Muscle Head Quotes & Sayings

He was still a kid inside. His body had grown, stretched, towered, tanned its skin, hardened its muscle, darkened its tawny shock of long hair, tightened its lines around jaw and eyes, thickened fingers and knuckles, but the brain didn't feel as if it had grown in sympathy with the rest. It was still green, full of tall, lush oaks and elms in summer; a creek ran through it, and the kids climbed around on its convolutions shouting, This way, gang - we'll take a short-cut and head them off at Dead Man's Gulch! — Ray Bradbury

Sam responded to my mental request, his leg tensing and relaxing, and then coming up against my sex, repeatedly, pounding, as I dropped onto him with furious desire. I pulled Sam to me, as I tensed every muscle in my body in one last spasm of agony, and found my glorious release. Then, I came a second time. I held Sam's head and kissed him, coming a third time as Sam slowed the motion of his leg, and I finally collapsed against him, breathing heavily, fully spent. — Simone Freier

His skin was furred like that of a horse. Snakes danced and hissed from his head, their thin bodies acting as his hair. Two long fangs protruded over his bottom lip. He had human hands, but his feet were hooves. Muscle was stacked upon muscle on his torso, and his nipples were pierced by two large silver rings. Metal chains circled his neck, wrists and ankles, and those chains kept him tethered to the pillars. "Who are you?" Strider demanded. No need to ask what the thing was. Ugly as shit covered it. He — Gena Showalter

When he came in sight of the prisoner he stopped short. The man sat with his hands bound behind him, securely strapped into a seat and guarded by two Yellow Squad troopers, a big fellow and a thin woman who made Mark think of a snake, all sinuous muscle and unblinking beady eyes. The prisoner looked a striking forty or so years of age, and wore a torn brown silk tunic and trousers. Loose strands of dark hair escaped from a gold ring on the back of his head and fell about his face. He did not struggle, but sat calmly, waiting, with a cold patience that quite matched the snake-woman's. Bharaputra. The Bharaputra, Baron Bharaputra, Vasa Luigi himself. The man hadn't changed a hair in the eight years since Mark had last glimpsed him. Vasa — Lois McMaster Bujold

It's now possible to have your body 3D-imaged from head to toe at a sub-millimeter accuracy, showing every ripple of muscle or cellulite, to allow the perfect-fitting jeans or shoes. — Peter Diamandis

What about your freedom?" he whispered in her ear over a minute later, bracing his hands palms down on the wall beside her head. He made no move to stop her as she stroked and petted every inch of that sinfully gorgeous chest, all hard muscle and gleaming skin overlaid with silky-rough strands of dark hair.
"Idiot." She nipped his jaw with her teeth. "The only freedom I ever wanted was the right to love you. — Nalini Singh

Curse him for being all tight muscle, with ivory skin and a mouth as soft as rose petals. Curse him for having hair as fair as the sun, and eyes as black as night. Curse him for having the grace of a cat and deft, cool hands.
And now I am having the same argument on paper that I have in my own head on too many nights. I know my choice is sensible, but it isn't my common sense I think with, those times Rosto's stolen a kiss from me. — Tamora Pierce

Dreamt I stood in a china shop so crowded from floor to far-off ceiling with shelves of porcelain antiques, etc. that moving a muscle would cause several to fall and smash to bits. Exactly what happened but instead of a crashing noise, an august chord rang out, half cello, half celeste, D major (?), held for four beats. My wrist knocked a Ming vase affair off its pedestal-E flat. Whole string section, glorious, transcendant, angels wept. Deliberately now, smashed a figurine of an ox for the next note, then a milkmaid, then Saturday's Child-orgy of shrapnel filled the air, divine harmonies my head. — David Mitchell

The guide showed us a coffee-colored piece of sculpture which he said was considered to have come from the hand of Phidias, since it was not possible that any other artist, of any epoch, could have copied nature with such faultless accuracy. The figure was that of a man without a skin; with every vein, artery, muscle, every fibre and tendon and tissue of the human frame, represented in detail. It looked natural, because somehow it looked as if it were in pain. A skinned man would be likely to look that way, unless his attention were occupied with some other matter. It was a hideous thing, and yet there was a fascination about it some where. I am sorry I saw it, because I shall always see it, now. I shall dream of it, sometimes. I shall dream that it is resting its corded arms on the bed's head and looking down on me with its dead eyes; I shall dream that it is stretched between the sheets with me and touching me with its exposed muscles and its stringy cold legs. — Mark Twain

