Late twenties, single, female. Do the math.Flirty flings were fabulous until you hit the big three-O, all downhillfrom there. Biological clocks started ticking like time bombs waiting todetonate, gravity exerted more force on your life than your mom, andsuddenly, the dog-ugliest creep looked like Jake Gyllenhaal.
If I've got a Dad, and his name is Wormwood Rot, and he's in some heavy metal rock band called Grave Dirt . . . then I'm definitely meeting him!She stares at me awkwardly, and I'm about to ask again—maybe even insist—when she says, "Honey, why do you think he's on the news? Wormwood, I mean . . . your father? Becca, he's . . . dead.
When George spotted the pinup girl of his fondest fantasies across that cheesy bar, he had no idea what his pickup line was going to be. All he knew was that he had to get to her, right that second, and stake his claim. He didn’t give two shits if she was meeting someone, or was there with friends. That bird was going to be his.
Morgan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right,” she sighed, “We should probably wait.” Owen drew back, and she could feel him studying her. She waited as long as she could stand it before she opened her eyes and grinned. He chuckled, low in his throat, a predatory gleam in his eye.
Owen folded his arms around Morgan to steady her when she crashed into him, and was enveloped by her scent, her warm softness. When she gave a scared little scream, he tightened his arms in a protective reflex. She fit him perfectly, he noted distractedly. And she was soaked: he'd seen her come in from the rain, her expression frantic, just as he had rushed in the front door. His shirt was plastered to his chest between them.
I look back at Tori, who’s watching him looking worried and poised as if she’s about to rush over and help him at any moment. I can understand how the kid runs into tables when she’s near. There’s something about her that makes you want to stop and stare and not look away. I feel a ping of regret when I remember that all of this is unfortunately temporary.
Morgan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right,” she sighed, “We should probably wait.” Owen drew back, and she could feel him studying her. She waited as long as she could stand it before she opened her eyes and grinned. He chuckled, low in his throat, a predatory gleam in hi
The hours tick by as I lie in bed.Memories keep surfacing, tormenting me into unbelievable sadness. I can't bring myself to move. I can't fight the memories that keep filling my thoughts. I stay curled in the fetal position as each memory plays out. I can't stop them from coming. I can't make them go away. Nothing can distract me. I can't block the memories, so they continue to come.
I'm being pulled under - father and farther from the surface. My lungs continue to scream for air. Panic is building inside me, threatening to combust. I can't break free.Help! I can't break free!I open my mouth to scream.
One of his hands move away from my face to flatten against my back, pulling me closer to him as he deepens the kiss. He parts my lips under his as my mind seems to sign quietly in content. I kiss him back as fiercely as he kisses me, unable to control the infatuation that rushes through me - feeling almost like fireworks. Not so careful anymore.Little shivers of urgency shoot through me. I push off the window, pressing closer to him. The rush of sensation that is coursing through me feels like I've drunk a gallon of coffee. It feels like an electric buzz is flooding between us.
Night has settled over Paris.The streets have cleared of the crowds, and the city has been lit up. I set my book down, deciding to go for a walk. The Eiffel Tower is only a few blocks away. Now that there aren't many people out, I can walk there without having to fight my way through mobs of gawking tourists.
He drinks his coffee tentatively, glancing at me every few seconds, watching me. Every time he glances in my direction, I quickly turn away though he obviously knows I'm watching him. I know he's wondering why I'm staring at him, but he doesn't ask.I finally take a sip of coffee, set the mug back on the table, and voice what's on my mind, "I want to draw you.
He stares at me—taking me in—with his lips slightly parted. I struggle to hold myself in place as we gawk at each other. I want so desperately to run, but something is holding me back, keeping me in place.
Every gesture and every look he gives me takes me by surprise and causes my heart to stutter.
I freeze, my feet suddenly glued to the floor. It takes me a minute to gather the courage to turn around, but when I do, I immediately wish I hadn't. The boy is standing in the doorway at the end of the hall.Why is he here again? I barely allow myself time to ask the question before I move. Panicked, I turn and run back downstairs as fast as I can."Hey! Wait!" he calls after me.I don't stop.
I grab the nearest lamppost when my knees threaten to give out, panting for breath as the words rip through me
I take in all the colorful locks that line the bridge. Each one told a story. Each lock represented a relationship that was once special, whether it ended or turned into true happiness. The locks represented a past, present, and a possible future.
When we step onto the bridge, Nathan turns and spreads his arms out wide. ‘Welcome to Pont des Arts, a.k.a. The Lock Bridge.
