His eyes are piercing and intense, the stare they give me brimming with threat and interest, folding thick arms over a broad chest, rippling the muscles in his forearms and etching the tattoos down his arms into stark highlight.
Now it was done. He was free of Xanth forever. Free to make his own life, without being ridiculed or mothered or tempted. Free to be himself. Bink put his face in his hands and cried.
I honor the father in his son, not the son in his father. Each one receives a reward or punishment for his deeds, but not for the acts of others.
He took her into his arms again, using all his strength to be gentle, and let his lips touch hers so lightly he could hardly feel it.
She had been proud of his decision to serve his country, her heart bursting with love and admiration the first time she saw him outfitted in his dress blues.
Nicolai, the Dark Seducer as his people called him, had been in bed, but not alone. He was never alone. He was a man known for the violence of his temper as well as the deliciousness of his touch
Snatching my hand in the death grip of his fingers, he pulls me off the wall to line his chest, closing his body around me in a muscular cage which smells of leather and soap.
For a long time, Maurice rubbed his shaved head in his palm, until at last he looked up at his student. "Teo, I think you have to let Deu be the God he is, not the god you want him to be.
An almost perfect relationship with his father was the earthly root of all his wisdom. From his own father, he said, he first learned that Fatherhood must be at the core of the universe. [speaking of George MacDonald]
His grip on my shoulder tightens. His other hand behind my head caresses me softly and I sigh. "Touch me, Skye." His voice is rough, almost sounding like a groan.
Jaxon snorted in disbelief. He cupped his sac just to make sure his balls and dick were still there. If he hadn’t been so content in his life he would’ve thought he was growing a vagina.
...while Daniel disappeared into his room, probably to limn the contours of some exquisite constellation of philosophical nonsense for his internship applications and gasp in the throes of his overachieving OCDness.
However," he continued, "this canvas is preferable to the paintings of that varlet Rubens, with his mountains of Flemish flesh sprinkled with vermilion, his waves of red hair and his medley of colors.
But as the years passed, Ned's silence grew and grew. It pressed upon his face and his body. It leaked into the house and spread outward into the yard. His silence had weight. It had substance and presence and teeth.
He unbuckled his belt and pulled off his blue jeans and boxers. I guess I had forgotten his actual size and I blushed at the sight of him. This was gonna hurt.
'Foyle's War' made me realise that Churchill actually had questionable morals; his decisions meant that good people died. It must have weighed heavily on his soul, but he never let his personal demons get in the way of what was best for our country.
What great good, then, we are to expect and hope from participating in his divinity, when even his distress calms us and his weakness strengthens us.
When I was done, his arms were spread wide above his head, secured by the black ties at his wrists. he looked like a dark god who was being punished.
He laced his hands behind his neck and propped his boots on the opposite arm of the sofa. If an artist were to capture this image, it would have been labeled, . She wanted to shake him.
He kept his eyes on mine, his gaze unblinking, and I stared right back into the blue. He moved almost imperceptibly and in the space between a heartbeat his lips touched mine.
The strongest man is the one who, when he gets angry and his face reddens and his hackles rise, is able to defeat his anger. (Reported by Imaam Ahmad, 5/367, and classified as hasan in Saheeh al-Jaami’, 3859)
