Quotes About Intimacy

love is an investment!

Sex and love are not identical twins. Not fraternal. Not born at the same moment but still of the same womb.

Sometimes I want the friendship of a man but other times I only want his passion. Friendship can be false; passion never lies.

The heart define whom we are were attracted to. I was attracted to him, sexually, mentally and maybe even spiritually. And the heart decided for how long that inner madness would last.

We kissed again . . . . My clit began to twerk.

The mouth that you love to feel sucking you. The mouth that makes your toes curl, the mouth that makes you ache and moan.

He tongue swiped my sex like was licking the frosting off a cupcake. I called out to heaven again. . . . My sounds encouraged him to torture me.

His sexual movements were smoother than warm butter, creative, musical, and right away he became a conductor who directed the performance and moans of his one-woman orchestra with his dick. I sang like a choir.

He dropped his towel. He showed me what I had gotten myself into, what wanted to get into me.

Eye contact creates wars, creates fights, but eye contact also creates arousal. I felt the weird, pointless tingles, and I read his face and his smile. I tried to look inside him, see what he was feeling, while at the same time guarding myself.

My hand slid into his. The warmth of his hand surrounded mine and made me wish Carson Boulevard was miles more than six lanes wide. He let my hand go when we made it to the sidewalk.

He asked, May I kiss you? I stopped blinking. The six lanes of traffic stopped moving. That question made the world stop spinning. A chill ran up and down my spine. My hands opened and closed a thousand times.

My sounds encouraged his tongue to torture me. . . . Without embarrassment he sucked me like I was a man . . . . Glanced up at me as I looked down at him. . . . Then put all of his tongue deep inside me again. I lost it. People in planes, and on Century, Sepulveda, and Airport boulevards, heard my sexual pleas.

I read this book, it said a woman should think of her virginity like it's a window. And every time you sleep with a guy, it's like letting him put his fingerprints on your window. Staining your glass.

That's what sex does: it starts relationships and it verifies the end of relationships.

I heard you on the phone with her. I happened to be in your arms, and you happened to be inside of me, balls deep from what I remember, so I felt the difference, felt what you felt for her, heard how your voice changed when you talked to her.

We'd had sex like we were whores to each other, and when it was done, we each moved to our side of the bed, boxers going to their corners, then when it was time the imaginary bell rang and we went at it again.

All I wanted was you. I tore down my wall for you. Now it's been rebuilt.

When a man really loves a woman, her secrets don't matter. He knows she's a liar and lives with it. His choice. In his silence he was the protector of her secrets. He maintained her lie out of loyalty, did that to prove his love. Loved her. Pi Suleman

He carried me, my legs wrapped around him, and moved in and out of me, stroked me as he walked around the room.

I opened my purse, shifted through panty shields, bills, and birth control pills—I call them poppa-stoppas—and took out my menstrual calendar.

I let my towel drop to the carpet. Nakedness stared at nakedness, and nakedness smiled.

Livvy and Tony are in bed eating Chinese food.

We disconnected. And I wondered if we had ever truly connected.