Quotes About Intimacy

What did it take to claim a person, really? One perfect night? A few weeks of phone calls, hundreds of texts, all of them full of future plans and promises made? I'd spent less than a day with Ethan, but still felt like he knew me better than just about anyone. You can't measure love by time put in, but the weight of those moments. Some in life are light, like a touch. Others, you can't help but stagger underneath.

I felt only him kissing me back, easing me into the sunlight as I lost myself in the taste of him and felt the world go on, just as it always had, all around us.

He was so close to me in that moment, too close, but I had never pushed a guy away for that. If anything I pulled them nearer, taking them in, as I did now, sure in my belief that knowing me that well would easily be enough to scare them away.

You can't love anyone that way more than once in a lifetime. It's too hard and it hurts too much when it ends.

Okay, he said. He took a breath. What would you do, if you could do anything? I took a step toward him, closing the space between us. This, I said. And then I kissed him

The silence wasn't like the ones I'd known lately, though; it wasn't empty so much as chosen. There's an entirely different feel to quiet when you're with someone else, and at any moment it could be broken. Like the difference between a pause and an ending.

Relationships dont always make sense. Especially from the outside.

The truth was, since our night stranded together, I felt comfortable around Wes. When I was with him, I didn't have to be perfect, or even try for perfect. He already knew my secrets, the things I'd kept hidden from everyone else, so I could just be myself. Which shouldn't have been such a big deal. But it was.

She has always felt safe inside his arms, this beautiful, powerful elder brother, whom so many fear but who has always been as tender as a lover with her.

Betsy hadn't had sex, actual; sex-sex, full sex, in two hundred and fifty-three days. She decided on her thirty-seventh birthday that she wouldn't sleep with anyone unless it was in the context of a committed relationship which had some sort of future, and she was only gradually coming to the realization of what happens when a woman her age makes a decision like that: she never has sex again.

If you're content not having sex with your partner, that's fine. But you might want to consider the following fact. Most people are having sex with somebody. - Constance Waverly, The Waverly Report

Fingers interlocked like a beautiful accordion of flesh or a zipper of prayer

If loving you means getting dirty, bring on the grime.

I tilted my head, looked into the distance. I don't even notice you falling in love with me, I practiced to the mirror. I am too preoccupied with what I am doing. Nobody wants to be noticed when they are falling in love. It is a private moment. Whoever was falling in love with me, I reasoned, deserved not to be disturbed.

And the spaces that he never saw: the ones my parents had labeled private parts when I was still small enough to fit all of my self and worries inside a bathtub, I made up for them by handing over all the private parts of me. There was no secret I did not tell him, there was no moment we did not share. We didn't grow up, we grew in: like ivy wrapping, molding each other into perfect yins and yangs.

She acted completely on instinct, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around him. He was unresponsive for a long beat, as though she'd taken him by surprise, then his arms went around her in turn. Her breasts were pressed to his chest and every breath she took was filled with the smell of his aftershave but there was nothing sexual about their embrace. She was offering him a little comfort, and he was accepting it. It was as small and simple as that.

He finished up then shed his clothes and climbed into bed. Turning onto his side, he closed his eyes. As always as he drifted toward sleep, there was a small, forgetful moment where he slid his hand over to touch Billie's back, instinctively seeking reassurance as he hovered on the brink. As always, he found nothing but cold sheets. A few minutes after that, he fell asleep.

Her legs started to tremble and together they went down to the rug. Angie lay spread before him like an impossible offering and every thought, every memory, every consideration dissolved and there was only the need to be inside her, to lose himself in the slick warmth of her, to feel alive and to feel pleasure. He stretched on top of her and her legs spread to accept him. He gripped himself and found her entrance. He slid inside her, into tight, wet heat. And then he really did lose his mind.

She watched as Michael stripped and walked toward the bed, his erection standing proud. The bed dipped as he got in the other side. She rolled toward him, and he pulled her into his arms. His skin was cool against hers, making her nipples bead. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself against him, offering him her heat. Offering him everything.

He was strong and warm and male and his mouth moved gently against hers, his kiss provocative and soothing at the same time. Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers gripping muscle and bone. She felt the brush of his tongue against her lips, then he was inside her, hot and wet and demanding, and a part of herself she'd pushed down deep inside came roaring to life.

So be afraid. Be angry. Be jealous. Be possessive. Be whatever you need to be. But please, let me come along for the ride. I promise I will hang in there with you. I promise you that there is far, far more good between us than there will ever be bad. I promise you that your heart will always be safe with me. Always. All I ask is that you don't shut me out. Let me walk beside you. Let me be there for you. Let me love you.

I would like to curl up and become a small thing. About this big. And still. Very still. Have you ever become so melancholy, that you wanted to fit in the palm of your beloved's hand? And lie there, for fortnights, or decades, or the length of time between stars? In complete silence?

You hold substance in my psyche

The only truly intersting side of the matter was the intimate design of the injury, the fact that it was so penetrating, custom-made exactly to your measure. It's fascinating that hatred should be so personal as to be almost loving. The knife and the wound aching for each other.