Quotes About Intimacy

Such a wicked smile you're wearing," he said approvingly, flipping her sandals off. "I think it should be the only thing you have on." He unsnapped her shorts, then slid everything off the lower half of her body in one smooth slide. "You've been practicing," she said, though it was hard to keep the casual banter going now, seeing as he was slowly kissing his way past her ankle and on up along the curve of her calf.

There's one more part," she said, finding the courage, knowing she needed to tell him the rest of it. "Of the all I want to have." "Which is?" She lifted her head then, propped her chin on his chest, and looked into his beautiful blue eyes. "You.

Once, walking with him, Paola had stopped and asked him what he was thinking about, and the fact that she was the only person in the world he would not be embarrassed to tell just what it was he had been thinking about at that moment convinced him, though a thousand things had already done so, that this was the woman he wanted to marry, had to marry, would marry.

There's nothing like falling into a satisfied sleep after you've had a man inside you two or three times. There's no substitute for that kind of man-to-woman connection.

Holy hell," she said to the empty room. How was she ever going to win an argument with a man that calmed her with orgasms?

He planted himself in front of April until her fiancé came around, then Leland kissed her like he owned her.

When she went limp in his arms, her surrender calmed him a bit. He kissed her more softly then, but still desperately.

It is is better to know one book intimately than a hundred superficially.

if a painting really works down in your heart and changes the way you see, and think, and feel, you don't think, 'oh, I love this picture because it's universal.' 'I love this painting because it speaks to all mankind.' That's not the reason anyone loves a piece of art. It's a secret whisper from an alleyway. Psst, you. Hey kid. Yes you.

To marry is to surrender everything—not only your body but your pride, your independence, even your life.

Writing about sex is not as personally revealing as one might think, because like anything else you write about, the words are not the deed. I have not done those words, I have done and felt private things for which words such as "sex" and "lust" are only poor apologies.

How not to imagine the tumors ripening beneath his skin, flesh I have kissed, stroked with my fingertips, pressed my belly and breasts against, some nights so hard I thought I could enter him, open his back at the spine like a door or a curtain and slip in like a small fish between his ribs, nudge the coral of his brains with my lips, brushing over the blue coil of his bowels with the fluted silk of my tail.

And oh, the oh my nape of the neck. The up-swept oh my nape of the neck. I could walk behind anyone and fall in love. Don't stop. Don't turn around.

He was so stark and male and beautiful that she hungered for him. Physically, to be sure. But also from someplace even more intimate, someplace where heart and soul melded into a yearning so strong, that she wanted to weep from it.

In time, she eased into sleep, and her head rested against the plane of his shoulder. He held her and wondered that such a simple intimacy between a man and woman could mean so much.

freedom. One night when a hard-fought "no" had instead made her unable to accept a man's touch. Even a man she cared for very deeply. She had let Michael believe that her emotional collapse

Laughter came easily. Kindness was in abundance. And we had a lot in common. Not to mention no small amount of heat for each other.

Write the story that you were always afraid to tell. I swear to you that there is magic in it, and if you show yourself naked for me, I'll be naked for you. It will be our covenant

The desperate need to be alone with Laurel, to force truth from her, began hammering against his temples until he wanted to cry out from the pain of it.

A man couldn't live alone; he needed friends. He needed a woman, a real woman. Like Brub and Sylvia. Like that stupid Cary had that stupid Maude. Better than being alone.

For an hour, blended with all she could offer, something noble had been created which had nothing to do with the physical world. And from the turn of his throat, the warmth of his hair, the strong, slender sinews of his hands, something further; which had. Though she combed the earth and searched through the smoke of the galaxies there was no being she wanted but this, who was not and should not be for Philippa Somerville.

Eavesdroppers, she had always heard, and similarly people burrowing into private matters, found nothing to comfort them.

I can't give you anything but love, baby,That's the only thing I've plenty of, baby.

I've never done this when it was an act of love.