The boy took my sketchbook.
I head in the direction of the Eiffel Tower when I exit the alley, relieved to be out of the dark.
He smirks, shaking his head and letting his eyes wander. I watch him carefully, wondering what I can say to get him to leave. “I’m not leaving until you answer some questions. Plus, I’m holding your sketchbook hostage, so you might want to cooperate.” I raise an eyebrow at him. I guess there isn’t much I can say. “This isn’t a hostage negotiation.” He chuckles half-heartedly as his eyes take me in, almost sizing me up. “I guess I should introduce myself.” He holds a hand out for me to shake. “I’m Nathan.” I stare at his hand for a moment. “Taylor,” I reply, meeting his eyes again without taking his hand. He lets his hand fall back to his side. “At least I got you to say something non-hostile.” “I haven’t been hostile,” I object. His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, haven’t you?” “Why don’t you leave me alone?” I snap. “Leave and don’t come back.” I move passed him, heading for my apartment. He can’t follow and annoy me if I lock the door. “Where are you going?” he demands. I look back over my shoulder and roll my eyes at him, indicating the answer should be obvious: anywhere he isn’t. Once inside, I slam the door behind me. “That was totally not hostile!” he calls after me, sarcastically. I quickly head for my bedroom door, slamming it, too.
Capture every moments of your life.
When we share in each other's grief and pain, we lighten it. Or maybe we just give each other permission to feel it fully and, through that act of acceptance, the grief becomes more bearable. Because, like the rain, tears too have an end. And with deep emotions, we are open to each other in unexpected ways.
It was William who would climb out of his carriage unafraid and help a farmer drive a herd of cattle or sheep across a road when necessary.
You know what?” he whispered, out of breath, “You’re about to be in a whole lot of trouble. We probably better go.
A swirl of dust and dirt picked up from the shadows that fell over everything in this grungy corner of the world. The dancing movement was hypnotizing. The sand and grit had rested long enough to have drifted into obscurity. But fate had different plans, and this gust of wind had lifted them and turned their obscure and unknown existence into a chaotic tempest of action that could not be ignored.
He gently sucked on my lower lip, biting it carefully with his teeth. It sent tingles all over my body and I had to hold on to his strong shoulders, firm under my fingers. I opened my mouth and tugged once on his lip ring. What happened next was the best sound I had ever heard before. He groaned so deeply that I couldn’t keep my answering moan quiet.
Why are you looking at me like that?’’ he asked, his hand tensing for a second on my hip.“No reason.’’ I moved my hand up his chest and on the way his abs contracted.He pushed me away abruptly, forcing me to sit up with him. With the scruff hiding parts of his cheeks I wasn’t sure, but he seemed to be blushing. “You shouldn’t touch a man like that in the morning,’’ he rasped, his hand hiding his crotch.
Don’t cry,’’ he breathed out so very close to my face. Just a little closer and I’d feel his lips ghosting against mine. “It’s like a punch in my guts when you cry.’’ “You shouldn’t touch me,’’ I said, but despite my words, I didn’t try to move away from his touch. A tear ran to my upper lip and I tasted it with the very tip of my tongue. Nolan’s eyes darkened when he followed it, not straying from my mouth. I could see goosebumps over his skin on his neck and on his forearms. “Nolan?
I said nothing in my texts. You came up with your own conclusions and you were mad thinking about me being with someone else…’’ “Stop,’’ he said, his jaw tightening. “Touching another man…’’ “Stop it.’’ “Sleeping…’’ He ran to me and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me once, not hard, but enough to make me stop. “Quit it,’’ he whispered, his voice deep and dark.
I took one last look at the man who owned my body and soul for so many years. His face twisted into a mask of sheer devastation. I wanted to reach out and console him, to say everything would work out. It wouldn’t though, not until he put his family before his career.“I never thought our love story had an end,” Luke said faintly.Clicking the door shut, I slid down the wooden frame into a heap on the floor. Sobs racked my body as I echoed the same sentiments in my head. Our love story shouldn’t have had an end. Only a beginning.
I always thought 'love at first sight' was silly and incredibly irresponsible. Then, you came along and you flipped it on me. I understand it now. I do! ~Sheriff Derrick Decker
Andrew closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the memories of that night as the rest of the world moved on around him. He realized that even after all this time he hadn’t forgotten the smile she seemed to have patented, the light blue tank top she wore so well, or the way she had laughed when he accidentally spilled an entire can of Mountain Dew on the carpet she’d spent hours steam cleaning. And although he hadn’t kissed Cooper McKay that night, or even held her hand, he could still remember the feeling of finding out that love at first sight did truly exist.
