Muscled Quotes & Sayings

Affenlight leaned across it his wrist brushed against the mouse that was tethered to Owen's computer. With a whir the screen came to life. He couldn't help but look. Open in the internet browser was a picture of a man, a muscled, bronzed, hairless, oiled twentysomething man, sprawled in a wooden chair with one hand cupped over the tip of his erect and — Chad Harbach

If you come back to me," he said, making a rare concession, "will you run or crawl?"
Nora had pressed her whole body into him at that moment. Resting her head on his strong shoulder, she watched as a tear forged a river down his long and muscled back.
"I'll fly. — Tiffany Reisz

I am thirty-three years old and have been riding horses since I was nine. From the beginning, I was entranced with their power, their muscled fluidity. I was a typical young girl in love with horses. But there was more -- a nuance I couldn't articulate and still struggle to name. Call it a connection, an invisible fiber that runs between me and these four-legged creatures, as if we are one and the same. — Ann Campanella

Amelia envisaged that between York and the royal-infested Scottish Highlands there was a grimy wasteland of derelict cranes and abandoned mills and betrayed, yet still staunch, people. Oh and moorland, of course, vast tracts of brooding landscape under lowering skies, and across this heath strode brooding, lowering men intent on reaching their ancestral houses, where they were going to fling open doors and castigate orphaned yet resolute governesses. Or - preferably - the brooding, lowering men were on horseback, black horses with huge muscled haunches, glistening with sweat - — Kate Atkinson

In faded leathers and boots, he sure wasn't a clotheshorse like Antonio, and he was sure a lot bigger. The brown leather pants clung to long legs, and his vest opened over a thickly muscled chest. His neck was corded, his arms solid. A gold band circled one darkly tanned biceps. His face ... She frowned. All rough lines and craggy bones, he looked like a hard-edged Boromir from Lord of the Rings. His mouth was set in a firm line. And didn't that just figure she'd end up with Boromir? At least Aragorn had a sense of humor. — Cherise Sinclair

Once you've learned to study in a bathing suit on the grass with muscled men throwing frisbees over your head, you can accomplish almost anything. — Susan Rice

You can see from his form, posture, and the lazy way he carries his muscled body, that behind the mask is a man who sees more pussy than a pack of Tampax. Godfrey — L.J. Shen

You need to look hot now that you've got three guys giving you the eye.""
Three?"
"Sweet blue-eyed blond trapper ... Muscled blond trapper number two, who buys you cards ... And that gorgeous, 'Where have you been all my life' dude with the raven-black hair and dark eyes. — Jana Oliver

Most bravery, dear little one,' he said as he pulled the dog from the water and rested it across the back of his thickly muscled neck, 'is marked by a strength less than imagined, and a hope farther from reach than one expects. — Steven Erikson

The gelding held still when he took the reins, swung nimbly onto the horse's wide back and patted its withers. "You've grown fat on plains grass, Gnat. This journey will do you good."

Martise's eyes widened. "Gnat? His name is Gnat?" She stared at the mountain of horseflesh, heavily muscled and big-boned, with a girth that would make riding astride a challenge, and he stood at least seventeen hands high.

Gnat swung his large head in her direction, as if questioning her incredulity. Silhara stared down his nose, the expression made even more imperious by his high seat on the horse's back. "I didn't think 'Butterfly' suitable."

A betraying flutter rose in her throat. "No," she said, eyes tearing with the effort to hold in her laughter. "I suppose not. — Grace Draven

They failed at some important task and were banished to the heavens. The women themselves were wizened and toothless, or supple as polished ebony, with long-muscled limbs under pale shukas. I loved them and their tales, but I wanted more to join Kibii and the other totos who were becoming warriors, young morani. The role of girls in the village was entirely domestic. I had a different position - a rare one, free from the — Paula McLain

He arched a taunting brow. "Is that why you have yet to climb off me?" Desideria was horrified as she realized she hadn't moved. Every bit of her body was lying against his hard, muscled one. And honestly, it felt good. Real good. Her face heating, she practically jumped away. "Ah now that's just rude," he groused. "You know I did take a bath and everything. Several hours ago, but still." He flipped to his feet, then grimaced as if he'd struck his leg the wrong way before he limped over to secure the door. Even — Sherrilyn Kenyon

We'll take the Aventador," Fox said. "It hugs the road like you do my cock when I'm inside you." "Fox." She pushed at one muscled arm, to his wicked grin. "I cannot believe you just compared me to a car!" "No, I compared the car to you," he pointed out, one hand on the steering wheel, the big SUV moving so smoothly it appeared an extension of his body. "She gives me a sweet ride, but nothing comes close to my Molly. — Nalini Singh

