Deeks

“I drop my face to my hands and scrub hard.

"I wish I had your boobs," I hear Sam announce and raise my head to see who she's talking to. Of course, she's talking to Bryn.

"Right," she smirks and takes another bite of brownie.

"Dude, I do!" And just like that, Sam saunters across the room and cups Brynna's tit in her palm. "See? You have the perfect boobs. Stace, have you felt her boobs?"

Just kill me. Put a bullet in my head and end the agony.

"Oh yeah," Stacy waves her off. "She has great tits."

She has amazing tits.

"I wanna feel!" Jules bounces over and joins in.

"Give me more chocolate and you can touch all you want." Brynna laughs and then glances over at me. "This is the most action I've had in months."

"Motherfuckingsonofawhore." I grumble.

"Is Brynna single?" Mark asks Will.

"Keep your fucking hands off her," I growl at him before I know what's coming out of my mouth.

"Hey," he holds his hands up in surrender and laughs. "It was just an innocent question.”
― Kristen Proby, Safe with Me

“I need your strength. Yes i am a badass, but there are times that i need someone to hold me up too, and i didn't know until i found you that that doesn't make me weak, it means i have finally found my partner.”
― Kristen Proby, Fight with Me

“Lassiter skidded in from the billiards room, the fallen angel glowing from his black-and-blond hair and white eyes, all the way down to his shitkickers. Then again, maybe the illumination wasn’t his nature, but that gold he insisted on wearing.
He looked like a living, breathing jewelry tree.
“I’m here. Where’s my chauffeur hat?”
“Here, use mine,” Butch said, outing a B Sox cap and throwing it over. “It’ll help that hair of yours.”
The angel caught the thing on the fly and stared at the red S. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“Do not tell me you’re a Yankees fan,” V drawled. “I’ll have to kill you, and frankly, tonight we need all the wingmen we’ve got.”
Lassiter tossed the cap back. Whistled. Looked casual.
“Are you serious?” Butch said. Like the guy had maybe volunteered for a lobotomy. Or a limb amputation. Or a pedicure.
“No fucking way,” V echoed. “When and where did you become a friend of the enemy—”
The angel held up his palms. “It’s not my fault you guys suck—”
Tohr actually stepped in front of Lassiter, like he was worried that something a lot more than smack talk was going to start flying. And the sad thing was, he was right to be concerned. Apart from their shellans, V and Butch loved the Sox above almost everything else—including sanity.”
― J.R. Ward, Lover at Last

“ah, life—
the thing
that happens
to us
while we’re off
somewhere else
blowing on
dandelions
& wishing
ourselves into
the pages of
our favorite
fairy tales.”
― Amanda Lovelace, The Princess Saves Herself in This One