Quotes About Intimacy

Il sesso è una delle cose più intime che si possano condividere. Se si è limitati nel proprio modo di esprimersi proprio dalla persona da cui si è amati, è un po' come morire. Uccide l'anima.»

You're just jealous." "Of what, of you? Of you and Asher? I'm still having sex and bondage with Asher, because you're vanilla. You're a fucking freak emotionally, but in the bedroom you're the gay male equivalent of missionary position with the lights off." "Asher didn't say that about me." "If you weren't too tame in bed for him, Kane, he wouldn't still be fucking me and Nathaniel, and Jean-Claude.

If I hadn't already said yes, and loved him to pieces, I'd have told him not only no, but hell no.

I needed him to touch me, and let me know that he was still my Darkness, still my Doyle. He whispered into my hair, "Merry, Merry, Merry." I clung to him, wordless, and wept.

Okay, a friend of mine told me that men are ducklings, they tend to imprint on their first lovers. Which means they tend to make love the way they are first trained to make love.

sex was like money in the bank; if you made regular and sizable deposits, you earned more interest. Jean-Claude had earned a lot of interest over the years.

THREE DAYS LATER I WAS STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF JEREMY'S OFFICE wearing nothing but a black lace push-up bra, matching panties, and black thigh-highs. A man I'd never met was fishing down the front of the bra. Normally, I have to be planning to sleep with a man before I let him fondle my breast, but it was nothing personal, just business.

It was one of those hugs when it feels almost like you're trying to meld yourself into the other person. Sometimes it's sexual, but sometimes it's because the world has gone too wrong and you need something to cling to.

You know, most people's pillow talk isn't about battle and killing," I said.

is it too much to ask for a little romance?

I felt naked without the Browning, which was kind of funny, considering I had an Uzi in my suitcase. But hey, I slept with the Browning. Richard

We would never go shopping together or eat an entire cake while we complained about men. He'd never invite me over to his house for dinner or a barbecue. We'd never be lovers. But there was a very good chance that one of us would be the last person the other saw before we died. It wasn't friendship the way most people understood it, but it was friendship. There were several people I'd trust with my life, but there is no one else I'd trust with my death.

He let me see in that strangely handsome face that he was thinking about her not without her clothes on, but eventually without her skin.

My lioness was crouched inside me, ready to spring, but would that hurt me more than him? "It means I can feed on things besides sex, and I'm trying very hard not to feed on you." "I know you are trying not to have sex with me." Great. It was like he'd edited what I'd said and heard only the sex part. I should have known he would.

Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, two minds with but one body, two souls wedded as one.

how when you love someone, you take that person into your body, your fingertips predicting their angles and curves; how you smell like them in the morning.

It's amazing, really, the things two people think they know about each other.

He lifts one of my hands and raises it to his cheek, a gesture so tender and unexpected that my breath catches in my throat. I feel the blood rising to my cheeks, and I look down at my lap. I can't meet his eyes.

Natalya's nearly naked backside. "I

Surprise! It actually felt pretty lousy to have a one-night stand, despite the fact that every so-called empowered friend and tattered waiting-room copy of Cosmo swore that no-strings-attached sex was nothing but fun, fun, fun.

His look felt like a touch

He appreciated her as a companion; he admired her as a comrade; he wanted her as a lover. All innocuous enough each on its own. Put together . . . Christ. What a coil.

he just didn't want to share him with anyone. Ever. She wanted to be the person his eyes sought out in a crowded ballroom, the person he nudged when he had a really smashing joke he just had to tell, the first person he saw when he woke up in the morning, and the last person he spoke to when he went to bed at night. She wanted to be the one whose ear he whispered in at the opera, and the one perched next to him in his alarmingly tottery phaeton when he drove in the park at five.

There's a look that two people share when it is inevitable that they're becoming lovers; that they've become lovers, in spirit if not yet in deed. The look is the bond that sex confirms.