Quotes About Intimacy

I love you," he whispered as he thrust again. And again. Each movement controlled. Each small movement devastating in its effect. "I love you." She lost all concept of time. She lost her place and surroundings. She couldn't remember who he was—who she was. She lost her mind.

Will ye be wantin' this now, madam?" "Yes, please," she whispered. She wanted to engrave the sight of him thus, about to make love to her, in her mind.

At her gesture Michael cursed and caught her hand, falling suddenly atop her. She stared up at him wondering what bedchamber faux pas she'd committed. He groaned at her look. "I'll let ye pet and play all ye want—after. Now I need"—he pushed her chemise to her waist, parted her thighs, and settled between them—"to be inside ye.

She was already in his palace, in his life. He couldn't go back--and wouldn't even if he could. She was so close to him now that it was as if he held her in his palm like a glowing ember--and gave thanks for the pain even as he inhaled the smoke from his burning flesh.

He went to stand next to the bed and even though the room was unlit, he could make out, faintly, her slight form beneath the covers. The sight somehow calmed his soul. She lay in his bed, in his house, and no matter what bargain she thought she'd made with him, he knew the truth. He had no plans to let her go—ever.

She threw one leg over his and straddled his lap, then reached under herself and found him again. He tore his mouth from hers. "Wait." "No." She looked him frankly in the eyes. "I don't care if you spill at once. I need you inside me now." His beautiful eyes widened and then narrowed. "You'll not always hold the reins, my lady." She smiled sweetly. "Naturally not, but I do now.

You are different. She lifted a hand to delicately trace his hairline. He closed his eyes, feeling her fingers tremble against his skin. For whatever reason, she said softly, when you are with me, you are simply Isaac and I am Coral.

My darling Lucy." He panted against her ear, and then his teeth scraped her earlobe. "I love you," he whispered. "Don't ever leave me.

He was aware, suddenly, of the chill condensing clammily on his skin, the smell of damp cobblestones, of the very air flowing in and out of his lings. But most of all he was aware of the woman, this woman, his woman, standing so proudly, waiting patiently for him, only him. He walked toward her and knew with every fiber of his being that he walked to life itself.

He pulled back, staring at her in the dim carriage, his brows still knit. Megs? Oh, right. She still hadn't told him. Well, it was his own fault; his mouth was simply delicious. I love you, she said, speaking clearly so that there might be no confusion.

She took his length gently between her hands, her arms resting on his thighs, and looked up into his face. "I'm very, very angry with you." And she opened her mouth over him.

There was no sound, but she felt a movement, a shifting of the air in her room, the warmth of another presence. Isabel opened her eyes. He was there, at the foot of her bed, a single candle in his hand, dressed only in shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and breeches. "Forgive me," he whispered as he set the candle down. "I could not stay away.

She caught his wrist, stilling the hand on her thigh. Her eyes were a little desperate. What do you mean to do? I'd like to show you my way of making love, he said gently.

I won't marry you," she repeated. "Why not? You were eager enough to fuck me." Anna winced. "I do wish you would stop using that word." Edward swung around and assumed a hideously sarcastic expression. "Would you prefer swive? Tup? Dance the buttock jig?

She moaned, long and low, wanting to arch, to thrash, to scream. Instead she opened her mouth and bit his shoulder, tasting salt. Tasting want. Then she gasped. Please. What do you want? he whispered in her ear, an incubus, dark and alive and in her. Tell me. What do you need? I... Her mouth opened, wordless. Tell me, his smoky voice curled around her. You. He chuckled, dark and low.

No one could hear them over the carriage wheels, yet somehow it felt right to whisper. His eyes dropped to her gaping bodice. One nipple was reddened and still moist. He averted his eyes, swallowing. His erection, silly thing, didn't know the show was over.

And she arched, screaming, the lightning blazing from her center, sparking through her limbs, flying out her fingertips. She was incandescent. He fell atop her, heavy and male, pulling her legs up around his narrow hips, and ground down into her, once, twice. His cock jerked within her and she could feel every muscle in his body tense. He groaned into her ear like a man dying and then fell senseless and limp. And as she followed him into exhausted slumber she heard his single word: Mine .

Oh, how she wanted this man! She wanted to hold him like this tomorrow and fifty years hence. She wanted to be by his side every morning when he woke, she wanted his to be the last voice she heard before she fell asleep at night.

She pulled back and murmured, "I'm still mad at you." "Are you?" His wounded voice had descended into Stygian depths. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her jaw. "Yes." She yanked at his hair in emphasis. He grunted, but her grip didn't prevent him from lowering his mouth to hers again. He nipped at her lips and then licked at them, softening the sting. "I'll have to see what I can do to regain your good graces.

I'm afraid I'm rather used to females making themselves shameless for me.

She was lost. He broke their kiss and laid his forehead against hers. "Make me stop." "I can't," she whispered. "Then… we're doomed," he said, his voice husky and low.

She'd never find another man like him as long as she lived. He was ruining her for any other, and the pleasure of it was beyond bearing.

The duke brought her hand to his mouth and, his azure eyes glittering in the candlelight, pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. And then the edge of his teeth. She felt the warm softness of his lips, the prickle of against tender skin, and a sort of shock seemed to go straight through the center of her body. He let her go and her wrist felt the cold of night. Séraphine. The burning one. I should've known.

ARTEMIS WOKE TO the feel of strong arms grasping her tight and lifting her from her bed. She should've been alarmed, but all she felt was a strange rightness. She looked up as Maximus carried her into the corridor outside her room. His face was set in grim lines, his eyes drawn and old, his mouth flat. He wore his banyan, its silk smooth beneath her cheek. She could hear his heart beating, strong and steady.