All the different religion are erally like different paths leading to the same goal. So there is no question of prescribing any rigid set of principles or practices. Everyone has got the right to follow his own path and approach God in his own way.
That night Tommy kissed him and eased his way into Chase’s body so gently that when Chase came, his vision washed in white, not red, and it did for him what sex with Tommy always did for him: set him free and let him fly.
There are three kinds of fighters: the aggressive fighter who charges in blindly trying to get the upper hand, the defensive fighter who blocks and evades until his opponent is tired, and then the most dangerous type of fighter, the one who waits for...
I am unaware of his plans but I shall never stop believing in them because I cannot fathom them and I prefer to mistrust my own intellectual capacities than his justice.
Bond sat for a moment frozen to his chair. Suddenly, there flashed unwanted into his mind that most sinister line in poetry: 'They reckon ill who leave me out. When me they fly, I am the wings.
He sucked in a breath, his head snapping back from hers. Groaning as he filled her, she arched her back against him, her nipples stroking his chest with the movement. They weren't going to make it to the living room. "Wall or floor?" he managed.
She leaned against him slightly, and his heart pounded in his chest. He let go of her hand and scooted away a bit. He could not let her like him, he was only her protector, and that's how it would remain.
Put me down.” “Nope.” He held her snuggled to his bare chest, tipping her up so he could rub his cheek against hers. “I like carrying you.
Not romantic," she disagreed. "To me it would be romantic if Antony properly fell on his sword and kicked the bucket and Cleopatra escaped and lived a lovely life sailing along the Nile without him and his big ideas ruining her kingdom.
Growing up, Renaldo and his father had a great relationship. At least until his father went and slept with someone else.
But there was a monster lurking in the deepest, blackest corners of his soul. An angry, slathering, vengeful beast, who had a mouth full of butcher knives and a tongue that dripped acid. A monster who ached for freedom. A monster that longed to flay ...
Once when he was still young, I saw a bit of his scalp showing through his hair and I was afraid. But it was just a cowlick. Now sometimes it shows through for real, but I feel only tenderness.
My fingers slipped into his thick, black hair and held tightly. He paused, not wanting to pull away. I didn’t let him. I was going to say goodbye properly. I held tightly, pressing my lips to his, soft at first then hard with desire.
Cam shook his head. 'Do you ever listen to how much crazy shit comes out of your mouth?' 'Nope.' I hooked my fingers into his waistband and pulled him closer. 'Nobody does. That's why I remain undiagnosed.'
man is always equal to his purpose; when you control him, you do half a job but when you control his purpose, you do a total job.
Anxiously, he touched the lump on his head again, then felt his injured leg, groaning. "The whole affair is a mystery to me," he said. "Who would want to steal anything from me?" "Perhaps a thief...?" ventured Julius.
He kissed her dizzy, then lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waisst as he kissed his way down her neck. "Make love to me," she whispered. "Like I'm a full-grown woman." He pulled back to look at her. "As opposed to...?
When they passed the centaur king's cell, Volos pointed at Regin and slid his forefinger across his throat. She replied, "Hey, didn't I see you in a donkey show down in Tijuana? No? You've got a twin then--
That’s means you’re mine. Mine to care for.” He ran his thumb over her full lower lip. “Mine to fuck.” He leaned forward, his mouth an inch from hers. “And mine to protect. Don’t forget that.” Zander deVries
He put his hand on my waist, and my heart began to pound, a rougher rhythm than the music. I held my skirt. Our free hands met. His felt warm and comforting and unsettling and bewildering--all at once.
It is not true that fate slips silently into our lives. It steps in through the door that we have opened, and we invite it to enter. No one is strong enough or cunning enough to avert by word or deed the misfortune that is rooted in the iron laws of ...