The fleabitten grey mare's short legs are slightly over at the knee, she has a Roman nose and a neck of solid muscle well-practiced at pulling her rider out of the saddle. Her head is up and a layer of sweat darkens her pale shoulders, but Alec's holding his reins tight and he's maintaining control. All the riders who have gone before on beautifully turned out, well-schooled ponies were merely passengers as their ponies jumped. Alec has harnessed the raw talent of his mare, her power barely held in check as the bell rings and he canters her around towards the first jump. Jess strains against the martingale as she charges towards the first fence and with one strong push off her hocks, flies over the jump with her knees tucked into her chest. — Kate Lattey

I hope you sleep better than I do." The change in topics threw me. "You're not sleeping?" He slowly shook his head. "Knowing my bedroom backs up to yours, that you're only a wall away, lying in bed, makes that pretty fucking impossible." Every muscle in my body loosened, tingles of energy rushing through me. Could a girl orgasm from words? A charged silence passed between us. "'Night. — Rebecca Yarros

Opening the door, he nearly did a double take into the mirror behind
him.
Hooch. Hooch, pushing his shades back up onto his head, and re-shouldering the bergan. Hooch, standing in the doorway.
"Been thinking."
Two words, more than usual.
"Been around a bit."
Six, speech worthy of a national holiday.
"Looking for a station now."
Eleven, whole fucking fireworks.
"Central station."
Thirteen, and the heavens came down for Matt.
"You still offering?"
Sixteen, and the world stopped spinning.
Matt stood thinking for a while, not a muscle in his face twitched. Then
stepped aside, gestured the other man to follow him. Closed the door.
"One condition."
Hooch's brows rose for a split second.
Matt broke into a grin at last, which threatened to split his face. "Promise
not to talk too much. — Marquesate

[He] ... watches the Joker rising from his wheelchair, the way a rabbit watches car headlights bearing down, unable to move a single, spotlit muscle. The madman's limbs appear to unlatch as though some psychotic god has chosen to give life to a complicated Swiss Army knife. The Joker's head rotates ... the green lasers of his eyes target the keys at the big man's belt, and he shakes his head. — Grant Morrison

Prince, cast aside these Foreign Airs, which don't speak, 'cept to the Head," said I (without Thought, but only Combustion of the Tongue), crying, "Poor timid Creature, cast them aside, and instead play the Simple Things in your HEART!"
He replied, "What is in my Heart is not simple."
& I says, "Then you han't listened."
& He says, "I listen, & cannot understand its Speech."
& I says, "Then it ain't your Heart you hear."
"The Human Heart," recited he bitterly as if from some damp Lesson, "is a Muscle that operates through Constriction." His Work on the Oysters grew defiant. "I have seen a Heart lying on a Plate, jolted with Electricity. It had as much to say dead as alive."
Now I was terrified at his Past & his Secrets & I asked for no more Music. — M T Anderson

The next morning, my head and every muscle in my body hurt as if I'd run a marathon through six feet of snow in stilettos. — Courtney Allison Moulton

Darcangelo winced, gritted his teeth "Want to tell me why ... you're sitting here cuddling me, Hunter?"
"Rossiter says I have to keep you warm. He thinks you're in shock or some shit."
Despite his words and the tone of his voice, there was really worry on Hunter's face.
"Great. Thanks." Darcangelo's head fell back to rest against Hunter's vest, the big guy's strength clearly spent.
A muscle clenched in Hunter's jaw. "Hey, don't mention it
ever. — Pamela Clare

Joe certainly didn't seem concerned with his own enlightenment, but he did seem more intelligent than the average muscle neck. Then he raised his arm, bent his head, and sniffed his pit.
Gabrielle looked at the plates in her hands. She should have used paper. — Rachel Gibson

Well, then," said Mr. Jones. "Denise, what do you say you and I go get some mussels?"
Denny eyed him skeptically. She didn't particularly want muscles. "Doing what?" she asked.
"Pardon?" said Mr. Jones.
"What do we have to do to get these muscles?" she asked.
"Cut them off of rocks."
"Cut muscles off of rocks?" said Denny.
"Yeah. They usually cling by their beards."
Denny gave him such a look of total bewilderment that her mother burst out laughing. "I think we have another communication problem here," she said. "The only muscle Denny has ever heard of is the kind in your arm."
Mr. Jones threw back his head and laughed. "Well, then, come along," he said. "It's time you learned a thing or two about the creatures you're sharing this island with. — Jackie French Koller

