Sit On His Face Quotes & Sayings

He makes a face and tosses the flower at me. It lands on my cheek, and I pick it up and twirl it between my fingers. I could lie out here all day, not moving an inch, feeling the sun above and the grass below. With a contented sigh, I stretch my arms wide, raking the grass with my fingers - and find myself brushing Aladdin's hand with my own. I pull it away quickly, my cheeks warming. He laughs a little.
"Sometimes," he says, "I forget you're supposed to be four thousand years old. You act as shy as a girl of sixteen."
"I do not!" I sit up and glare at him.
He grins and shrugs, sliding his hands under his head. There are bits of grass stuck in his hair, and after a moment's hesitation, I reach over and flick them away.
Aladdin watches me silently, his throat bobbing as he swallows. I drop my gaze. — Jessica Khoury

Jason felt all the blood drain out of his face. He stood there as the reality of Mitch's words hit him hard. One day it would be another man Haley would talk to, watch games with, or just sit in absolute peaceful silence while they worked or ate, and worst of all it would be another man holding Haley in his arms at night.
'Fuck ... ,' he gasped.
'Oh great, you broke him! Are you happy now?' Brad demanded. 'Come on, buddy, we'll get you fixed up with a cold beer and a plate of hot wings. How does that sound? Does that sound good?' Numbly, Jason nodded. — R.L. Mathewson

I awoke some hours later to Hayes's body sliding up against mine, his arm wrapping around my waist, drawing me into his warmth. Like being in a womb. His breath soft at the back of my neck.

"You came back to me," his lips buzzed my ear.

"Of course I did. Liam."

He laughed.

"Wait. Whose room is this?"

"Mr. Marchand's."

"Crap. I might be in the wrong room."

He smiled, rolling me over to face him. "Hiiii."

"Hi."

"You want to come to an August Moon concert with me tonight?"

"It depends..." I said.

"It depends?"

"Do I have good seats?"

His finger was tracing my cheekbone. "You can sit on my face."

"Okay. In that case I'll come. — Robinne Lee

Shit. Fallon! Shit, shit, shit, dammit, shit, shit." I hear Ben cursing like a sailor, but I don't understand why. I feel his hands meet my shoulders. "Fallon the Transient, wake the hell up!" I open my eyes and he's sitting up on the bed, running one hand through his hair. He looks pissed. I sit up on the bed and rub the sleep out of my eyes. The sleep. We fell asleep? I look over at my alarm clock and it reads 8:15. I reach over and pick it up to bring it closer to my face. That can't be right. But it is. It's 8:15. "Shit," I say. "We missed dinner," Ben says. "I know." "We slept for two hours." "Yeah. I know." "We wasted two fucking hours, Fallon." He looks genuinely distraught. Cute, but distraught. "I'm sorry. — Colleen Hoover

"Alright, who's first?" Crystal asked once Carrie was in the chair that she had instructed her to sit in.
Everyone was quiet.
"Who wants to draw straws?" Matt asked. Carrie hadn't realized until this moment that the subtle smile on his face never faded. It was as though he found humor in everything that was going on.
Will slowly raised his hand, his other hand was left shoved in the pocket of his blue jeans, "I'll do it." — Julia Barkey

Some of these guys will go on walking long after the laws of biochemistry and handicapping have gone by the boards. There was a guy last year that crawled for two miles at four miles an hour after both of his feet cramped up at the same time, you remember reading about that? Look at Olson, he's worn out but he keeps going. That goddam Barkovitch is running on high-octane hate and he just keeps going and he's as fresh as a daisy. I don't think I can do that. I'm not tired -not really tired- yet. But I will be." The scar stood out on the side of his haggard face as he looked ahead into the darkness "And I think ... when I get tired enough ... I think I'll just sit down — Stephen King

She bit her lips, concentrating, wishing he'd go and sit on one of the chairs before the fireplace. Or stand at the window and watch the full moon. Anything but sit there so close she could smell the sandalwood soap he used.
Night had brought a shadow of a beard to his face. He no longer looked every inch the earl, but more a coach robber, someone who would march her out to the glen and kiss her until she fell to her knees.
He would show no mercy to her. Instead, he would make her beg. — Karen Ranney

