He barred his forearm across Marco's brawny chest and shoved him against the stone door. "She may not be mine, but I am still hers.
Seven half-bloods shall answer the call To storm or fire the world must fall An oath to keep with a final breath and foes bear arms to the doors of death
It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.
She burst in the door, I burst into song, and he burst into flames. Our love triangle turned into dinner for two featuring roasted marshmallows.
I kiss her for way too long at the door, and not for the first time, I wish that I could stay with her, to help chase those dark clouds away.
The battle had been as hideous as you might expect between one side who were simply not afraid to die and another who regarded death as merely a door to the eternal life.
Darkness crept through. Shadows pried at doors, teased dull edges of recollections that never quite took hold. Memories that would have shriveled under the blinding sun of daylight. And reason.
Were there tingles in her downstairs department? Her pearly gates had gone into override and the doors were ready to burst open.
You've got to say what you mean and mean what you say...Doubt in your voice is an open door people will shove right through.
Glancing in through the open door to Xav’s room, I saw Zed stretched out on the queen mattress, his arm hugging a pillow as if he felt Sky’s absence at his side.
Hey,” Shayne said through the door. “You going to stay in there all night, because we’re getting tired of trying to eavesdrop from out here. Can’t hear a damn thing.
Kicking the door shut with the heel of my boot, I wedge her against it, raining kisses on her skin, wishing I could climb inside her and kiss away the welts left on her heart and mind.
He's as tall as the door, and I'm standing here without remembering the walk across the shadowed parking lot. When he turns to face me the world grinds into slow motion. Even my heartbeat draws out interminably.
I uncapped the blade, flung open the door, and found myself face-to-face with a black pegasus. Its voice spoke in my mind as it clopped away from the sword blade.
She came through the door the moment my beer arrived. Fortyish, salon-blonde, spray tan, fake boobs and real diamonds. Anywhere else it would be a bimbo alert, but in Florida it was just protective coloration.
Kellyanne opened the car door and crawled into my bedroom. Her face was puffy and pale and fuzzed-over. She just came in and said: "Ashmol, Pobby and Dingan are maybe-dead." That's how she said it.
Not every loss was confirmed by an officer at the door. Nor a telegram with the power to sink a fleet. Loss, often the worst kind, also arrived through the deafening quiet of an absence.
You're dying to meet my needs. You can't look away from my luscious half-naked body. The minute I opened the door you were pawing at me. It was like you were in heat or something.
On time for us was thirty minutes before actually started, because the half hour before the first bell was the highlight of our social calendars: standing outside the side door that led into the band room and just talking.
And the next time I did school stuff in the middle of the night, I just did it in my closet with the door locked. Honestly, what is wrong with this country when striving for excellence means you need antidepressants?
Yay! I want to attend a Pampered Chef party about as much as I want to go to a used auto parts party where you can win a baby monkey as a door prize