Voiceover work definitely requires it's own specific muscle. And because you're not seeing what you're recording, and all these things are going on, you really have to use your imagination and stay focused and kind of be able to tap your head and rub your belly at the same time. — Keri Russell

I started to respond, but Bambi slithered up and placed its horse-sized head on my shoulder. Every muscle in my body locked up and I squeezed my eyes shut. There was a puff of air, stirring the hair along my temple. Bambi's forked tongue shot out, tickling the side of my neck.
"Hey, look, Bambi likes you."
I pried one eye open.
"And if she didn't?"
"Oh, you'd know, 'cause she would've eaten you by now."
Armentrout, Jennifer L. (2014-03-01). White Hot Kiss (The Dark Elements Book 1) (p. 255). Harlequin. Kindle Edition. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

The bed was swathed in black cotton; turning her head, Danika saw that she was draped by a half-clothed man. He possessed skin of chocolate and honey, taut muscle and ripped sinew. No hair marred his chest, but there was a menacing butterfly tattoo that stretched from one shoulder to the other and up his neck. Menacing butterfly - two words that could be used together to describe only one man. Reyes. "Oh, — Gena Showalter

You know that movie, where the little boy says 'I see dead people'?
The Sixth Sense.
Well, I see them all the time, and I'm getting tired of it. That's what's ruined my mood. Here it is, almost Christmas, and I didn't even think about putting up a tree, because I'm still seeing the autopsy lab in my head. I'm still smelling it on my hands. I come home on a day like this, after two postmortems, and I can't think about cooking dinner. I can't even look at a piece of meat without thinking of muscle fibers. All I can deal with is a cocktail. And then I pour the drink and smell the alcohol, and suddenly there I am, back in the lab. Alcohol, formalin, they both have that same sharp smell. — Tess Gerritsen

Nathan smoothly touched the bottom with a palm. His shirt and shoes were off. When his head and chest rose out of the water, I was in awe of the muscles that were defined in his body. Unlike Silas whose bulk of muscle was smooth, Nathan was a precision machine. The ripples of muscles along his abdomen fit together like a living puzzle. A smile broke on his lips as those penetrating blue eyes fixed on my face. Did you find out? — C.L.Stone

Horace's pulse was racing and adrenaline was surging into his system. But he showed no sign of it. He had somehow realized what was coming as the huge man had leaped and spun before him. The coordination of the back stroke with the turn had alerted Horace, and he had determined that he would not move a muscle when the stroke arrived. It took enormous strength of will but he had managed it. Now he smiled.
Prance and leap all you like, my friend, he thought, I'll show you what a knight of Araluen is made of.
Mussaun paused. He frowned and stared at the smiling young man before him. In times past, that movement had invariably resulted in the victim's dropping to ground, hands above head, screaming for mercy. This youth was smiling at him!
"That was really good," Horace said. "I wonder, could I have a go?" He held out his bound hands. — John Flanagan

He heard a sickening thunk, his head twisting to the side just in time to see that Darnell had a five-inch-long dart sticking out of his shoulder, its thin metal shaft planted deep within the muscle. Blood trickled down from the wound. The boy made a strange grunt as he collapsed to the ground. — James Dashner

The myosin in our own skeletal muscles is more closely related to the myosin driving the flight muscles of that irritating housefly buzzing around your head than it is to the myosin in the muscles of your own sphincters — Nick Lane

My parents both work in publishing, and I was a bright, academic kind of kid, and I read a lot of books, and when you read a lot, I guess the muscle that gets exercised is where you can hear the voices in your head. You can turn words into pictures and into sounds and into colours and smells. — Harry Lloyd

I gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it upward and over his head,taking a long moment to enjoy the view:smooth,eternally golden skin over lean muscle. — Chloe Neill

The wine must have eradicated every last atom of common sense I possessed, because I reached up to give him a hug in the same way I would have done with Tom or one of Dane's other friends. A buddy hug. But every nerve from head to toe screamed "Mistake!" as soon as the front of my body met his, adhering like wet cottonwood leaves.
Jack's arms went around me, clasping me against a wall of muscle, and he was so big and warm, and it felt so scary-good that I stiffened all over.
The hot drift of his breath against my cheek made my heartbeat go crazy, and instant arousal filled the space between every thump.
I gasped, ducking away, my face crammed against his shoulder. "Jack ... " I could hardly speak. "I wasn't making a pass at you."
"I know." One hand slid to the back of my head, fingers lacing through the silky-fine locks. Gripping gently, he guided me to look at him. "It's not at all your fault that I'm taking it that way."
-Ella & Jack — Lisa Kleypas

