!
He took a step closer, invading her personal space. “We’ll fit, I promise you.”
Tristo hrmenych! The raspy quality of his voice, all smoke and gravel...she shivered with longing. Must resist his allure.
But...but...why? Before she’d committed to Peter, she’d dated around, had made out in movie theaters, cars and on couches. She’d liked kissing and touching and “riding the belt buckle,” as her friends had called it. Then, after committing to Peter, she’d gifted him with her virginity. At first, he hadn’t known what to do with her—he’d been just as inexperienced—and she’d left each encounter disappointed. When finally she’d gathered the courage to tell him what she wanted, he’d satisfied her well.
She missed sex. But connection...intimacy...she thought she missed those more.
The dogs barked, jolting her from her thoughts. They’d cleaned their food bowls, and now wanted to play. She clasped Baden’s hand to lead him out of the kennel. He jerked away, severing contact.
One action. Tons of hurt.
“I’m allowed to touch you and you want to have sex with me, but you’re still disgusted by me.” She stomped outside the kennel, done with him. “Well, I’m leaving. Good riddance! Your do-what-I-say-or-else attitude was annoying, anyway.”
He darted in front of her, stopping her. Breath caught in her throat as sunlight streamed over him, paying his chiseled features absolute tribute, making his bronzed skin glimmer.
So beautiful. Too beautiful.
“I’m not disgusted by you. You need me. I’ve come to accept it,” he admitted, looking away from her. “But being skin-to-skin with another is painful for me. We’ll have to proceed carefully. And you’ll get over your annoyance.”
Another order! She would show him the error of his ways. "
― Gena Showalter , The Darkest Torment (Lords of the Underworld, #12)
9
" The Light Fae. As a race, they were supposed to be all about good and decency, but there wasn’t a shred of either emotion within the walls of Usaeil’s castle.
Neve observed Talin examining everything around him – from the castle, the Fae walking outside, the trees, and even the sky. His pale silver eyes missed nothing. She wondered what he saw, and how he catalogued things.
His long, black hair had the barest hint of a wave to it as it hung to the shoulders of his pale blue shirt. He shoved one side behind an ear and tilted his head as if listening.
She didn’t think he realized she was still beside him, not that she minded. It gave her a chance to fill her gaze with his sharply chiseled features.
The hard planes of his jaw and chin were in direct contrast to his wide lips and thick eyelashes. It was difficult to look at Talin and notice anything but those beautiful eyes.
Except when she did look down, she saw a body that made her hands itch to touch him. His shirt barely contained wide shoulders that tapered to narrow hips where navy pants encased his legs. Every muscle was honed and defined.
As eye-catching as Talin’s personal package was, it didn’t hold a candle to what drew her interest – his bearing. The way he stood, walked, talked.
In a castle full of Light who believed themselves above others, the only one who had the attitude and demeanor to carry it off was Talin. "
― Donna Grant , Dark Alpha’s Demand (Reaper #3)
10
" Muriah approached him with a new pair of khakis and a couple of T-shirts. “I guessed at the size so you might want to go try these on first.”
He took the clothes and slid his arm around her waist, maneuvering her toward the fitting room.
“Hey, I didn’t sign on to be your dresser.” She grumbled, but didn’t struggle.
He pulled the door closed and turned to meet her eyes. “It’s light in here and full of people. Apep will not be able to surprise us, and his serpents cannot spy. We need to talk.”
***
He stripped off the wet shirt, exposing his chiseled torso. She did her best not to choke on her tongue. His tanned skin and taut muscles tempted her, luring her to touch him. Turning around to give him privacy seemed like the right thing to do, but there wasn’t a hint of modesty in this Mayan god, and if he could handle getting this personal, then she could, too.
When he unzipped the wet pants, she held her breath. Would an ancient guy wear underwear? She was about to find out. He bent over to lower the wet slacks. When he straightened up, she realized he’d been talking, but she didn’t have a clue what he had said. Instead, all her attention was focused on a fine trail of dark hair leading from just below his navel and disappearing under the low-slung elastic band of his boxer briefs.
“Muriah?”
Her gaze snapped up to meet his. Thank the universe he couldn’t read her thoughts. “Yeah?”
“Did you hear my question?”
He stood two feet from her in only his underwear, and he thought she was listening? He was either completely unaware of his sex appeal, or he was way too accustomed to being obeyed.
Probably both.
She cleared her throat. “I must’ve missed it.”
A spark lit his eyes that told her he might have more than a clue to his sex appeal.
He picked up the T-shirt and pulled it on. “I asked if you knew of another hotel closer to the airport so we can get out of New York as soon as the sun sets tomorrow.”
“I’m sure I can find one.” She pulled out her phone, grateful to have something to pretend to focus on besides him tucking his package into the new khakis she pulled off the rack for him.
“I probably should’ve grabbed some dry underwear, too.”
“They are nearly dry now. I will be fine.” He popped the tags off, and she glanced up from her hotel search. “They’re not going to like you taking the tags off before you pay.”
The corner of his mouth curved up. “They will be honored to take my money.”
She groaned and rolled her eyes. “Do you ever not get your way?”
He stepped closer to her, his chest an inch from hers until her back pressed against the modular wall of the fitting room. “Rarely.” His dark gaze held hers, and the deep rumble of his voice sent heat through her body. “But some things are worth the extra effort. "
― Lisa Kessler , Night Child (Night, #3)
13
" The central ideas of Christianity — an angry God and vicarious atonement — are contrary to every fact in nature, as also to the better aspirations of the human heart; they are, in our present stage of enlightenment, absurd, preposterous, and blasphemous propositions. Christians well know that the much-decorated statue of the Church, as it now stands, is not of pure chiseled marble, but of clay, cemented together by blood and tears and hardened in the fires of hatred and persecution. And still we hear the cry, 'The whole world for Christ'. "
― , The Monist (Volume 5)
16
" Snuggle up with a hot fireman! Meet Tanner West.
Sharon looked up into the most gorgeous face she had ever seen. Eyes like dark chocolate, deep and warm, stared out at her from a face that looked like it could have been chiseled in stone. Skin the color of burnished copper, high cheekbones, a sharp nose, full lips, and a cleft chin. How the hell had she failed to notice him before? Her heart skipped a beat and she ran her gaze down the rest of his body. He was tall, well over six feet, she would guess, with broad shoulders that tapered into a trim waist. His thighs, encased in worn denim, fit like a second skin against legs the size of tree trunks, and oh my, what lay between those thighs… Her attention snapped back to his face and she could feel the heat of a blush suffuse her skin. "
― Tamara Hoffa , A Special Kind of Love