When he pulled away, he looked into her eyes, then kissed her again, as if he needed one more sip. But then he needed another, and another, his hands coming up to cradle her face. Soon she was quite dizzy. She held on tighter, choosing not to tell him she needed to sit down until her knees stopped shaking. He — Melanie Dickerson

Aedion rubbed at his face. "Do you understand what it was like to sit on my ass while you were gone? You said two hours. What was I supposed to think?"
"Aedion," she said as calmly as she could, and pulled off her filthy gloves before taking his broad, callused hand. "I get it. I do. — Sarah J. Maas

He rolled onto his side, head resting on his elbow, and he grinned suggestively at Avani. "How about it, Canada? I kinda dig the whole nerd thing. Nerd is the new hot."
"Dream on," said Avani, rolling her eyes.
"Why are you here?" he asked. "Is this, like, the land of your people?"
"My dad's parents are from Kenya," she said, her eyes narrowed. "And my mom is from Delhi."
"Where's that?" asked Joey. "Arkansas?"
"India, you moron."
"Do you, like, sit down and memorize dictionaries every day?"
"No," she said. "Only on weekends."
Joey stared at her, looking perplexed, then suddenly his face split into a grin. "Wait a minute . . . You made a joke!"
Avani's lips curled into a small smile.
Sam caught my eye, then traced a heart in the sand between us. My throat tightened and I blinked at it, then looked at him in alarm.
He pointed at the heart, then made an exaggerated glance from Joey to Avani, and then wiggled his eyebrows at me. — Jessica Khoury

I sank down onto the bed against the headboard and leaned back. I crossed my legs underneath me. "Then we'll talk." I said with a smile. Rush sat down onto the bed and leaned back against the wall. A deep chuckle came from his chest and I watched as a real smile broke out on his face. "I can't believe I just begged a female to sit and talk to me." In all honesty, I couldn't either. — Abbi Glines

By the time he climaxed, Eve was arched and her hair touched the floor. Her face was as far away from his as it could get while still having him inside her.
They panted like this for a moment, until he realized she was too ashamed to sit back up and look at him. He'd just been at the center of her loss. He'd poisoned the only place she'd ever held her baby. Beckett looked at her long, white form. He ran his hand over a fine white scar he found just under her belly button - the scar somehow he had put on her body. — Debra Anastasia

For each man kills the thing he loves yet each man does not die
he does not die a death of shame on a day of dark disgrace
nor have a noose about his neck, nor a cloth upon his face
nor drop feet foremost through the floor into an empty space
He does not sit with silent men who watch him night and day
Who watch him when he tries to weep and when he tries to pray
Who watch him lest himself should rob the prison of its prey — Oscar Wilde

Watanabe beat POWs every day, fracturing their windpipes, rupturing their eardrums, shattering their teeth, tearing one man's ear half off, leaving men unconscious. He made one officer sit in a shack, wearing only a fundoshi undergarment, for four days in winter. He tied a sixty-five-year-old POW to a tree and left him there for days. He ordered one man to report to him to be punched in the face every night for three weeks. He practiced judo on an appendectomy patient. When gripped in the ecstasy of an assault, he wailed and howled, drooling and frothing, sometimes sobbing, tears running down his cheeks. Men came to know when an outburst was imminent: Watanabe's right eyelid would sag a moment before he snapped. — Laura Hillenbrand

The sweetness of dogs (fifteen)
What do you say, Percy? I am thinking
of sitting out on the sand to watch
the moon rise. Full tonight.
So we go
and the moon rises, so beautiful it
makes me shudder, makes me think about
time and space, makes me take
measure of myself: one iota
pondering heaven. Thus we sit,
I thinking how grateful I am for the moon's
perfect beauty and also, oh! How rich
it is to love the world. Percy, meanwhile,
leans against me and gazes up into
my face. As though I were
his perfect moon. — Mary Oliver

For his lunch break, Alex decided to sit outside for a smoke. There was no break room to speak of, just a backdoor that led to a neglected parking lot and an old payphone. There was an upturned crate by the door used to hold the door open or to sit on if one so desired. But Alex couldn't sit down, even though he had been standing for the past four hours, his anxious mind kept his feet moving.
He paced back and forth, smoking his cigarette with the speed of an anxious drug addict. The cool but faint breeze pushed the smoke away from him and dissipated it into nothing. He still felt angry about the run-in with Gonzalez. It had consistently poked at him like a curious sadist with a pointed stick ever since he walked away from the door slammed in his face. — J.C. Joranco

Bran's father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. He had taken off Father's face, Bran thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell. There — George R R Martin

I had to feign interest in all this nonsense until I could ask when I could come over and sit on his face. I didn't say that out loud, of course. I never say the things I really want to. If I did, I'd have no friends. — Chelsea Handler

This place is amazing. The views alone are breathtaking," she murmured after a second of silence.

