Best 12 quotes of N. J. Lysk on MyQuotes

He didn’t imagine hockey was a very likely career for any of them—they weren’t even playing on skates—but if they could just believe in something... In themselves, a little bit, in the world giving them a chance, in other people being worth getting to know… If he could, somehow, offer them that much. Or even if all he did was make their week better. Hell, he’d take making their day a little less worse. It’d make him happy too and joy wasn’t something to be squandered.

He met Ray’s eyes. He knew it was hard to believe but Sergi did believe it. Believe in him. He knew how strong Ray was, and if he’d ever doubted it, his resilience in the face of the shitty cards he’d been dealt would have been more than enough. He didn’t know how to say it so Ray would believe him, though. "I spent a lot of time fighting with you,” he said in the end. “I figure I know what you're made of by now." He couldn’t tell if Ray believed him, but sometimes all you could do was offer your faith. Again and again, a prayer and an offering, and hope someone was listening.

He pressed his thumbs against Iesu's hipbones, caressing the underside of his dick with his tongue and swallowing the salty, sticky precome. He couldn't say he enjoyed the taste, exactly, but... he glanced up, right past Iesu's heaving chest—shirt sticking to his perky nipples—and at his upturned chin where he'd left his whole throat exposed. Vulnerable and at his mercy. And blowing a guy was supposed to be submissive.

I like you,” his friend said, and it sounded like an admission. It had to be an admission, following what Josh had said about liking men, even as Josh insisted, “I really like you, Ray.” Even as Ray arched into the soft, feathery kisses Josh was planting down his throat, he realised he wanted to know more. But the words wouldn’t come. He let his eyes flutter closed to focus on the sensation of Josh’s mouth and Josh’s hand sliding up his naked thigh, pulling his shorts down. Whatever else Josh felt or didn’t feel, this was true, he thought. His hands and his mouth and the way he was already hardening again against Ray’s side. He hadn’t asked about himself in particular, himself… before. He didn’t know how. He knew he was wanted, but he didn’t know how to ask if he was loved.

I’m gay, mate,” he told him when Sergi couldn't help but ask. “I got over all my hang-ups like a decade ago.” “Doesn't mean you want people to catch you at it!” Iesu raised an eyebrow at him. “We are in the middle of nowhere and the only people who live here are werewolves with both superhearing and supernoses; only reason to catch us is if they want a free show.

I’m in the middle of a sentence when he grunts in displeasure, but I force myself to set my book down and turn to him. Dzyer gives me a nod and asks if Lambians really prohibit royal women from touching forged steel for fear of them contaminating themselves? I explain that they don’t really speak of it, then recall that I got a few weird looks for carrying a weapon. Of course, early on I also got looks for wearing what Lambians consider ‘masculine’ clothing and forgetting that in their language verbs are conjugated differently depending the sex of the speaker and the person referred to. Efficient, one would think, to know something about who is performing an action but confusing because the action itself does not change.

It was easy. It didn’t require thought to push closer, to roll faster into the wave of their shared pleasure, a rhythm they didn’t need to discuss—it simply was. A truth they had just needed to let surface from the depths as if they’d hid it from themselves by some trick of the light, or the darkness. Maybe just fear—the kind that lived at the heart of every great love.

Lyall wanted Tristan’s kisses and his body and to have him close enough his scent would permeate rooms and make him smile when he walked into them. But he didn’t want it more than he wanted Tristan’s words, rushed in a voice messages and often too formal in emails, and in perfectly composed lectures full of masterful analogies. And not just for him, but for other people who needed to hear they didn’t have to be trapped by the vicissitudes of chance, that their bodies could be coaxed into allowing them enough freedom to find happiness—for without freedom there was no happiness possible. The distance would be harder, but it did not mean more than their closeness.

Ray wanted an egalitarian relationship, there was no way in hell he was putting anyone through anything even close to what he'd been through. Revenge was just violence dressed up as justice, not the real thing.

Sometimes Marisa pretended she needed the toilet when she didn’t. But she didn’t feel guilty about it: the secret of strength wasn’t perseverance, it was pacing. You had to know your limits and you had to respect them. She didn’t ask her body to go beyond what it could do, why should she treat her mind with less respect?

Sometimes you couldn’t do much to change the fucked up circumstances, but even then everyone had to eat and drink. At least they were lucky enough they could afford the treats and the comfort—it hadn’t always been the case for Marisa and Ray. They’d never gone hungry—the pack wouldn’t have allowed it—but they’d grown up knowing money was short, learned not to ask for the newest toys or fancy clothes. They’d learned it and they’d taught it, and maybe that was the hardest part of all—not just to say no once or twice, but to explain to a child that there were certain things that others had that were out of your family’s reach.

The moment it was over I knew I shouldn’t have done it. It was fucked up on so many levels that it didn’t even feel right to hold Dan close to me in what had been our bed less than a month earlier. Dan loved me, I knew he did. It wasn’t fair of me to lead him on, even if I had broken up with him just before fucking him. But it wasn’t just that, the rest of it wasn’t right either. The knowledge of what I no longer was in my family’s view but forever, for whoever looked upon me, marked on my body, a lack so fundamental and obvious that some would refuse to call me a man. And what would happen to me because of that, the way my body was even in that moment changing to accommodate someone else’s desires, the way I was becoming what Brennan had decided I needed to be. For the first time, it wasn’t a mere omission but an outright lie. To be in that bed next to Dan was taking up the space that belonged to someone else, someone we had both loved and who was now gone. That life was over, done.