Do you live and work here?" Trinity clenched her fist against his chest, her thoughts spinning. "At the ranch?"
The corner of his mouth quirked and he nodded. "Uh-huh."
Oh lord.
"That's just great." She rested her head against his muscled chest. "That's like leaving Eve in the garden of Eden not far from the apple tree. Irrisistable temptation within walking distance."
Luke chuckled, his chest vibrating beneath her ear. "Irrisistable, huh? — Cheyenne McCray

Jesus must have had man hands. He was a carpenter, the Bible tells us. I know a few carpenters, and they have great hands, all muscled and worn, with nicks and callused pads from working wood together with hardware and sheer willpower. In my mind, Jesus isn't a slight man with fair hair and eyes who looks as if a strong breeze could knock him down, as he is sometimes depicted in art and film. I see him as sturdy, with a thick frame, powerful legs, and muscular arms. He has a shock of curly black hair and an untrimmed beard, his face tanned and lined from working in the sun. And his hands - hands that pounded nails, sawed lumber, drew in the dirt, and held the children he beckoned to him. Hands that washed his disciples' feet, broke bread for them, and poured their wine. Hands that hauled a heavy cross through the streets of Jerusalem and were later nailed to it. Those were some man hands. — Cathleen Falsani

Piercings in his ears, nose and lip revealed his edgy nature. He was casual in faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt that hugged his well-muscled chest in all of the right places. His eyes were a deep, drowning blue. His hair was slightly spiky and bedroom messy with just a hint of the early Elvis style. To say that I found him attractive would be putting it lightly. He was absolutely gorgeous. — Trina M. Lee

His words were almost soundless. "I've gotten to a really dark place, Melly. The darkest place I've ever been."
"You don't have to be there anymore," she told him gently. "Don't you know what happens at the darkest point of the day?"
He stroked her soft lower lip with the ball of one thumb. "What?"
She rubbed her fingers soothingly along his muscled forearms. "A beautiful, brand-new day begins, and it's all fresh and full of promise." She smiled into his gaze. "That's why magic in the fairy tales happens at midnight, you know. When you reach that point, you have the power to change everything. — Thea Harrison

Tamlin let out a low snarl of approval, and I bit my bottom lip as he removed his pants, along with his undergarments, revealing the proud, thick length of him. My mouth went dry, and I dragged my gaze up his muscled torso, over the panes of his chest, and then -
"Come here," he growled, so roughly the words were barely discernable.
I pushed back the blankets, revealing my already naked body, and he hissed. — Sarah J. Maas

Just who am I?" the rough baritone asked in the infuriatingly amused tone one might use with a temperamental child. You're a monster, she wanted to say. A giant - huge and thickly muscled and terrifying. But she flung back her answer like her papa's own daughter. "You're the rebel bastard Glen Lyon. — Kimberly Cates

And then there she was, a girl of elegant height, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years of age - gawky and coltish, all long legs and arms, but with the promise of stunning beauty to add graceful curves to the lean lines of her body. She was dressed in a pair of my blue jeans, cut off at the tops of her muscled thighs, and my own T-shirt, tied off over her abdomen. A pentacle amulet, identical to my own, if less battered, lay over her heart, between the curves of her modest breasts. Her skin was pale, almost luminous, her hair a shade of brown-gold, like ripe wheat, her eyes a startling, storm-cloud grey in contrast. Her smile lit up her face, — Jim Butcher

He did not appear to be a very tall man; what I could see of legs seemed stumpy, though heavily muscled. His chest was broad and deep. Later I learned that he swam in the sea almost every morning. His thick strong arms were circled with leather wristbands and a bronze armlet above his left elbow that gleamed with polished onyx and lapis lazuli ... Puckered white scars from old wounds stood out against the dark skin of his arms, parting the black hairs like roads through a forest ... Odysseos wore a sleeveless tunic, his legs and feet bare, but he had thrown a lamb's fleece across his wide shoulders. His face was thickly bearded with dark curly hair that showed a trace of grey. His heavy mop of ringlets came down to his shoulders and across his forehead almost down to his black eyebrows. Those eyes were as grey as the sea outside on this rainy afternoon, probing, searching, judging. — Ben Bova

The other cops were almost evenly divided between being scared by what they'd seen and being so impressed that it was almost worse, because I wasn't sure what they'd expect me to be able to do next time. Aimes hadn't been the only one who saw the white-shadowed outline of wings. I told them it was an answer to prayer, not me personally. I finally told one overly solicitous uniform, 'Trust me, I'm no angel.'
Nicky started laughing and couldn't seem to stop.
'Yuk it up, lion boy.'
That made him laugh harder, until he had to lean against the wall with tears trailing down from his eye. At least his laughing stopped any more weird theological questions; they just couldn't seem to talk about angels with this big, muscled bad-ass guy laughing his ass off beside me. — Laurell K. Hamilton

