Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

“I want no blood from you--not until we're both sweaty and naked and you're screaming my name.”
― Nalini Singh, Angels' Pawn

“Champions never sleep, the eternal spirit keep them alert and awake.”
― Amit Ray, Enlightenment Step by Step

“It is not over. Champions extend their limits and make things happen.”
― Amit Ray

“A bemused smile crossed Cassandra's face as she saw Tom Severin kneeling on the floor with his thighs spread for balance, a steel pipe cutter in one hand. In contrast to his earlier polished elegance, he was in shirtsleeves with the cuffs rolled up over his forearms and the collar unfastened. A well-formed man, wide-shouldered and long in the bone. He was steaming in the residual heat from the range, the cropped hair at the back of his neck damp with sweat, the fine linen of his shirt clinging to a hard-muscled back.
Well. This was an eye-opener, in more ways than one.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“Global warming is expected to lead to the plague of excessively sweaty butt cracks.”
― Steven Magee

“A sweaty butt crack is my trigger to turn on my air conditioning.”
― Steven Magee

“There is nothing worse than a sweaty bum crack.”
― Steven Magee

“A sweaty bum crack will become the norm in a climate changed world.”
― Steven Magee

“Rohan was battling invisible foes, wielding the large, lancelike weapon she had seen in his hand that first night in the great hall. His long hair flowed around his shoulders, wetted with the sweat that streamed from him and made his body gleam with rippling, raw power. He was bare-chested, wearing only loose black trousers that draped his compact buttocks and muscled thighs gracefully.
His bare feet were silent on the flagstones as he lunged, leaped, and spun about, the torchlight flashing crimson on his long, wicked blade.
Kate watched, riveted by the play of shadows and gold torchlight that slid over his sweat-slicked body, gliding across the sleekly muscled contours of his back and massive shoulders, his powerful chest and chiseled abdomen as he thrust, swung, jabbed, then spiraled up to parry an imaginary blow, only to gouge again with precision perfectly balanced with killing force.
His blade sliced through the air with naught but a deadly whisper, each slashing arc of his weapon, like his honed body, under his exquisite control.
In constant motion, he wove through the changing patterns of his regime with a beautiful---an almost otherworldly---prowess, a creature of elegant savagery.
He attacked again with a low war cry, but then suddenly went motionless, standing in a sure-footed stance below her, his chest heaving.
Slowly, he looked up, as though he had felt her there.
Kate found herself looking into the eyes of a predator; she held absolutely still.”
― Gaelen Foley, My Dangerous Duke