He chuckled and traced her throat with his mouth. "You're breathtaking. And sneaky when you don't want to talk about something."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yeah right! Just a hint; if you didn't want to speak about the future, sex would've been a much better distraction than mentioning the views. Come on, baby, distract me; turn around and come sit on my face. I want to lick your pretty pussy. — Elle Aycart

Sophie ignored her and went to take a seat. The only two open were between Tristan and Jackson. Lilli had fallen headfirst in like with Jackson's auburn hair and deep brown eyes, so Sophie knew she'd have to sit next to Tristan. Her heart stuttered. Tristan's gray eyes warmed when Sophie took the seat next to him. Her gaze roamed over his face. The square jaw, full lips. His brown hair was mussed, like he'd just woken up. When his lips tilted up at one corner heat rushed to her face. "Come on. We need to get this started. I've got better things to do." Morgan's eyes sparked at Tristan and Sophie. Aidan, the last of the study group, whistled. "You're hot when you're jealous." Morgan's blue eyes turned to ice. She glared at him. He smiled lazily at her. — Samantha Long

But he was careful. He didn't make a simple remark without rehearsing it beforehand. And he continually removed the expression from his face lest it be the wrong one, and give him away. He also avoided any strong light, such as the lamp on the kitchen table. Sometimes a weakness overcame him, his legs were unstrung, and he had to find some place to sit down, but this was easy enough to disguise. It was his voice that gave him the most trouble. It sounded false to him and not like his voice at all. — William Maxwell

Akinli, this strange boy whose life at the moment seemed to be hanging on this, pushed himself from the bed.
Julie gasped, watching as his arms trembled under his weight, even as thin as he was. He crushed his eyes together in concentration, willing himself up.
I heard Ben whisper to himself, "Come on, come on, come on."
When Akinli, breathing as if he truly had just run a marathon, was fairly close to upright, he held out an arm for me.
I fell into it fearlessly.
We leaned into each other, neither of us strong enough to stay up on our own.
"I thought I'd never see you sit up again," Julie cried.
We both turned to her, smiling at the happy tears on her face. — Kiera Cass

It's Mr. Reese, the school principal. He wears the same outfit he wears every day. A beige suit, light blue shirt, red tie and hair that looks like it just went through a vacuum cleaner. He appears especially harried today, as his eyeglasses sit on his nose like they want to escape his face. — Ben Zackheim

It was a small triumph, but it was just about the only one I got for the rest of the week. As I trudged through my daily routine, Robert trudged along with me. He did not really get directly in my way too often, but every time I turned around he was there, a frown of concentration on his face, and usually some kind of inane question: Why did I do that? Why was it important to do that? Did I do that often? How many killers had I caught by doing that? Were they serial killers? Were there a lot of serial killers in Miami? A lot of the time the questions were completely unrelated to whatever I was doing, which made the whole thing seem even more pointlessly annoying. I could understand that it was a little hard for someone like him to frame intelligent questions about gas chromatography, but then, why watch me do it in the first place? Why couldn't he just go sit in a sports bar and text me his questions while he sipped a beer and watched a ball game? — Jeff Lindsay

Hey, I'm sorry." He actually sounded sincere. "I was just ... " He glanced at me, and I raised my eyebrows, waiting for his explanation. He sighed. "I didn't ask for a tutor. It was sort of pushed on me." I crossed my arms over my chest, the movement making the strap of my book bag fall down my arm, and the bottom of the bag hit me in the leg. I ignored it. "Well, I didn't sign up for this either." His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Seriously?" "You think I don't have better things to do than sit around this place?" His face turned sheepish. "Well, no." I growled a little because his answer was idiotic. — Cambria Hebert