He shifted his weight, and she saw he was leaning on a cane. It was hard to reconcile this infirmity with the muscled brute he appeared to be, but of course there was no way that strength could compensate for a partially missing limb. — Eloisa James

Suddenly, Cain flipped her over and caged her in, his muscled strength creating a protective embrace. "My diamond," he growled. "You are home."
She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek, then murmured, "Yes. I am."
"I was dead without you. I would have ended up a shell like Rafael."
She kissed him, hating the pain in his voice. "No, never like him. He was evil, Cain, his soul black. Yours isn't. Just a little gray."
He smirked. "Gray?"
She shrugged. "Well you aren't lily white, that's for certain. — Anne Rainey

From this perspective, we were all divine Shakespeares, creating and playing the roles of muscled heroes and conniving villains, pious saints and debauched sinners, corrupt CEOs and disinterested temp workers. — Jonathan Talat Phillips

Samuel George looked closely at the freed Negro facing him and he thought that though the man had the look of being familiar with time he bore none of the marks that time could leave. He was well built and well muscled, carrying his head high. There was gray in his hair, but his face was furrowed more by laughter than by years. — Elizabeth Yates

He wondered if he should feel a stab of jealousy - Dimple bonding so well with his muscled, much cooler younger brother - but all he felt was this warm, almost gooey feeling in his chest. Like his heart was wrapped in microwaved Nutella. — Sandhya Menon

Don't matter if you was or wasn't. All they gotta so is say you was. That's all they gotta do. You think cuz you all big and muscled up, you safe? Naw, dem white folks can't stand the sight of you. Walkin' round free as can be. Don't nobody want to see a black man look like you walkin' proud as a peacock. Like you ain't got a lick of fear in you — Yaa Gyasi

Arobynn looked exactly as he had the last time she'd seen him: a fine-boned aristo face, silky auburn hair that grazed his shoulders, and a deep-blue tunic of exquisite make, unbuttoned with an assumed casualness at the top to reveal the toned chest beneath. No sign at all of a necklace or chain. His long, muscled arm was draped across the back of the bench, and his tanned, scar-flecked fingers drummed a beat in time with the hall music. — Sarah J. Maas

I muscled through the moment with my usual delicacy. — Nicole Peeler

Waking, dreaming. She felt as if a woman torn between two lovers - one of them calm, and sweet, and still and good, and the other magnificent, stone-muscled and taciturn and bold enough to seize her and pull her close to him in the darkness of the night. — Gord Sellar

He's tall, taller than Kyol, but not as thickly muscled, and his silver eyes, while intense, have a lighter, livelier hue to them. He's wearing a poorly made, dark jaedric cuirass over a once-white tunic, loose gray pants, and scuffed black boots. His golden-blond hair looks like it's been chopped off with a knife or, perhaps, the sword in his hand. Despite his haphazard appearance, he's confident, he's alert, and he's completely focused on me, his prey. — Sandy Williams

But it was the second guy who caught my eye. Like the girl, he, too, paused by the door, seeming even more wary than she looked. The sunlight streaming in through the windows highlighted the rich honey in his dark chocolate brown hair, even as it cast his face in shadow. The tan skin of his arms resembled marble - hard, but smooth and supple at the same time.
He must have passed through the mist spewed up by the fountain outside, because his black T-shirt was wet in places and the damp patches clung to his skin. The wetness allowed me to see just how muscled his chest was. Oh, yeah, I totally ogled that part of him, right up until I spotted the silver cuff on his right wrist.
Given the angle, I couldn't tell what crest was stamped into the metal, but I glanced at the others, who also wore cuffs. I sighed. So they belonged to some Family then. Wonderful. This day just kept getting better. — Jennifer Estep

Three men sat around a table. All were muscled and similarly greasy and easily identifiable as scum. As he breached the entrance all three were moving, drawing their own guns in surprise.

