Charlee has my arm. She has my arm-my arm that’s rigid from pleasure, from her touch-in her little fingers. She holds my other one, too and she’s right there, that sweet candy perfume stripping the rest of the strength from my body, and it escapes in a soft, breathy sigh.
It’s a matter of when I’ll stop fighting. – Duke
You shouldn’t have done that, Dave.
During our time together in this place Holly didn’t outright avoid me or treat me rudely. But she wasn’t-how do women like to put it? She wasn’t emotionally available to me.
I don’t know how these things died without benefit of a bullet to the brain pan. They seemed to exist in an eternal twilight of longing.
The sound of him drinking was indescribable-like dirty runoff down a storm drain.
This place is Hell’s waiting room.
May your song guide you home.
I’m not that good of an actor to fake something like that.
Two Dutch, two Americans, one German and one Australian. And yet, as the rocket began to quake beneath us, my mind focused on a man in Antarctica. I thought about Sam “Snowbow” Archambeau waiting for the September sunrise to reach the South Pole. I smiled recalling him getting a haircut in a lawn chair next to the frozen barbershop pole.” — Nikki in the upcoming novel, “Nikki White: Polar Extremes” (Nikki, #3)