Something Evil
I said, "Ikstein stands outside the door for a long time before he knocks. Did you suspect that? Did you suspect that he stands there listening to what we say before he knocks?" She said, "Did you know you're crazy?" I said, "I'm not crazy. The expression on his face, when I open the door, is giddy and squirmy. As if he'd been doing something evil, like listening outside our door before he knocked." She said, "That's Ikstein's expression. Why do you invite him here? Leave the door open. He won't be able to listen to us. You won't make yourself crazy imagining it." I said, "Brilliant, but he isn't due for an hour and I won't sit here with the door open." She said, "I hate to listen to you talk this way. I won't be involved in your lunatic friendships." She opened the door. Ikstein stood there, giddy and squirmy. — Leonard Michaels

You're a ray of bright light in my very dark world, Ric. It's like when I step outside and take my sunglasses off to let the sun shine on my face. It gets a little lighter in here.' Pres gently tapped his pointer finger against his temple.
'When I'm in my office ..... there's no light. When I'm in my bedroom alone ..... there's no light. When I sit in my bedroom alone ..... there's no light. When I sit in my kitchen, eating my very carefully prepared meal - for one - there's no light. But when I'm around you, wrapped in your arms, kissing you, laughing with you, making love to you, everything's do damn bright ..... like sunshine. — A.E. Via

There's a little war in progress here. There won't be anything left of the place if it goes on at this rate." (But it's hard to feign innocence if you've eaten the apple, he reflected.) "And it looks to me as if it is going to go on, because the French aren't going to give in, and certainly the Arabs aren't, because they can't. They're fighting with their backs the the wall."

"I thought maybe you meant you expected a new world war," he lied.

"That's the least of my worries. When that comes, we've had it. You can't sit around mooning about Judgement Day. That's just silly. Everybody who ever lived has always had his own private Judgment Day to face anyway, and he still has. As far as that goes, nothing's changed at all. — Paul Bowles

Said Pinocchio's lover, midst sighs,
My puppet's technique takes the prize.
He gives me full measure
Through dishonest pleasure:
I sit on his face and he lies. — Jennifer Kaufman

Over me. And his brother offers me his hand. "The girl who tamed the beast. It's nice to finally meet." Andy laughs. I can tell by the sparkle in his eyes he knows exactly what his brother is like. "Come on, let's sit and get ready." Their mom sits and drags me with her. "How did BJ seem today? He gets tense sometimes when it's game day. Was he tense?" She's tense but I get it. This is a lifetime of work coming to a head. The culmination of a family full of dreams all coming true in one moment. Sami sits next to me, doing her indifferent face. It's weird being with them and being with my family. The life was the same and then completely opposite. His parents wanted what was best for him, same as mine, and they had a dream for him, same as mine, but they let him choose the dream, in the end. My dad did that for me, but my mom didn't. I wish she could see and feel what this moment is like. I wish I — Tara Brown

My father had not been outside the house except to drive back and forth to work or sit out in the backyard, for months, nor had he seen his neighbors. Now he looked at them, from face to face, until he realized I had been loved by people he didn't even recognize. His heart filled up, warm again as it had not been in what seemed so long to him- save small forgotten moments with Buckley, the accidents of love that happened with his son.

~pgs 209-210; Buckley, Lindsey and Jack on Susie — Alice Sebold

Werner shyly. "Oh, come on, you didn't already know?" With his glasses on, Frederick's expression seems to ease; his face makes more sense - this, Werner thinks, is who he is. A soft-skinned boy in glasses with taffy-colored hair and the finest trace of a mustache needled across his lip. Bird lover. Rich kid. "I barely hit anything in marksmanship. You really didn't know?" "Maybe," says Werner. "Maybe I knew. How did you pass the eye exams?" "Memorized the charts." "Don't they have different ones?" "I memorized all four. Father got them ahead of time. Mother helped me study." "What about your binoculars?" "They're prescription. Cost a fortune." They sit in a big kitchen at a butcher's block with a marble cap. The maid named Fanni emerges with a dark loaf and a round of — Anthony Doerr

Pushkin loved to throw rocks. As soon as he saw a rock, he would throw it. Sometimes he became so excited that he stood, all red in the face, waving his arms, throwing rocks, simply something awful.
Pushkin had four sons, all idiots. One didn't even know how to sit in a chair and fell off all the time. Pushkin himself also sat on a chair rather badly. It was simply killing: they sat at the table; at one end, Pushkin kept falling off his chair continually, and at the other end, his son. Simply enough to make one split one's sides with laughter. — Daniil Kharms