Only one got off a shot. — G.S. Jennsen

She spotted him about twenty yards away at a table that sat among a stand of river birch, its four legs submerged in an inch or two of water. Clustered around the table were ten or so of the most wild-looking, barely clothes, heavily muscled men and women she'd ever seen. And at the head, standing on a branch a foot about them all was Parish. He was barefoot and tanned, and wearing only a pair of faded jeans, which rested just below his hipbones. His hair was wild and the scar near his mouth winked in the sunlight. Julia's gaze moved covetously over every inch of him. His narrow waist and ripped stomach that widened to a broad chest, powerful shoulders and lean, muscular arms. he looked ready to spring. And the muscles in Julia's belly turned to liquid fire as she watched him watch her. — Alexandra Ivy

As he poured a glass for himself, she couldn't help but stare at his leanly muscled torso, so helpfully limned by firelight. She'd been used to thinking him a devil, but he had the body of a god. A lesser one. His wasn't the physique of a hulking, over-muscled Zeus or Poseidon, but rather a lean, athletic Apollo or Mercury. A body built not to bludgeon, but to hunt. Not to lumber, but to race. Not to overpower unsuspecting naiads where they bathed, but to...
Seduce. — Tessa Dare

...She remembered why he'd caught her eye the first time she'd seen him, at Ivy and Landon's wedding. He was absolutely gorgeous. Tall, with broad shoulders and well-muscled arms, he had dark-blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a square jaw covered with just the perfect amount of stubble. Then there was his mouth... There were books written about lips that kissable. — Paige Tyler

Clearly the sight of a well-muscled forearm incited a woman to utter depravity. How else to explain the invention of cuffs? — Tessa Dare

What does it mean that the most popular and unifying form of entertainment in America circa 2014 features giant muscled men, mostly African-American, engaged in a sport that causes many of them to suffer brain damage? What does it mean that our society has transmuted the intuitive physical joys of childhood - run, leap, throw, tackle - into a corporatized form of simulated combat? That a collision sport has become the leading signifier of our institutions of higher learning, and the undisputed champ of our colossal Athletic Industrial Complex? — Steve Almond

She was still of the opinion that if she threatened him sufficiently, he would leave. It had worked well for her before - on two separate occasions. Not that the men had been so well muscled - or half naked.

Then she frowned. What if under the sheepskin covers, the man was entirely bare? That would put him at more of a disadvantage, she decided. — Terry Spear

I think I like you," I muttered, pressing my face to his muscled torso in a hug. I felt his heartbeat under my ear.
"I think I like you back. — L.J. Shen

Fifteen minutes later, a six foot seven inch, broad, bulky, muscled, bald, glorious, midnight-skinned black man, in a suit like Knight's but with a black shirt, came walking up the steps, — Kristen Ashley

Shayna thinking about Jensen:
... From my first glance I knew he was atleast three or four inches taller than me and I could tell his lightweight sweater hid a well muscled chest and arms, but lean, not meaty. I was aware of an excess of saliva in my mouth and forced myself to swallow, trying not to blush when I heard Jodi snicker quietly next to me. — Shauna Granger

All the carriages filed out in single file but in a fashion that seemed to mean that they were competing against each other. The only sound that could be heard for a while was the pounding of the horses' hooves and the squeal and groan of the wheels against the road. Their hooves kicked up dirt, creating a storm of dust.
Once the miniature storm and the sound of galloping horses subsided, I could only see one last person. He glared up at me and mouthed, "Next time." Christopher dug his boots into Dawn's muscled flank. She reared up and broke into a gallop through the sparse forest, heading for escape. The last trace of them was the particles of floating dust, bright like floating fire. — Erica Sehyun Song

She stood in one smooth motion, surprisingly pale where the sun not touch her, slender and hard-muscled, yet with roundnesses and softnesses that haunted his dreams. — Robert Jordan

Inside the terminal at Keahole, they sat waiting to board, watching husky Hawaiians load luggage onto baggage ramps. Arriving tourists smiled at their dark, muscled bodies, handsome full-featured faces, the ease with which they lifted things of bulk and weight. Departing tourists took snapshots of them.
'That's how they see us', Pono whispered. 'Porters, servants. Hula Dancers, clowns. They never see us as we are, complex, ambiguous, inspired humans.'
'Not all haole see us that way ... 'Jess argued.
Vanya stared at her. 'Yes, all Haole and every foreigner who comes here puts us in one of two categories: The malignant stereotype of vicious, drunken, do-nothing kanaka and their loose-hipped, whoring wahine. Or, the benign stereotype of the childlike, tourist-loving, bare-foot, aloha-spirit natives. — Kiana Davenport

His straight and perfect figure, muscled as the best of the ancient Roman gladiators must have been muscled, and yet with the soft and sinuous curves of a Greek god, told at a glance the wondrous combination of enormous strength with suppleness and speed. — Edgar Rice Burroughs

Arms folded across his muscled chest, Lachlan stood way too close to her.
"Did you get tired of fighting?" she asked with a hint of a smile.
"I'm a lover, not a fighter. — Terry Spear

Within fifteen minutes, Emilie had guided them to an upscale store known for its fresh meats and produce. She felt a little ridiculous as she walked into the store, a team of muscled badasses following her. — Laura Kaye

