Treena Rommelfanger

“The sunset bled into the edges of the village. Smoke curled out of the cottage chimney like a crooked finger.”
― Sara Pascoe, Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For

“Their lips met in a slow, languid kiss. Salt from her tears mixed with her natural sweetness. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer. Her softness, her scent, she filled and overran his senses. He mouthed another kiss against her lips. Heat flared inside his abdomen when she opened her mouth, and kissed him back with firmer lips. 

He sank into her embrace, the heated connection she offered. A kinetic warmth surged through him, lighting, igniting dormant pieces inside—like someone returning home . . . A soft groan, hushed breaths. Their mouths parted and found each other again. He slid his hand behind her neck as he deepened the kiss.”
― J. Rose Black, Losing My Breath

“  “I am running back my tent to get my sub-machinegun. There are too many Noggies to kill using a pistol!” He then ran to where his scrape was and returned with the weapon.”
― Michael G. Kramer

“You can be a natural athlete with terrible work habits, and that ends up wasting your gifts.”
― Vernon Davis, Playing Ball: Life Lessons from My Journey to the Super Bowl and Beyond