25
" I reached up to touch his mask. It was so cold, despite how flushed his skin was just beyond it. My hand shook, and my breathing became shallow as I grazed the skin of his jaw. It was smooth—and hot.
He wet his lips, his breathing as uneven as my own. His fingers contracted against the plane of my lower back, and I let him tug me closer to him—until our bodies were touching, and the warmth of him seeped into me.
I had to tilt my head back to see his face. His mouth was caught somewhere between a smile and a wince.
“What?” I asked, and put a hand on his chest, preparing to shove myself back. But his other hand slipped under my hair, resting at the base of my neck.
“I’m thinking I might kiss you,” he said quietly, intently.
“Then do it.” I blushed at my own boldness.
But Tamlin only gave that breathy laugh, and leaned in.
His lips brushed mine—testing, soft and warm. He pulled back a little. He was still staring at me, and I stared right back as he kissed me again, harder, but nothing like the way he’d kissed my neck. He withdrew more fully this time and watched me.
“That’s it?” I demanded, and he laughed and kissed me fiercely.
My hands went around his neck, pulling him closer, crushing myself against him. His hands roved my back, playing in my hair, grasping my waist, as if he couldn’t touch enough of me at once. "
― Sarah J. Maas , A Court of Thorns and Roses (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #1)
27
" Jane, who is much better at reading guide books than I am (I always read them on the way back to see what I missed, it’s often quite a shock), discovered something wonderful in the book she was reading. Did I know, she asked, that Brisbane was originally founded as a penal colony for convicts who committed new offences after they had arrived in Australia ? I spent a good half hour enjoying this single piece of information. It was wonderful. There we British sat, poor grey sodden creatures, huddling under our grey northern sky that seeped like a rancid dish cloth, busy sending those we wished to punish most severely to sit in bright sunlight on the coast of the Tasman Sea at the southern tip of the Great Barrier Reef and maybe do some surfing too. No wonder the Australians have a particular kind of smile that they reserve exclusively for use on the British. "
― Douglas Adams , The Salmon of Doubt (Dirk Gently, #3)
31
" Almondine
Eventually, she understood the house was keeping a secret from her.
All that winter and all through the spring Almondine had known something was going to happen, but no matter where she looked she couldn’t find it. Sometimes, when she entered a room, there was the feeling that the thing that was going to happen had just been there, and she would stop and pant and peer around while the feeling seeped away as mysteriously as it had arrived. Weeks might pass without a sign, and then a night would come, when, lying nose to tail beneath the window in the kitchen corner, listening to the murmur of conversation and the slosh and clink of dishes being washed, she felt it in the house again and she whisked her tail in long, pensive strokes across the baseboards and silently collected her feet beneath her and waited. When half an hour passed and nothing appeared, she groaned and sighed and rolled onto her back and waited to see if it was somewhere in her sleep. "
― David Wroblewski , The Story of Edgar Sawtelle
33
" Beside him Mr. Harris folded his morning newspaper and held it out to Claude." Seen this yet?" " No." " Don't read it," Mr. Harris said, folding the paper once more and sliding it under his rear. " It will only upset you, son." " It's a wicked paper... " Claude agreed, but Mr. Harris was overspeaking him." It's the big black words that do it. The little grey ones don't matter very much, they're just fill-ins they take everyday from the wires. They concentrate their poison in the big black words, where it will radiate.Of course if you read the little stories too you've got sure proof that every word they wrote above, themselves, was a fat black lie, but by then you've absorbed a thousand greyer ones, and where and how to check on those? This way the mind deteriorates. The best way you can save yourself is not to read it, son." " No, I... " " That's right, if you're not careful," Mr. Harris went on, blue-eyed, red-faced, " you find yourself pretty soon hating everyone but God, the Babe, and a few dead senators. That's no fun. Men aren't so bad as that." " No." " That's right, you begin to worry about anyone who opens his mouth except to say ho it looks like rain, let's bowl. Otherwise you wonder what the hell he's trying to prove, or undermine. If he asks what time it is, you wonder what terrible thing is scheduled to happen, where it will happen, when. You can't even stand to be asked how you feel today - he's probably looking at the bumps on you, they may have grown more noticeable overnight. Soon you feel you should apologize for standing there where he can watch you dying in front of him, he'd rather for you to carry your head around in a little plaid bag, like your bowling ball. There's no joy in that. Men aren't so very bad." Mr. Harris paused to remove his Panama hat. Water seeped from his knobby forehead, which he mopped with a damp handkerchief. " I've offended you, son," he said." Not at all, I entirely agree with you." Mr. Harris replaced his hat, folded his handkerchief." I shouldn't shoot off this way," he said. " I read too much." " No, no. You're right... "
35
" God could no longer see the faces of the men, only red and orange hazes. He heard taunting voices in his mind spurring him on, calling him a “pussy,” and old, hairy hands reaching out to grab him. His gripped tightened on the punk’s neck and he cocked his right arm back ready to do some serious damage.
“Let him go.”
God shook his head at the familiar deep voice.
“I said, let him go now!”
He felt two strong hands land on his shoulders and heat seeped its way into him from behind.
“Put him down, God. Right now before you kill him. Listen to my voice.” Day was up on his tiptoes speaking into his ear. His breath was hot on his neck and it gave him a tingling in his spine. “Cashel, stop,” Day whispered.
God put his right arm down and released the man from his grip. He didn’t wait to see the man’s body drop. He spun around and looked into his friend’s eyes, and was relieved when he didn’t see judgment, sorrow, or pity…all he saw was relief and then concern. Day grabbed him and held on to him tightly. His embrace was strong and confident…exactly what God needed to feel right then.
“Come on, we gotta get out of here.” Day gripped the back of his arm and moved them quickly out of the alley and into a waiting taxi.
“Wait…my truck.”
“It’s taken care of.” Day kept him from getting out of the vehicle.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you owe me two hundred dollars because that’s what I just paid the bartender to follow us back to my place in your truck.”
God spun around and saw his huge truck’s headlights behind them.
“You have a stranger driving my truck…my fucking guns are in there, Leo.”
“You should’ve thought about that earlier, Cash,” Day growled right back.
“If you’re going to lecture me, Leo…fucking save it.” God slid down farther and let his aching head rest on the back of the seat as the cab accelerated onto the highway.
“You know me better than that, Cash. I’m not going to lecture you. I’m going to kick your ass,” Day said matter-of-factly and turned to look out the window. Neither one said anything else the rest of the ride. "
― A.E. Via
