Quotes About Intimacy

It's no just the bedding, ye ken," he said, drawing back a little at last. His eyes looked down at me, a soft deep blue like the warm tropic sea. "No," I said, touching his cheek. "It isn't." "To have ye with me again—to talk wi' you—to know I can say anything, not guard my words or hide my thoughts—

There must have been some sound that made me look up, but I wasn't aware of having raised my head. John Grey was standing in the doorway of my room. His neckcloth was missing and his shirt hung limp on his shoulders, wine spilled down the front of it. His hair was loose and tangled, and his eyes as red as mine. I stood up, slow, as though I were underwater. "I will not mourn him alone tonight," he said roughly, and closed the door.

Does it ever stop? The wanting you? Even when I just left ye, I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.

Oh, God, John!" he said. I stopped dead, halted much more by the tone of that voice than by the words—it was broken with an emotion I had seldom heard from him. Walking very quietly, I drew closer. Framed in the half-open door was Jamie, head bowed as he pressed Lord John Grey tight in a fervent embrace. I stood still, completely incapable of movement or speech. As I watched, they broke apart.

But if he knew Grey so intimately as to make what I had witnessed plausible in the name of friendship alone, then why had he not told me of him before? Why go to such lengths to see the man, as soon as he learned that Grey was in Jamaica?

No, there were differences. However unknown my future, it would be shared, and the bond between my man and me went much deeper than the flesh. Beyond all this was the one great difference, though—I had chosen to be there.

Let me tell ye in your sleep how much I love you. For there's no so much I can be saying to ye while ye wake, but the same poor words, again and again. While ye sleep in my arms, I can say things to ye that would be daft and silly waking, and your dreams will know the truth of them. Go

Blood of my blood," he whispered, "and bone of my bone. You carry me within ye, Claire, and ye canna leave me now, no matter what happens. You are mine, always, if ye will it or no, if ye want

You don't mind, if he Ã¢â'¬Â¦ takes other lovers? Or he you, come to that?

Then I took his hand and lifted my head, and looked full into the face of the sun.

She's goin' about now bare as a wee lassie?" "She says," I replied delicately, "that men find it erotic.

Well, I don't suppose it's an impt—impeddy—impediment, after all. Not as though he'd lost his cock, I mean. He hasn't, has he?

But I talk to you as I talk to my own soul

I Ã¢â'¬Â¦ just came." The need to find out as much as I could made me add the little else I knew. "I think—I think it has something to do with being able to fix your mind on a certain person who's in the time you go to." Her

Don't be afraid," he whispered into my hair. "There's the two of us now." I felt warm, soothed, and safe for the first time in many days.

It occurred to me—belatedly, as so many things did these days—that John's intimate memories belonged to him, as well. "I didn't mean to pry," I said apologetically. He smiled faintly, but with real humor. "I am flattered, madam, that you should entertain an interest in me. I know many more Ã¢â'¬Â¦ conventional marriages in which the partners remain by preference in complete ignorance of each other's thoughts and histories.

He put his arm around her and drew her head down on his shoulder, and they sat silently together, waiting for the light to come back.

My body is out of my control. She was the half of my body--the very half of my soul.

turned my back to dip the cloth into the bowl, and said offhandedly over my shoulder, "Er, I did my legs, too." I stole a quick glance over my shoulder. The original shock was fading into a look of total bewilderment. "Your legs dinna smell like anything," he said. "Unless you've been walkin' knee-deep in the cow-byre.

Well, I'll tell ye, Sassenach, 'graceful' is possibly not the first word that springs to mind at 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.

D'ye ken that the only time I am without pain is in your bed, Sassenach? When I take ye, when I lie in your arms—my wounds are healed, then, my scars forgotten.

He wrapped his arms about his

Well, I'll tell ye, Sassenach, graceful is possibly not the first word that springs to mind at the thought of you. But I talk to you as I talk to my own soul. And, Sassenach, your face is my heart.

It was no random choice that invoked his name to cure me. Whether it was health of mind or body, the love of him was necessary to me as breath or blood. My mind reached out for him, sleeping or waking, and finding him, was satisfied. My body and glowed, and as it came to full life, hungered for his.