Each of Tamlin's movements was precise and efficient, his powerfully muscled legs eating up the earth — Sarah J. Maas

He was a mighty beast, mightily muscled, and the urge that has made males fight since the dawn of life on earth filled him with the blood-lust and the thirst to slay; — Edgar Rice Burroughs

St. Vincent. Her husband. He was naked, or at least the upper half of him was. He slept on his stomach, his smoothly muscled arms curved around the pillow beneath his head. The broad lines of his shoulders and back were so perfect that they seemed to have been carved from pale Baltic amber and sanded to a glossy finish. His face was much softer in repose than it was in wakefulness... the calculating eyes were closed, and his mouth was relaxed into gentle, innocently sensuous lines. — Lisa Kleypas

I bet he has a very nice penis. I bet it's glorious, like his stupid perfect face, and gorgeous eyes, and muscled body. I bet if he entered his penis in a competition, it would win "Best in Show" and he could walk around with a giant blue ribbon stuck to his crotch. — Leisa Rayven

Cinematic and symphonic: this is a compelling story revealed in a sequence of voices that are as pitch-perfect as they are irresistible. This is a wonderfully impressive debut: tender, muscled and unforgettable. — Rikki Ducornet

I've tried so hard to stay away from you," he whispered one night, cuddling her while the moonlight made stripes across the shadowed hills of the bedclothes.
"Why?" Daisy whispered back, crawling over him until she was draped over the muscled surface of his chest.
He played with the dark cascade of her hair. "Because I shouldn't come to you like this until we're married. There's a risk - "
Daisy silenced him with her mouth, not stopping until his breath had hastened and his bare skin was as hot as a stove-plate beneath her. She lifted her head to smile down into his gleaming eyes. "All or nothing," she murmured. "That's how I want you. — Lisa Kleypas

God ... this was who he loved, he thought. And always would. It was the thrust of that stubborn jaw, and the dark, slashing eyebrows, and those piercings up his ear and in his full lower lip. It was that thick, glossy black hair and the golden skin and that heavily muscled body. It was the way he laughed and the fact that he never, ever cried. It was the scars on his inside no one knew about and the conviction that he would always be the first to run into a burning building or a bloody fight or a car wreck. It was all the things Qhuinn had been and was ever going to be. — J.R. Ward

I was haunted always by my other life-my drab room in the Bronx, my square foot of the subway, my fixation upon the day's letter from Alabama-would it come and what would it say?-my shabby suits, my poverty, and love. While my friends were launching decently into life I had muscled my inadequate bark into midstream ... I was a failure-mediocre at advertising work and unable to get started as a writer. Hating the city, I got roaring, weeping drunk on my last penny and went home. — F Scott Fitzgerald

That's right, honey, state your claim on Mr. Yummy Pants. I'd do the same if I were you.
A grin ticked at my mouth. I swept my gaze over the muscled roundness of Bones's ass, which his black jeans only highlighted. Then I gazed at the snug fit of the front that had nothing to do with the cut of the denim. Finally, I met Tyler's chocolate-colored eyes and winked back. — Jeaniene Frost

It wasn't so much that the male entity had a couple of inches on him in height
which was impressive, as few beings topped his six-foot-four stance
as it was the muscled girth of him. And the aura of absolute malevolent blood-thirst that said he was here to make Nick-McNuggets. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

He was gleaming with sweat. It would have taken inhuman willpower not to drink in every inch of his muscled, tatted up body.
And I was human. Oh Lord, was I human. — R.K. Lilley

Scared of storms?"
She jumped. The voice had come from behind her, and she forced her hands to her sides, ready to feign nonchalance. "No," she lied, starting to turn. "I'm just - "
Face-to-face with hotness.
Her tongue stumbled for a minute. She'd seen the Merrick twins around school, of course. But catching a glimpse down the hall wasn't the same as being six inches away from one of them, getting an eyeful of the way his long-sleeve tee clung to muscled shoulders, or of the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, or the depth of blue in his eyes.
Eyes that studied her a little too closely just now, a spark of amusement there. — Brigid Kemmerer

That image of Joan of Arc burning up in a fire burned inside me like a new religion. Her face skyward. Her faith muscled up like a holy war. And always the voice of a father in her head. Like me. Jesus. What is a thin man pinned to wood next to the image of a burning woman warrior ablaze? I took the image of a burning woman into my heart and left belief to the house of father forever. — Lidia Yuknavitch

Sojourner Truth, who squelched the heckler with an oft-quoted speech. In the first place, she said, Jesus came from "God and a woman - man had nothing to do with it."66 Secondly, Truth asserted that women were not inherently weak and helpless. Raising herself to her full height of six feet, flexing a muscled arm, and bellowing with a voice one observer likened to the apocalyptic thunders, Truth informed the audience that she could outwork, outeat, and outlast any man. Then she challenged: "Ain't I a woman?"67 — Paula J. Giddings

