Just one Line.

From my new, nearly completed novella, First Contact #2: Venom’s Spawn (A Prequel to The Strigoi)...

In the history of Space Fleet, no vessel’s AI had acted in a way that was detrimental to the crew. Seven months ago, the entire fleet’s AI, Albert, was decommissioned and replaced. Everyone loved Albert, but Diana, not so much.
 
A scene with four characters, including the first speaker. My hope is that partway through the story, the following sentence makes sense.
"I've spent the last three weeks trying to keep secret from you --" her finger pointed accusingly at each of us in turn "-- that you want you to have sex with you and from you that you want you to have sex with me."

"Well, thank fuck for that finger, or I'd be confused as hell. I just assumed I was here to fuck everybody."
 
From my WIP about a summoner and a foxxubus, whose title I might figure out at some point, but the blurb of which is almost certainly: "A summoner becomes the summonee."
A red alert sounded in his head — Admiral Ackbar screaming, “It’s a trap,” on a loop.
 
Grace closed her eyes. Needed to get away, but it felt so good to be wanted. She pushed herself back to him, and he groaned.

His hand cupped her breast, causing her to cringe and tense. “Stop, stop,” she cried out.

He hesitated, but pulled himself away from her. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat, and Grace subtly wiped tears from her cheeks.

“It's okay. We're both a little drunk.” She chuckled, but her stance and expression seemed uncomfortable.

“I'm not that drunk, Grace.”

She tried to hide the tremble in her voice as she said, “You’re drunk enough to kiss me.”

“Sober enough to want to do more.”
 
There’s a drive into deep left field by Castellanos, it’ll be a home run and that’ll make it a four-oh ballgame, I thought. It’s Thomas, charging through the midfield, it’s up for grabs now; do you believe in miracles, yes; is that Glock, oh my goodness me. We were both gasping now, and I clenched my teeth. I wasn’t going to tap out. I wasn’t. We’re talkin’ about practice, not the game, not the game, we talkin’ bout practice, man; the Giants win the pennant, the Giants win the pennant, the Giants win the –
 
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