Do you know what Aunt Marmoset told me once? She compared you to a spice drop. Overpowering and hard at first, but all sweetness at the center. I'll admit, I've been desperate to try an experiment." She gave him a teasing look. "How many times do you suppose I could lick you before you crack?"
His every muscle tightened.
Smiling, she tucked her face into the curve of his neck and ran her tongue seductively over his skin. "There's one."
"Katie." The word was a low, throaty warning. It made her toes curl.
She nuzzled at the notch of his open shirt, pushing the fabric aside. The familiar musk of his skin stirred her in deep places.
With a teasing swirl of her tongue, she tasted the notch at the base of his throat. "Two ... "
"Finn," he called in a booming voice, lifting his head. "Send for the vicar."
She pulled back, shocked. "Two? That's all, truly? Two? I'm not sure whether to feel proud or disappointed. — Tessa Dare

The two of them carefully stepped around the crime scene, picking up Nick's arms, legs and organs, and brought them back to his head. They placed his extremities into position, and then pieced in the gorier bits, assembling a gruesome jigsaw puzzle. In a few moments, most of Nick's body was in place.
The healing process took about twenty minutes. Elphaba and John stood spellbound as they watched a bloody collection of body parts reintegrate into a human form.
As Nick's sinews, nerves, and muscle knit back into place, the gaping wound in Esperto's body also closed, completing a few minutes before Nick's healing. The panther form quickly shrank back to housecat just as Nick sat up. Esperto jumped in his lap and licked the remnants of blood off his face.
"Thank you Esperto," Nick said. He looked at Elphaba and John. "Well, that could have gone better. — Abramelin Keldor

As accustomed as he was to the ever-expanding muscle of technology, even Jason Archer had to shake his head occasionally over what was really out there. Iris scanners were also used to closely monitor worker productivity. Jason grimaced. Truth be known, Orwell had actually underestimated. — David Baldacci

Do you ever think about it? About nothingness. I do, I think about it all the time. Because of course it's nothingness that awaits us. Of course it is. If it weren't why would our hearts keep pumping any longer than they had to? Why wouldn't we all emerge into the world pure and innocent, and then before we had a chance to get in any trouble, before we had a chance to take our first oily shit, just immediately shut down our systems and head straight to the hereafter? If there were a better life after death, why bother getting fitter for survival's sake? Why would evolution even be a thing? Why fight for something second best? If death was really awesome, in a life or death situation, our bodies wouldn't muscle up with epinephrine and cortisol. Our brains would hit us up instead with sloppy, sleepy happy love. Hannibal Lecter would be our Mickey Mouse. No, there's fuckall to look forward to. Our bodies understand this. The real problem is, it's unbearable to know this. So we cope. — Elizabeth Little

I'm a feeler. I feel everything deep within my core. Even when I don't want to. I don't know where my emotions stop and my empathy begins. I feel from the tips of my toes to the follicles of my head. I feel with every fiber, every molecule, every tissue, marrow, muscle, and bone in my body. I feel. — A.J. Compton

The infant needs to develop sufficient muscle tone in order to be able to move around and stimulate this linking together. To establish tone, the infant needs to be touched, hugged, and rocked, as well as being allowed to move around freely. Such stimulation sends signals from the sense organs of the tactile, balance and kinaesthetic senses to those centres of the brain stem that regulate muscle tone. If the baby gets insufficient stimulation from these senses the tone of the extensor muscles will be low.3 This may make it difficult for the baby to lift his head and chest and move around, further reducing the stimulation from the balance, tactile and kinaesthetic senses, leading to a particularly vicious cycle of developmental delay. — Harald Blomberg

Now he laughs for real, cackling with the wicked innocence of the bright and easily bored. Staff Sergeant David Dime is a twenty-four-year-old college dropout from North Carolina who subscribes to the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, Maxim, Wired, Harper's, Fortune, and DicE Magazine, all of which he reads in addition to three or four books a week, mostly used textbooks on history and politics that his insanely hot sister sends from Chapel Hill. There are stories that he went to college on a golf scholarship, which he denies. That he was a star quarterback in high school, which he claims not to remember, though one day a football surfaced at FOB Viper, and Dime, caught up in the moment, perhaps, nostalgia triggering some long-dormant muscle memory, uncorked a sixty-yard spiral that sailed over Day's head into the base motor pool. — Ben Fountain