He didn't give a shit what Sin did, who she "mated" with, or what she did with her assassin business. But this Lycus fucker was blackmailing her, and that just pissed him off. The sudden image of her naked, beneath a well-muscled body did'nt bother him at all. At. All. — Larissa Ione

Kenna wet her lips and swallowed hard. The off-white linen of Colum's tunic made his wide expanse of hard-muscled chest and squared shoulders look as though the man had been dipped in white chocolate. Damn, I love white chocolate. Kenna licked her lips again. But she'd bet her favorite nail polish that a taste of Colum would bean any chocolate she'd ever eaten. — Maeve Greyson

He could see himself selling himself as a compelling mutation, a young god, proud to the point of sexy arrogance of his anatomical deviation: ninety percent thriving muscled man-flesh and ten percent glorious blindingly white angel wing.
Baby, these feathers are going to tickle you halfway to heaven, and this man-part is going to take you the rest of the way. — Michael Cunningham

I see stars. I see heaven. I see every good thing I ever forgot. I feel the pain mixed with the pleasure. And his hard body - muscled and sweaty from confessions, and lust, and need - weighs me down. My throat stops drawing in air and my chest stops rising. And in that same moment the darkness takes over.
In that same moment ... We come. — J.A. Huss

Again, this week as I walked on Broadway, in front of giant photographs of voluptuous supermodels at a Victoria Secret mega-store, who was rebuilding the sidewalks? With sweaty headbands, ripped-up jeans, and dust on their brown faces? Their muscled hands quivered as they worked the jack-hammers and lugged the concrete chunks into dump trucks. Two men from Guanajuato. Undocumented workers. They both shook my hand vigorously, as if they were relieved I wasn't an INS officer.
I imagined how much money Victoria Secret was making off these poor bastards. I wondered why passersby didn't see what was in front of their faces. We use these workers. We profit from them. In the shadows, they work to the bone, for pennies. And it's so easy to blame them for everything and nothing simply because they are powerless, and dark-skinned,and speak with funny accents. Illegal is illegal. It is a phrase, shallow and cruel, that should prompt any decent American to burn with anger. — Sergio Troncoso

His hand skimmed softly over her stomach, then he said, "I think I'm a little overdressed, don't you?"
Kate's eyes widened as he left the bed and stripped off the rest of his clothing. His body was perfection, his chest finely muscled, his arms and legs powerful, and his - "Oh, my God," she gasped.
He grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."
-Anthony & Kate — Julia Quinn

Homo sapiens simonus, aka Simon Miner. Only one of his kind. Male. Predatory. Highly adaptable. Dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. 6'3. His well-muscled frame was agile and strong. His deadly smile incapacitated his victims. Voice promised safety. Sexual prowess compromised victim's intellect (temporarily). Yet he was intent on one vital organ - the heart. — Erin Kellison

And yet something in his dark, still shape spoke of a sadness I couldn't begin to understand, one I suddenly wished I might do something to dispel. Surprising myself, I reached out and laid a hand on his forearm. I heard a sudden intake of breath, but I made myself give his arm a gentle squeeze before I let go. He really didn't feel very different from a human - at least, a human who was well-muscled. The flesh under my fingertips had been firm and unyielding. — Christine Pope

Our surmises regarding the subtle functions of neural processes within the brain are profoundly constrained by the fact that the brain did not evolve in order to understand itself. The complex organization of the brain evolved as a consequence of our sensorial and muscled engagement with the landscapes that surround us. — David Abram

Oh Come All Ye Faithful "Occum" Claus stood a head taller than most of the other men at the party. Like most of his crazy family, he wore a Santa suit, only the coat of his outfit was missing, exposing suspenders and a sleeveless white tank top. The man was heavily muscled and looked angry; a mixture of holiday cheer and a Navy SEAL having a really bad day. He was the picture that went along with the headline "Christmas Nightmare" or "Crazed Santa Attacks Orphans with Fire Ax. — Elizabeth Gannon

Many of my favorite survivors in fiction show that it may not be the most muscled, macho or mighty people who pull through. A strong mind and body aren't always enough. You might also need a resilient heart. — Claire Cameron

Roni stabbed her claws through one long, muscled arm, past bone, and all the way into the rear seat, pinning the arm in place. He howled in pain, hurling obscenities at her. Well, she had warned him; he'd chosen to ignore her, so there was really no need for that kind of language. — Suzanne Wright