Then he looked up, despite all best prior intentions. In four minutes, it would be another hour; a half hour after that was the ten-minute break. Lane Dean imagined himself running around on the break, waving his arms and shouting gibberish and holding ten cigarettes at once in his mouth, like a panpipe. Year after year, a face the same color as your desk. Lord Jesus. Coffee wasn't allowed because of spills on the files, but on the break he'd have a big cup of coffee in each hand while he pictured himself running around the outside grounds, shouting. He knew what he'd really do on the break was sit facing the wall clock in the lounge and, despite prayers and effort, count the seconds tick off until he had to come back and do this again. And again and again and again. — David Foster Wallace

Aiden, Chaahk, and Imhotep all sat side by side on the long sofa with their backs to him and their heads tilted downward. On the floor in front of them, Adira sat, staring up at them, her pretty face somber.
None of them seemed to know quite what to make of the other.
"So this is what babies do?" Imhotep asked, his voice full of bewilderment. "They just sit there and stare at you until you start to wonder if you have food on your face?"
Seth laughed. — Dianne Duvall

She again patted the ground beside her. "Now come. Sit beside me. I will play with your cock while we eat."
Elina hadn't even finished chewing the second bite of her food before the dragon suddenly dove into place next to her. A smile on his handsome face, his eyebrows wiggling in anticipation.
He was adorably pathetic.
"Take care of your horse first, Dolt."
"Take care of him?"
"He cannot spend the all night wearing saddle and equipment."
"Aye, but ... "
"I am not going anywhere. My hands will still be here to play with cock when you get back."
"Promise? — G.A. Aiken

Are you going to continue to scold me?" "Is that what I'm doing?" "I think so." "You're lucky I'm just scolding you." "What do you mean?" "Well, if you were mine, you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn't eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk." He closes his eyes, dread etched briefly on his face, and he shudders. When he opens his eyes, he glares at me. "I hate to think what could have happened to you." I scowl back at him. What is his problem? What's it to him? If I was his ... Well, I'm not. Though maybe part of me would like to be. The thought pierces through the irritation I feel at his high-handed words. I flush at the waywardness of my subconscious - she's doing her happy dance in a bright red hula skirt at the thought of being his. — E.L. James

You taste so fucking amazing." He brought his head up and Laurel could see the violent rise and fall of his chest. "Sit on my face," he said. — Cara McKenna

U.S. Presedent Barack Sadam Husene Obame sit in the darkened Oval Ofice at 2 a.m. wearing hes traditienel Kenyan roabe.
He take one last bite of the Chicago style deep dish pizza that he has flown to him every day on the Amerecan tax payer's dime and wipe the grease off his mouth with the U.S. consititutien.
He get up and walk to desk, where he keeps the Kenyan black magic crystle ball. Its black glow iluminate his face.
"Eeny, meeny, miney, mo - which basic U.S. freedoms are next to go?" he say aloud to no one and every one at the same time.
Then he flash that trade mark Bary Obame million doller grin as a crack of lightning sound in the distence. — Seinfeld 2000

Yeah," Tamara said. "An old bowling alley. There must be a town not too far from here. But how could Aaron be there? And don't say something like 'working on his score' or 'maybe he's in a bowling league' or something like that. Be serious."
Call leaned against the rough bark of a nearby tree and resisted the urge to sit down. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to get up again. "I'm serious. It might be hard to tell in the dark, but I have my most super-serious face on. — Cassandra Clare

A president cannot sit on his hands and be seen as passive in the face of ruthless action by a foreign dictator. — Robert Dallek

Amaya rested her face in the palms of her hands. She closed her eyes, trying to remember a happier time. "Look at us, Polly. Three days ago, our lives were great and now look at us." Apollo went to his sister, and sat down on a bumpy extended part of the wall next to where she stood. He grabbed her hand and pulled her down to sit next to him. When she did, he put his arm around her shoulders. After a few moments of thinking, Apollo looked at his sister. He studied her face. He felt the distance that still lingered between them. "I'm just as scared as you are. Maybe even more. — April M. Reign

