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121 " Why books?”Her brows rose. “I beg your pardon?”“Why are they your vice?”She set her plate down and wiped her hand on her skirts before reaching for the top volume on a stack of small, leather bound books nearby and extending it to him. “Go on.”He took it. “Now what?”“Smell it.” He tilted his head. She couldn’t help but smile. “Do it.”He lifted it to his nose. Inhaled.“Not like that,” she said. “Really give it a smell.”He raised one brow but did as he was told. “What do you smell?” Sophie asked.“Leather and ink?”She shook her head. “Happiness. That’s what books smells like. Happiness. That’s why I always wanted to have a book shop. What better life than to trade in happiness? "
― Sarah MacLean , The Rogue Not Taken (Scandal & Scoundrel, #1)
122 " Baby,” Day said softly, his throat still sore from being choked.God turned around slowly and faced him. Day choked up at the pained expression on his man’s face. He could see that God’s eyes were moist and red-rimmed. Day inched toward him and didn’t stop until he was pressed against that broad chest. God’s strong arms came around him and squeezed him hard. The guttural moan the man released against his temple made Day’s heart seize.God pulled back and gripped a handful of Day’s hair pulling so that he was looking up at him. God bent down and oh so gently grazed his soft lips across his. Day’s body vibrated from the sensual feeling. God rubbed his face all over Day’s as if he was marking him with his scent. God’s grip tightened in his hair and he moaned again. Day could feel God’s body trembling and Day didn’t know at that moment if the shaking was from residual fear or need, so he didn’t move as he let his lover do what he needed to do.God released the punishing grip and his large palms shook as they ghosted over Day’s face. His chin was tilted up by firm fingers and again was blessed with feathery-soft kisses. God leaned back in and draped his arms completely around him and Day embraced him back. The soft piano from the album serenaded them and God just barely rocked their bodies back and forth in a very slow dance. Every few seconds he’d stop to place kisses on his forehead before leaning back in. "
― A.E. Via
123 " She closed her eyes and listened to the drone of bees as they moved lazily among the flowering bursts of deep pink hydrangea and delicate tendrils of sweet pea that wound through the basket-bed borders. Although she was still very weak, it was pleasant to sit in warm lethargy, half-drowsing like a cat.She was slow to respond when she heard a sound from the doorway... a single light rap, as if the visitor was reluctant to disrupt her reverie with a loud knock. Blinking her sun-dazzled eyes, Annabelle remained sitting with her legs tucked beneath her. The mass of light speckles gradually faded from her vision, and she found herself staring at Simon Hunt's dark, lean form. He had leaned part of his weight on the doorjamb, bracing a shoulder against it in an unselfconsciously rakish pose. His head was slightly tilted as he considered her with an unfathomable expression.Annabelle's pulse escalated to a mad clatter. As usual, Hunt was dressed impeccably, but the gentlemanly attire did nothing to disguise the virile energy that seemed to emanate from him. She recalled the hardness of his arms and chest as he had carried her, the touch of his hands on her body... oh, she would never be able to look at him again without remembering!" You look like a butterfly that's just flown in from the garden," Hunt said softly. "
124 " Yeah, but will it hurt?”’ I asked.“This is science, Zach,” Randy said, reassuringly, as he tilted my head back and lowered the lens to my eye. “Of course it will hurt. "
― John Zakour , The Plutonium Blonde (Nuclear Bombshell, #1)
125 " Even as I took a long, hard look at some of the obvious downsides (Q: 'What are the three things keeping India down? A: Corruption, corruption and corruption.'), I still felt the upsides (Q: 'What is so fantastic about the India story? A: People, people and people.') tilted the scales in our favor. "
126 " This thing in your chest, slightly tilted towards the left, could be fidgety at times. Make sure you set it right. "
127 " Open your eyes, baby. Look at me.” He pressed his forehead down to meet mine, my eyelids fluttering open at his command. “Look at me and tell me you don’t want it.”I peered up at him with unsteady breaths, hearing his throat work when I tilted my lips to graze his. The contact was feather light, my heart hammering through my chest at the feel of it. “I’m looking,” I breathed against him.“Good. Because right now, all I want to do is rip your clothes off and make you come until you can’t stand, and I want your eyes on me the whole time, are we clear?”-Jackson and Emma "
― , Love and Relativity (Preservation)
128 " The traffic warden looked up. " This your car?" " It is," said Skulduggery. The traffic warden nodded. " Very nice, very nice. But you can't park here, day or night." " I wasn't aware of that." " There's a sign right over there." " I didn't think it applied to me." " Why wouldn't it have applied to you?" Skulduggery tilted his head. " Because I'm special." " Don't care how special you think you are, you're parked in a no parking area and as such you're---" " We're here on official police business." The traffic warden narrowed his eyes. " You're Garda? I'm going to need to see some identification." " We're undercover," said Skulduggery. " This is a very important undercover operation which you are endangering just by talking to us." He opened his jacket. " Look, I have a gun. I am Detective Inspector Me. This is my partner, Detective Her." The traffic warden frowned. " Her?" " Me," said Stephanie. " Him?" " Not me," said Skulduggery. " Her." " Me," said Stephanie. " You?" said the traffic warden. " Yes," said Stephanie. " I" m sorry, who are you?" Stephanie looked at him. " I'm Her, he's Me. Got it? Good. You better get out of here before you blow our cover. They've got snipers. "
129 " Ninth Floorshe ran across the parquet slipped the flokati matcrashed the windownoshe stood at the window prism looked up at sky bruise nightspread hernoshe tilted dived swanning spinningtip-toed ink air broke fingers firstnoshe climbed the small gap the window gavehung her finger joints clotted the view with frightened breathfell ligament torn and sorrynoshe wandered to the glass hatch to watch tranquilised lights sputteringleaned too hard fell faster than a bottle of Jacknothis is how it was:drunk screaming she crashed the parquet with griefroared the ungiving window frames which gaveshe spangled spaghetti-like ribbon-voicedstreet lights crashed on herno.She did nothing. "