I’m jealous of the cherries that have been in your mouth,” he said, “that they get to make your lips so red.” He kissed her softly, teasing her tongue with his, a lustful wet caress, and Austen was suspended in air. “I’m jealous of every single day before today that I didn’t get to spend with you.
Owen folded his arms around Morgan to steady her when she crashed into him, and was enveloped by her scent, her warm softness. When she gave a scared little scream, he tightened his arms in a protective reflex. She fit him perfectly, he noted distractedly. And she was soaked: he'd seen her come in from the rain, her expression frantic, just as he had rushed in the front door. His shirt was plastered to his chest between
Here’s the thing about falling for someone who’s already given up; there’s no promise of tomorrow. There aren’t any words of comfort that can be said, no glimpse of a positive change. Every moment, every thought could be their last. It’s like you’re helplessly walking into quicksand, waiting for the muck to cover your mouth and eyes until you can no longer find a way to breathe. No, it’s more like jumping from a high bridge without the promise of water underneath.And I fucking hate heights.
Grabbing her close to him, he spun her around and pushed her against the wall. They needed something solid to keep them steady, because he didn’t see himself giving up those lips any time soon. He would kiss her until she lost her breath and it was only his lips on hers that kept her upright. Only the kiss that kept her breathing.
Some things, Cassie, you just feel. You don’t know. You feel them. In here,” Gabriel said, pointing to his chest. “I knew without words, without facts, without knowing every last detail about you and your life that I was drawn to you. That we had a connection. I was mesmerized. The kind of thing that is rare.
True love is loving yourself thoroughly so that you can love another unconditionally.
She paused and met his gaze straight on. “You should be seeing someone your own age, Troy Lee.”“Please don’t start that bullshit again. It’s not the issue and you know it.”“Really. What, pray tell, is the issue?”“We’ve been out one time and already you’re looking for me to cut and run." He shook his head. “You’re doing it again. Speeding ahead, looking for where you think you’re going, instead of seeing what’s along the way. You gotta learn to slow down and enjoy the ride, Angel.
I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. Once again he was close. Too close. So damn close. “At all,” she added, hearing with some alarm that her voice had softened. Everything had softened, at just his proximity. “Ever,” she whispered, and found her gaze locked on his mouth.He had a really great mouth.“I don’t want to talk, either,” that mouth said very seriously. And then he lowered his head and kissed her.
She had no idea how long they kissed—and kissed—but she didn’t think about stopping until she ran out of air. Breathing hard, she slowly opened her eyes and stared directly into his.They’d heated. Darkened. And something else. He wasn’t looking so relaxed now. In fact, he was looking the opposite of relaxed. He looked…feral.And she was his prey.
Elsa's mother no longer spoke to her of men and love, but of duty and fate and accepting one’s burden. As far as Elsa could tell, if love really was the inherited female domain, then women were saddled with the biggest burden of all. It was pressing down upon them, the way the sea pressed down upon the creatures of the deep.
I think you still love me,’ he says, ‘even though you don’t want to.’I glare at him, fury battling my instincts.‘Because that kind of love, Jessa,’ Kit continues, ‘doesn’t just disappear. It doesn’t just fade. I still love you. I’ll always love you. And I think you feel the same way about me. And hell, I know I don’t deserve it. I know all I deserve is your hatred. But if there’s a chance, a single chance that you might still love me, then I’m not going to throw it away. Because I’ve been through hell and you’re the only reason I’m still standing.’ He pauses. ‘So tell me the truth. Do you love him?
Daniel reaches out and grabs my hand to steady me. His skin is warm and soft, and holding his hand sends an electric sensation up my right arm. He holds my hand firmly until I regain my balance, which takes me a heartbeat longer than it should have.“Thanks for keeping me from falling,” I say. He smiles warmly. “Sometimes we just can’t stop ourselves from falling, cher.
He stares at me—taking me in—with his lips slightly parted. I struggle to hold myself in place as we gawk at each other. I want so desperately to run, but something is holding me back, keeping me in place.
She came downstairs like a doe stepping into a clearing on the first day of hunting season. I felt like a coward. I was lower than dirt. I had used every trick in my book to get her to come downstairs. I had manipulated her emotions, cheated and wormed to beat her at this game we were playing. But then I saw her, and I was so happy. I knew I would have burned the building down for the sight of her running toward me out of the flames.