Quotes About Intimacy

I wanted to tell her I loved her. I wanted to tell her things would be simple. I wanted to tell her the soft animal of my body wanted only the soft animal of hers. But instead, I let myself succumb to the warmth of her skin and the rhythm of her breath, slipping back into a half-sleep.

I kissed her on the top of her head and hoped that she knew that that meant I love you. She slid her arm around me, underneath my shirt, skin pressed to skin, and I knew that she meant I love you, too.

I love you. The thought startled me, but I felt it spread through my body like warm ocean waves. I loved her. I wanted to say it, but I was afraid of being too much. Of scaring her off. Of adding to the jumble of overwhelming emotions she was probably already feeling. So, I tucked the words deep in the corner of my heart, saving them for a rainy day

You can't build homes out of people, but that didn't stop me from letting Noah burrow her way into my heart. The fireplace in our living room crackled and bloomed as her eyelids drifted slowly shut, and I thought that no matter where we were, no matter what we did, home would always be with her

I kissed her again and lit up once more. She tasted like peaches and laughter and I remember thinking that peaches were my new favorite fruit.

The intimacy. The deepest level of love. The knowledge that someone understands you, is rooting for you, is sharing your life.

I have decided that love is only real and true when it makes you feel safe.

She savored their conversation, and often, when doing her chores, she remembered the words he said to her and how hopeful he was that she might kiss him again. Now she wished she had. because one kiss is not enough.

When you marry a man from your own village, you know how he salts his food.

There wasn't time for artifice; their connection was the destination, not the dance that preceded it.

I wonder if he knows that every time I make a joke, a little piece of my heart breaks off. It's just self-defense. It seems whenever we get close, he leaves.

I only wish I had more of myself to give; somehow my heart does not seem big enough to hold what I feel for him.

A man who can seduce with a turn of phrase will not disappoint in the bedroom.

when it looked like she was about to cuff herself to the wheel, Q reached out his hand to stop her only to have the other bracelet slapped onto his wrist.

Here I am. Look no furter. No one loves you more than I.

Little friends may prove great friends.

Desde entonces a Eros y el pudor no se les volvió a ver juntos.

All the time I think I can never love you more than I already do. And then you do something or say something, and I love you more than ever. Like just now. Like now. How is it possible? Can you love someone more and more and at the same time, all the time, love them as much as it's possible to love someone?

However much you love somebody, you should always keep a part of yourself to yourself. Never give it all. You can never be yourself otherwise.

I've noticed this: when it's the first date, and you fuck, the guy hold you much better than he does the next few times. The first date, you're sort of the stand-in for whomever he loved last, before he fully realizes that you're not her, and so you get all this nice residue emotion. I felt cherished, tucked into his belly, like we'd known each other for years and I was his wonderful girl and we both slept great.

I can't tell you exactly what I'm looking for, but I'll know it when it happens. I want to be breathless and weak, crumpled by the entrance of another person inside my soul. I want to be violated by insight.

He moved his fingers down her whole spine, one by one by one, and during the time it took to do that, his brain remained absolutely quiet. It is these empty spaces you have to watch out for, as they flood up with feeling before you even realize what's happened; before you find yourself, at the base of her spine, different.

When we sleep together, he holds me like he loves me. I've noticed this: when it's the first date, and you fuck, the guy holds you much better than he does the next few times. The first date, you're sort of a stand-in for whomever he loved last, before he fully realizes you're not her, so you get all this nice residue emotion.

That at the same time of this very intimate act of concentrating so carefully on the details of our mother's palm and fingertips, he was also removing all traces of any tiny leftover parts, and suddenly a ritual which I'd always found incestuous and gross seemed to me more like a desperate act on Joseph's part to get out, to leave, to extract every little last remnant and bring it into open air.