Bette Hansen

“She bypassed the junk food aisle altogether. “Okay, Faith. Hold up.” He grabbed the end of her cart and pulled it down the aisle. Snagging a bag of potato chips, he tossed them in her cart. “Better. Let’s find you some Twinkies.”
― Kelly Moran, All of Me

“Damn it, Harper, I can’t be away from you for even an hour without going out of my fucking mind,” he said against her mouth. “How am I supposed to do my job when all I can think about is getting back to you?”
― Mandy Baxter, One Night More

“I may just start randomly hitting you over the head with shit. I'm liking concussed Paige.”
― Angela Graham, Handled 2

“Oh my god.”

He didn’t turn or say anything even though the frustration in Honor’s voice made it difficult.

“My pants are stuck. I don’t think I can get them off without some help. Jesus, wet jeans are heavy and uncooperative.”

A grin stretched across his face. “You want my help?”

She let out a deep breath. “Yes, but you have to close your eyes.”

“You going commando tonight?” he teased.

“No, but…”

He shut his eyes and turned. She took his outstretched hand and tugged him down to the ground. Once there, she helped him latch on to the bunched up denim at her thighs, he guessed. Do not peek, Bishop. Do not peek.
“But?”

“My panties are white and now see-through and there’s not a lot to them.”

“Gotcha.” There wasn’t a red-blooded man alive who wouldn’t peek. “Let’s get these off you.” He pulled, she pushed and wiggled, and he got the pants to her feet in no time.

“Thank you,” she said, a little out of breath.

“No problem.”

“Bryce!”

“What?” Christ, she had sexy legs, and the barely-there material at their juncture left little to the imagination, so his thoughts leaped to about a dozen dirty scenarios.

“Your eyes are open!”
― Robin Bielman, Blame it on the Kiss