Hey," Nick grunted. "Marriage is just a word for some people, but for others it's a fucking sentence, okay?"
Zane was holding his side. "Oh my God, marriage puns! Oh my God ... "
Nick was trying not to grin, but he finally couldn't help himself. "Once we established I was the victim, then we had to find a girl with a ring on her finger to figure out which one I'd fucking married."
Ty leaned against Zane's arm, laughing so hard he could no longer sit up straight. "The look on his face!"
"He made a marriage pun," Zane gasped. — Abigail Roux

I've seen enough death."
A single angel rose in the darkness from the circle they'd formed around the Qayom Malak. "If she can't do it, she can't do it."
"Shut up, Cam," Arriane said. "Sit down.
Cam stepped forward, approaching Luce. His narrow frame cast its shadow across the Slab. "We've taken it this far. You can't say we haven't given it every kind of shot." He turned to face the others. "But maybe she just can't. There is only so much you can ask a person to do. She wouldn't be the first filly anybody lost a fortune on. So what if she happens to be the last?"
His tone did not match his words, and neither did his eyes, which said with desperate sincerity, You can do this. You have to. — Lauren Kate

They didn't want to take the crew-cab back to town, because they didn't want to sit where those guys had sat, so they rode the backhoe, as before, Westwood driving, Reacher and Chang face to face above his head, but this time on the dirt road. Which was slow, but more comfortable. They parked in the dealer's lot. The salesman came out. The backhoe was examined. It was a little stained by crushed wheat, and a little scratched on the sides. There was a little dirt caked on. And the front bucket had a dimple, where the bullet had struck. Not new anymore. Not exactly. Reacher gave the guy five grand from their leftover money. Easy come, easy go. Then — Lee Child

Jess pushed herself up to sit next to him. "In case you didn't get the memo, it' s my turn to take care of you right now." Ike dropped his face into his hands on a groan, and Jess's cool hand massages his neck. "Oh, my God. You're so hot."
He chuffed out a small laugh. "Why, thank you."
Jess Chuckled. "You realize you don't have to fish for compliments, right? Not from me. Because I will straight-up tell you that the sight of your Ravens tat stretched over all these muscles gives me a lady boner." Her fingers traced the design across his shoulder blades - a spread-winged raven perches on the hilt of a dagger sunk into the eye socket of a skull. The block letters of the club's name arched over the menacing black bird.
He threw her some major side-eye. "I know I'm sick because the perverted part of my brain just heard you say my ink gives you a lady boner. — Laura Kaye

He looked at Chloe "Come over to the table. Sit with your aunt. I will clear away the mess and ... I will achieve pancakes."
Grace's lovely, tired face wobbled with looked suspiciously like mirth, but she had been under so much stress he decided his first impression could not be correct.
"You'll achieve pancakes?"
"I do not see why not" he said
"Have you ever achieved them before?" she said
"That question is irrelevant," he told her, while his eyes narrowed in suspicion on her tired face. On a Djinn, her expression would definitely be laughter. "I will achieve pancakes now. — Thea Harrison

Her smile joined his, her thoughtful green eyes studying his face. "Do you know what I want to do right now?"
Rick placed the cloth napkin across his lap. He should have asked for a less conspicuous table. "Tell me."
Samantha picked up a bread stick, examined it for a moment, then slowly licked the length of it. "Mm, salty goodness," she murmured.
"Christ. Cease and desist before I split my zipper."
"Oh, then I would have to sit on your lap in my short dress to protect your modesty." She leaned forward, gazing at him serenely. "Comfortable? — Suzanne Enoch

They all knew about me and Dimitri," I said, wondering if I'd be saying any of this sober. "But I never told them we were together."
"You didn't have to. It's written all over your face."
"They acted like I was his widow or something."
"You might as well be." We reached the room, and she helped me sit down on the bed. "Not a lot of people get married around here. If you're with someone long enough, they figure it's almost the same." ~Rose & Sydney, Pg.140/141 — Richelle Mead

Night.
The beach and the sea are in darkness.
A dog passes, going toward the sea wall.
No one walks on the boardwalk, but, on the benches lining it, people sit. They relax. Are silent. Separated from one another. They do not speak.
The traveler passes. He walks slowly, he goes in the same direction as the dog.
He stops. Returns. He seems to be out for a walk. He starts off again.
His face is no longer visible.
The sea is calm. No wind.
The traveler returns. The dog does not return. The sea begins to rise, it seems. Its sounds getting closer. Muffled thudding coming from the river's many mouths. Somber sky. — Marguerite Duras

