Quotes About Intimacy

I fought back the memory of our wedding night. He was a virgin; his hands trembled when he touched me. I had been afraid too--with better reason. And then in the dawn he had held me, naked back against his chest, his thighs warm and strong behind my own, murmuring into the clouds of my hair, Dinna be afraid. There's two of us now.

Well, I'll tell ye, Sassenach, 'graceful' is possibly not the first word that springs to mind at the thought of you. He slipped an arm behind me, one hand large and warm around my silk-clad shoulder. But I talk to you as I talk to my own soul, he said, turning me to face him. He reached up and cupped my cheek, fingers light on my temple. And, Sassenach, he whispered, your face is my heart.

My body is out from my control," he said softly. "She was the half of my body—the very half of my soul.

For so many years, he said, for so long, I have been so many things, so many different men.... But here, he said so softly I could barely hear him, here in the dark, with you.... I have no name. I lifted my face toward his, and took the warm breath of him between my own lips. I love you, I said, and did not need to tell him how I meant it.

Then kiss me, Claire," he whispered. "And know that you are more to me than life, and I have no regret." I couldn't answer, but kissed him, first his hand, its crooked fingers warm and firm, and the brawny wrist of a sword-wielder, and then his mouth, haven and promise and anguish all mingled, and the salt of tears in the taste of him.

You're real," he whispered. I had thought him pale already. Now all vestiges of color drained from his face.

There is nothing more delightful in life than a feather bed and an open fire—except a feather bed with a warm and tender lover in it.

When the day shall come, that we do part," he said softly, and turned to look at me, "if my last words are not 'I love you'—ye'll ken it was because I didna have time.

No, my Sassenach, he said softly. Open your eyes. Look at me. For that is your punishment, as it is mine. See what you have done to me, as I have done to you. Look at me.

And sometimes, I whispered to him, I wish it could be you inside me. That I could take you into me and keep you safe always. His hand, large and warm, lifted slowly from the bed and cupped the small round swell of my belly, sheltering and caressing. You do, my own, he said. You do.

I talk to you as I talk to my own soul, he said, turning me to face him. He reached up and cupped my cheek, fingers light on my temple. And Sassenach, he whispered, Your face is my heart

Jamie laid a hand on mine, and my fingers turned to intertwine with his. I could feel his pulse in my own fingertips, the solid bones of knuckle and phalanges. His right hand, battered and marked with the scars of sacrifice and labor. Marked also with the signs of my love, the crude repairs done in pain and desperation. Blood of my blood, bone of my bone Ã¢â'¬Â¦

Your face is my heart, Sassenach," he said softly, "and love of you is my soul. But you're right; ye canna be my conscience.

He said the greatest thing in a man's life is to lie wi' a woman he loves

But do ye not see how verra small a thing is the notion of death, between us two, Claire?" he whispered.

I like ye fat, Sassenach," he said softly. "Fat and juicy as a plump wee hen. I like it fine.

You are mine," it had said. "Mine! And I will not let you go.

My love," he whispered. "Oh, my love. I do want ye so.

And a long time," he said. "I am a jealous man, but not a vengeful one. I would take you from him, my Sassenach—but I wouldna take him from you.

You are my courage, as I am your conscience," he whispered. "You are my heart—and I your compassion. We are neither of us whole, alone. Do ye not know that, Sassenach?" "I do know that," I said, and my voice shook. "That's why I'm so afraid. I don't want to be half a person again, I can't bear it.

Is thee afraid of me, Rachel?" he whispered. "I am," she whispered back, and closed her hand on his wounded shoulder, lightly but hard enough for him to feel the hurt of it. "And I am afraid for thee, as well. But there are things I fear much more than death—and to be without thee is what I fear most.

You'll have to keep it up for longer than that, if you expect ecstatic moans," I answered. "Two minutes doesn't deserve any more than a giggle.

Does it ever stop? The wanting you?" His hand came around to caress my breast. "Even when I've just left ye, I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.

I love you," he murmured. "Oh, Bree, I do love you." She didn't answer, but a hand floated up from the dark and lay along his cheek, gentle as a tendril of seaweed. She kept it there while he took her, laid open in trust, while her other hand held his beating heart.