When doing pole a woman cannot help but learn how to reach, extend, lean, stretch and follow through. She also learns, among other physical skills, to climb, two swing, to hold her own body weight, to balance and to invert. She encourages other women to grow in strength and confidence. A pole body may be lightly muscled but it is strong. It is not a static body either, it is creative and confident, all the things that we deplore as lacking, for women's bodies, in cultural discourses and narratives. — Samantha Holland

I get my heroes so that they're lean and hard muscled and mocking and sardonic and tough and tigerish and single, of course. Oh and they've got to be rich and then I make it that they're only cynical and smooth on the surface. But underneath they're well, you know, sort of lost and lonely. In need of love but, when roused, capable of breathtaking passion and potency. Most of my heroes, well all of them really, are like that. They frighten but fascinate. They must be the sort of men who are capable of rape: men it's dangerous to be alone in the room with. — Violet Winspear

At twenty-one, Mark had been long and leanly muscled, not a spare inch on him. Rainey's gaze ran down his thirty-four-year-old body and she had to admit he was even better now. In fact, the only way to improve on that body would be to dip it into chocolate. — Jill Shalvis

I looked at his beautiful face. He was teaching me so much about myself. I loved this man like no other woman could ever experience. He was as unique as could be. He defined, to me, what perfection was. I looked up and down his tattooed, muscled body. I sighed. He smiled. "Eleven," I said. "A good solid eleven," I paused. "And I love you back. — Scott Hildreth

Ruxs woke up feeling loved and sorer than he'd ever been in his life. He'd been thrown from two story windows, wrestled with five men at once, even been thrown from a speeding car, but nothing compared to the feel of your ass being fucked by a man that was heavily muscled and well endowed. He noticed he was in bed alone, but he smiled because he could smell the scent of cinnamon buns. Ruxs turned on his side, groaning at the aches. But damn if his man didn't make him soar. He'd never felt that good before, never been that aroused or come so hard. He — A.E. Via

Dev?" This time, she got a grunt. Smiling, she pressed her lips to his jaw, loving the roughness under her lips. "I like sex."
She saw the edge of a smile, and it made her own lips curve. "I really like it." Rubbing her heel over the back of his leg, she ran her hand down his muscled arm, wanting only to touch him. "When can we do it again?"
He sounded like he was chocking as he said, "You're not acting like a Psy."
"Maybe if they tried sex with you, the others would change their minds, too. — Nalini Singh

Flat muscled and honey coloured. Sea secrets in his eyes. A silver raindrop in his ear. — Arundhati Roy

Now they are empty, Ramon replied with a shrug of broad, muscled shoulders on his six-foot-three-inch frame ... For the first time, a glint of humor touched Ramon Galverra's finely sculpted mouth and arrogant dark eyes. — Judith McNaught

Muscled like a maiden's fantasy — George R R Martin

He was a precocious and delicate little boy, quivering with the malaise of being unloved. When we played, his child's heart would come into its own, and the troubled world where his vague hungers went unfed and mothers and fathers were dim and far away
too far away to ever reach in and touch the sore place and make it heal
would disappear, along with the world where I was not sufficiently muscled or sufficiently gallant to earn my own regard. — Harold Brodkey

When they were only a foot apart, both nude, she swayed toward him. He tugged her close, feeling her shock as heated skin met hot skin. God, he wanted her. His need was something he couldn't hide. Lord was she beautiful. Long, lean, muscled, but gently rounded everywhere.

"Are you--"

Her mouth latched onto his, silencing him as she began to explore his body.

Yeah, he;d have to say...she was sure. — Dale Mayer

No sooner did the plan let them off at New Caledonia, than Barby found another friend. He was a Kanaka taxi driver, over six feet tall and muscled like a blacksmith, with sooty skin and hair turned yellow from many applications of lime, a standard native treatment for lice. He chewed betel incessantly, which Barby thought was fascinating, since it turned his tongue and lips the color of a ripe tomato. His name, he said in wonderfully bad English, was Henri. He pronounced it 'On-ree. — John Blaine

Seth stood about six feet eight inches tall with broad shoulders, a leanly muscled form, beautiful patrician features, and long wavy black hair (drawn back with a leather tie) that reached his waist. David stood about six feet seven inches with equally broad shoulders, a bit more muscle, the face of a pharaoh, flawless skin as dark as midnight, and pencil-thin dreadlocks that fell to his hips. — Dianne Duvall

Handsome was a light way of describing what Aedion was. Overwhelming was more like it. Towering and heavily muscled, Aedion was every inch the warrior rumor claimed him to be. — Sarah J. Maas

well-muscled legs could still lead a team. Perhaps he's a little thicker — Jeff Altabef