It's all in the mind or it's all in the head. Surrounded by bone, it's nothing but muscle. — Jeff Hardy

I stretched on my toes, pulled his head down, and kissed him. His response was instant and held every bit of one hundred and forty thousand years of sexual expertise - but not one ounce of that elusive, deadly death-by-sex Fae quality.
I pushed back and stared at him. I could feel intense sexual arousal rolling off him, but no more so than I would coming off any man. There went that muscle in his jaw again. Was it possible he wasn't muting himself? I'd heard that if you took certain poisons but didn't die, you acquired immunity. Had I drunk enough Poison de Fae? "Unmute yourself," I demanded.
"I. Am. Not. Muted."
Did he ever sound pissed! — Karen Marie Moning

Four wanders through the crowd of initiates, watching us as we go through the movements again. When he stops in front of me, my insides twist like someone is stirring them with a fork. He stares at me, his eyes following my body from my head to my feet, not lingering anywhere - a practical, scientific gaze.
"You don't have much muscle", he says, "which means you're better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them."
Suddenly he presses a hand to my stomach. His fingers are so long that, though the heel of his hand touches one side of my rib cage, his fingertips still touch the other side. My heart pounds so hard my chest hurts, and I stare at him, wide-eyed.
"Never forget to keep tension here", he says in a quiet voice.
Four lifts his hand and keeps walking. I feel the pressure of his palm even after he's gone. It's strange, but I have to stop and breathe for a few seconds before I can keep practicing again. — Veronica Roth

Emerson lifts his head. His eyes are two dark pools of desire, a clouded night's sky. He catches his breath a moment, unsteady, and then drops a kiss on my lips. Sweet. Almost tender. I barely have time to take it in before he grabs my shoulder and spins me around, pushing me so my bare chest is slammed up into the wall, my cheek pressed against the cold concrete.
I gasp, my heart skipping with the thrill. I can feel him up against me, a solid wall of muscle trapping me in place, the hard ridge of him pressed against the small of my back. I can't move, or see the expression on his face, only hear the hoarse groan Emerson sounds as he twists a handful of my hair and yanks it to one side, kissing a searing trail along the curve of my neck.
I whimper, bound and powerless against him, and oh God, loving every minute of it. — Melody Grace

Julia was a physically affectionate person and had always been. She had always loved the warmth and vibrancy of skin and for some reason; Julia couldn't take her eyes off his neck. It was thick with muscle and looked vital, and very delicious. In her momentarily dumbstruck state she wanted nothing else but to touch, oh she wanted to lay both her hands there, on his skin right above the crew neckline of his tee. She wanted to touch it with her fingers and feel it throbbing with life. She wanted it, yearned for it, more than she wanted to take her next breath. His other hand touched her elbow and sanity returned to her in degrees. She shook her head, dislodging the uncharacteristic vampiric tendency and tried to extricate herself from his confining arms. — Anonymous

You moved my head so that it was lying in your lap.
"Keep your eyes open," you said. "Stay with me."
I tried. It felt like I was using every muscle in my face. But I did it. I saw you from upside down, your lips above my eyes and your eyes above my lips.
"Talk to me," you said.
My throat felt like it was closing up, as if my skin had swollen, making my throat a lump of solid flesh. I gripped your hand.
"Keep watching me, then," you said. "Keep listening. — Lucy Christopher

Thomas make it easy to cave to temptation with his golden - blond hair, muscle from head to toe and sexy brooding expression a few girls have written about in poems. — Katie McGarry

Duke was a burly, barrel-shaped Rottweiler made up of muscle and solid fat and built like a wrestler, a dog that looked like it was permanently on the verge of dying of boredom. He shook his weighty head as if he was being plagued by ear-mites and dislodged a scatter of small romantic words like a broken rope of pearls. — Kate Atkinson

They must have looked like traveling companions, Phoebe thought, possibly even a couple. She noticed her voice leaning into laughter, how she tossed her head, each tiny gesture like the sweet ache of a muscle craving exercise. — Jennifer Egan

I was hiking a five-day loop - alone - in the Rocky Mountains when I rounded the switchback and saw a large body on the trail ahead. It had brown fur with a cinnamon tinge that was draped across dense, humped back muscle. A broad head lifted and I could see the dish-shaped muzzle was catching my scent. I knew bears. This was a grizzly. — Claire Cameron