She unwrapped the lamb chops from their white butcher paper and peeled a few potatoes and opened a can of peas. Her father came in with the newspaper under his arm and then swatted her on the hip with it as he went to the table to sit down. And then Jimmy came in still wearing his overcoat to say, "What's this? What's this?" And then told their father with his hands on his hips that George was taking "our miss here" out to dinner. And her father lowered the paper and smiled at her - his round, florid face and his sparse white hair which he no longer bothered to slick down with water or tonic, being mostly housebound and hardly out of his slippers all week long - and only began to pout a little, Jimmy too, when she set the plate of lamb chops and the mint jelly and the mashed potatoes and peas in their bowls on the table and then pulled off her apron and said, "I'm just going to take a shower." "Be sure to put it back," Jimmy said — Alice McDermott

Here I am in the garden laughing an old woman with heavy breasts and a nicely mapped face how did this happen well that's who I wanted to be at last a woman in the old style sitting stout thighs apart under a big skirt grandchild sliding on off my lap a pleasant summer perspiration that's my old man across the yard he's talking to the meter reader he's telling him the world's sad story how electricity is oil or uranium and so forth I tell my grandson run over to your grandpa ask him to sit beside me for a minute I am suddenly exhausted by my desire to kiss his sweet explaining lips. — Grace Paley

I turned in my seat. Will's face was in shadow and I couldn't quite make it out.
'Just hold on. Just for a minute.'
'Are you all right?' I found my gaze dropping towards his chair, afraid some part of him was pinched, or trapped, that I had got something wrong.
'I'm fine. I just . . . '
I could see his pale collar, his dark suit jacket a contrast against it.
'I don't want to go in just yet. I just want to sit and not have to think about . . . ' He swallowed.
Even in the half-dark it seemed effortful.
'I just . . . want to be a man who has been to a concert with a girl in a red dress. Just for a few minutes more.'
I released the door handle.
'Sure.'
I closed my eyes and lay my head against the headrest, and we sat there together for a while longer, two people lost in remembered music, half hidden in the shadow of a castle on a moonlit hill. — Jojo Moyes

He smiled all the way to physics class. He almost laughed out loud when he passed through the door and saw her shadowy, hunched-over form casting around for a seat in the back.
She was in his class; this was excellent. Maybe she'd call him a name if he struck up another conversation. Even curse him out. That might fun. God, he'd probably earn himself a restraining order if he tried to sit next to her.
He was so tired of saccharine smiles and cloying tones of voice. People always plastered their eyes to his face for fear of looking anywhere else. He was fed up with everybody being so goddamned nice.
That's why he'd already fallen in love with this weird, maladjusted, beautiful girl who carried a chip the size of Ohio on her shoulder. Because nobody was ever mean to the guy in the wheelchair. — Francine Pascal

His mother was quiet for a moment. "I get out of bed every day because I never know where I'll meet with one of God's small graces. Maybe I'll be cleaning a room and find a dollar bill. Maybe I'll be at the gas station on a slow night, and I'll get to sit and be paid to watch the sun set. Or maybe I just won't hurt much that day. What a miracle each day is. To see the spirit of God move across the face of our lives like he did the waters in the darkness of creation. — Jeff Zentner

I sit down next to him, and he pulls me to his side. Then he lies down so that I'm draped across him. My hip is tucked between him and the back of the couch. "I don't want to go home yet," he says quietly. He pulls my head down to his chest, and I press my face against it. His hand settles on the back of my head, and he starts to stroke down the length of my hair. "Then don't go," I say quietly. He doesn't. He just threads his fingers into my hair and drags them down my back, over and over, until my eyelids grow heavy and I fall asleep on his chest. I wake up the next morning tucked into my own bed, the covers pulled up to my chin. I sit up and look around. Beside me on the pillow is a note. I open it up and read. Are you in love with me yet? — Tammy Falkner

I arched my back. "Yeah, a striptease. Take off my clothes until I was wearing nothing but a jock. You'd have to sit on your hands. No touching. And I'd bounce on your lap, shake my ass in your face until you couldn't take it anymore." His nostrils flared, the veins in his biceps bulging as he gripped my hands to the point of pain. "Then — Megan Erickson