He brought the horse closer, reining in sharply so his muscled thigh was scarcely a handsbreadth from my face, knowing that the heavy log at my heels prevented any retreat. "I've told you once I would not force you to my will," he reminded me, drawing one finger along my upturned jawline. "When we become lovers, it will be because you desire it as much as I." His finger brushed my lips, the fleeting phantom of a kiss, before he raised his hand to his hat and bid me a polite good day. — Susanna Kearsley

Together they crawled through the attic space, looking for the source of a roof leak they'd discovered in the last bathroom. Jax was out in front,
braving the spiderwebs. Maddie was behind him, working really hard at not looking at his butt.
And failing spectacularly.
So when he unexpectedly twisted around, holding out his hand for the clipboard she was now holding, he caught her staring at him.
"I, um - You have a streak of dirt," she said.
"A streak of dirt."
Yes." She pointed to his left perfectly muscled butt cheek. "There."
He was quiet for a single, stunned beat. She couldn't blame him, given that they were both covered in dirt from the filthy attic. "Thanks," he finally
said. "It's important to know where the dirt streaks are."
"It is," she agreed, nodding like a bobble head. "Probably you should stain-stick it right away. I have some in my purse."
"Are you offering to rub it on my ass? — Jill Shalvis

We offered her flowers and signalled to her with our penises, but she did not respond with joy.'
'The men with the extra skins didn't look happy. They looked angry.'
'We went towards them to greet them, but they ran away.'
Snowman can imagine. The sight of these preternaturally calm, well-muscled men advancing en masse, singing their unusual music, green eyes glowing, blue penises waving in unison, both hands outstretched like extras in a zombie film, would have to have been alarming. — Margaret Atwood

Is kissing me so bad, then, lass?"
"It's not the kissing that's bad ... " Her words were lost in a soft moan as she tipped her head back for more kisses.
"What's bad, my heart?" Hawk nipped her neck, gently.
"Oooh! ... you!"
"Me? I'm bad?" He wouldn't let her answer for a long moment while he nibbled at her lower lip, teased it, sucked it into his mouth, then slowly released it.
Adrienne drew a shaky breath. "Well ... I mean ... you are a man ... "
"Yes," he encouraged.
"And very beautiful at that ... ."
"Mmm ... yes?"
"And I hate beautiful men ... ." Her hands moved over his shoulders, his broad muscled back, and tapered down over his tight waist to his muscular buttocks. She was shocked at her own daring, thrilled by the groan of pleasure she coaxed from him.
"I can tell. Hate me just like that, lass. Hate me like that again. Hate me all you need to hate me. — Karen Marie Moning

I felt tears coming and for some reason, buried my head in Iain's chest. It was firm and muscled and he smelt so wonderful.
I realised what I was doing and pulled away, but a big string of snot hung between my nose and his shirt pocket. — Robert Bryndza

A short scuffle, and then out into the gloom, her grey crest raised and her barred chest feathers puffed up into a meringue of aggression and fear, came a huge old female goshawk. Old because her feet were gnarled and dusty, her eyes a deep, fiery orange, and she was beautiful. Beautiful like a granite cliff or a thunder-cloud. She completely filled the room. She had a massive back of sun-bleached grey feathers, was as muscled as a pit bull, and intimidating as hell, even to staff who spent their days tending eagles. — Helen Macdonald

Do you give up?" Shezmu bellowed.
"No!" I yelled. "No, we don't give up. We will name you. Just ... Gosh, you're quite well muscled, arn't you? Do you work out? — Rick Riordan

The wind stilled a bit and he blinked the sand out of his eyes. Before him stood nothing less than the god of the Scrape. It had to be a god. He was huge, muscled, hung like an elephant, and sandy gold, just like his domain. — Erin Kellison

I have this theory," says Andy Stone, seated in his office at Prudential-Bache Securities. "Wall Street makes its best producers into
managers. The reward for being a good producer is to be made a
manager. The best producers are cutthroat, competitive, and often
neurotic and paranoid. You turn those people into managers, and they go
after each other. They no longer have the outlet for their instincts that
producing gave them. They usually aren't well suited to be managers.
Half of them get thrown out because they are bad. Another quarter get
muscled out because of politics. The guys left behind are just the most
ruthless of the bunch. That's why there are cycles on Wall Street - why
Salomon Brothers is getting crunched now - because the ruthless people
are bad for the business but can only be washed out by proven failure. — Michael Lewis

His young man's limbs, sleek in their dark male pride, seemed to disdain the covering offered them by the brief shorts and striped jersey. His body might have been naked, like his full, muscled throat, which rose, round and proud as the male organ of a flower, from the neck of his sweater. — Stella Gibbons