And then there was Lydia. Lydia who had hurtled into his life – into lives – with hair like fire, eyes like amethysts and a fuck-me scent so palpable that he’d betrayed the only woman he’d ever loved.
You yank my hair back even harder, creating a sudden hurt which nearly topples me over the edge of the precipice. “Look at me whilst you beg me, little one…
Tell her that you love her hair, that you love her skin, her lips, because, in truth, you love them more than you love your own.
Is she a good baby? People would ask me. Well, no, I'd say. That swirl of hair on the back of her head. We must have taken a thousand pictures of it.
You know, darlin’, on the one hand you’re so damned feisty. And believe me; I like that in a woman. But, on the other…” he said, crossing to her and gently stroking her hair, “…you’re so damned shy.
Black funeral dress. Black heels. Black headband in my hair. Death has a style all it's own. I'm glad I don't have to wear it very often.
Shane kissed her one more time, lightly and softly, and fluffed her hair back from her face. “To be continued,” he said. “I hate cliff-hangers.” “Blame Eve.
She slid her fingers into his thick hair and melted while he kissed her as if there were no tomorrow. He tempted, he seduced, he enticed. And she willingly followed.
The throbbing shimmy spread through my hips and thighs. I could have sworn my body started to glow as if light were shooting from my fingertips and each strand of hair.
Let…it…go,” he whispers, his voice a fierce, harsh sound in my hair. “No. No!” The last word is screamed. “You have to. You can’t bleed it out. You can’t keep pretending, drinking it down.
Tell them there are no holes for your fingers in the masks of men. Tell them how could you ever even hope to love what you can't grab onto.
I had no contacts in, no make-up on, my hair was a frizzy state, my bum was on show for the whole world to see and, for the I also happened to be hanging upside-down from a tree.
Any curly-haired boy can write windswept ballads. You have to crush people's heads. That's the only way to make those fuckers listen.
Truly, Mallow yearned to know everything. Curiosity was part of her, like her short blond hair and bitten fingernails.
I’m surprised that, with all of his supposed experience with the gentler sex, he doesn’t realize that women do not like to be carried in a way that musses their hair and leaves them with unattractively red faces.
New hair, new clothes-the classic relationship break-up makeover," Jake said. Delaney stared at him for a beat. In a way, he was right. She breaking up with Sam. He just didn't know it.
Really?" Claire said, and couldn't help but smile. "That's what creeps you out. Waxing. You can take on vampires and draug and killers, but you're afraid of a little chest-hair pulling?
Shit, this woman's scary. I'm glad my manager's the short one with the wispy hair and the shaking hands. Milo knows how to get stuff done, but he's about as terrifying as a goldfish.
A cool breeze stirred my hair at that moment, as the night wind began to come down from the hills, but it felt like a breath from another world.
Papa!” she whispered. “I have no eyes!” He patted the girl’s hair. She’d fallen into his trap. “With a smile like that,” Hans Hubermann said, “you don’t need eyes.
I think that each woman, whatever age, needs to recognize something good in her body. Someone has beautiful legs, someone has beautiful hair, someone else has beautiful decolletage or a beautiful waist or beautiful hands. Everyone has something great...