Winkie? Flesh flute? Tallywhacker? Baby maker? Quiver bone? Joystick? Fun stick? Lap rocket? Love muscle? Wedding tackle? One-eyed wonder weasel? Helmet head? Wang? Trouser snake? Giggle stick? Schlong? Mushroom head? Love rod? Pecker? Thundersw - "
"Enough!" Lucian barked, and when Bricker paused and glanced to him questioningly, he said, "I do not know what alarms me more, that you have so many names for cock or what it means in regard to how much time you spend thinking about cock. — Lynsay Sands

Ranger was definitely wow. He stood half a head taller than me. He was perfectly toned muscle, and he had classic Latino good looks. He always smelled great. He dressed only in black. His eyes were dark. His hair was dark. His life was dark. Ranger had lots of secrets. — Janet Evanovich

The damn hawker nearly caught the bumper." More amazed than angry now, Eve shook her head. "A guy in air boots nearly outran a cop ride. What's the world coming to, Peabody?" Eyes stubbornly shut, Peabody didn't move a muscle. "I'm sorry, sir, you're interrupting my praying. — J.D. Robb

He won't stop staring.
"What?" I ask.
"How much do you weigh?"
"Wow. Is that how you talk to every girl you meet? That explains so much."
"I'm about one hundred seventy-five pounds," he says. "Of muscle."
I stare at him. "Would you like an award?"
"Well, well, well," he says, cocking his head, the barest hint of a smile flickering across his face. "Look who's the smart-ass now."
"I think you're rubbing off on me," I say. — Tahereh Mafi

Molech's signature achievement was his tophet altars where worshippers "passed their children through the fire." They were usually bronze statues of himself with a bull's head, seated with outstretched arms to place the child over the flames. It was so bold and brilliant that Ba'al had stolen his idea and used it for his own altars. The muscle-bound brute didn't have an original thought in his puny little skull. Molech made himself invisible to his worshippers, as the Watcher gods typically did in these latter days. In primeval days, the days of Noah, they had walked amongst men and engaged in the open. It was almost as if the growth of knowledge and technology had the deleterious effect on humans of blinding them more and more to the spiritual world around them. It was just as well. The gods could achieve things through hiding that they could not through visible means. — Brian Godawa

He leaned in. I felt his breath against my neck, then the press of his mouth against my skin just above the collar, almost a sigh.
"Don't," I said. I drew back, but he held me tighter. His hand went to the nape of my neck, long fingers twining in my hair, easing my head back. I closed my eyes.
"Let me," he murmured against my throat. His heel hooked around my leg, bringing me closer. I felt the heat of his tongue, the flex of hard muscle beneath bare skin as he guided my hands around his waist. "It isn't real," he said. "Let me."
I felt that rush of hunger, the steady, longing beat of desire that neither of us wanted, but that gripped us anyway. We were alone in the world, unique. We were bound together and always would be.
And it didn't matter.
I couldn't forget what he'd done, and I wouldn't forgive what he was: a murderer. A monster. A man who had tortured my friends and slaughtered the people I'd tried to protect. I shoved away from him. "It's real enough. — Leigh Bardugo

At the teasing penetration, my hips jerk upward. Wes chuckles and eases his finger deeper, until the pad of it is stroking my prostate. My entire body trembles. Tingles. Burns. He spends a maddeningly long time torturing me with his mouth and finger - no, fingers. He's got two inside me now, rubbing that sensitive place and bringing white dots to my eyes. "Wes," I murmur. He raises his head. His gray eyes are smoky with desire. "Hmmm?" he says lazily. "Stop fucking teasing me and start fucking fucking me," I rasp. "Fucking fucking you? Did you really need two fuckings?" "One's an adverb and one's a verb." My voice is as tight as every muscle in my body. I'm about to go up in flames if he doesn't make me come. His laughter warms my thigh. "I love the English language, dude. It's so creative." "Are we really having this conversation right now?" I growl when his teeth sink into my inner thigh. His fingers are still lodged inside me, but no longer moving. — Sarina Bowen

crawling up into daddy's lap
when dad was still

DADDY

nodding my head against his chest soaking in the comfort of his heart

LISTENING

to the thump...thump
somewhere beneath muscle
and breastbone I remember his arms
their sublime

ENCIRCLING

and the shawdow of his voice
"I love you, little girl.
Put away your bad dreams.
Daddy's here"

I put them away, Until Daddy became my nightmare that one that came

HOME

from work everyday and instead
of picking me up, chased me far
far
away — Ellen Hopkins