Quotes About Intimacy

He turned his head aside, offered Sebastien his throat, his fingers curled and urging.

I loved him. I love you. After a fashion.

We've walked into a lover's quarrel, gentlemen.

He gestured to the raven, who seemed quite content to nestle against the curve of Will's neck.

David was a featherweight in his arms, a frail thing that smelled of citrus-musk and and lilac cologne and filled him with rasping, heated pulse. David stifled a sob against his throat, jaws working, lacerating Sebastien's skin as Sebastien bore them both down on the couch.

How long has it been, mistress? Just think: I offer what another cannot. I am what I am, and no apologies. I will not lie to you, promise to protect you, take my use of you, and leave. I cannot, and you will always have control of me.

She catches my gaze when I would have turned away.

An interrogation was a relationship, and relationships were based on developing trust.

He didn't look at Baines, even as Baines leaned close enough to him that Kit felt his breath hot on his skin.

Mallory reached across Perceval's lap and stroked Rien's sweat-cold cheek. This touch, Rien did not flinch from. Perceval swallowed, an acrid pain of jealousy.

She did not look down in time to avoid the warmth of his smile.

Kit reached up and over, felt down the spring plane of his shoulder blade. His left arm with its old injury wouldn't flex so far; he reached with the right. Blood-gorged flesh heated his fingertips. He could feel, almost, the outline of each tooth, the roughness of a seeking tongue. Right where someone might bite a lover take from behind- Right where a wing would take root, if he had wings.

Seeker thought if she laid a hand on the other's cheek, she could cut her palm to the bone.

Perceval had never been kissed before. Oh, yes, she'd kissed Rien, but that was not such a kiss as this. This was soft and melting, Mallory's bony and elegant hand pressed to her cheek and a slick tongue lightly flicking her closed mouth. And Perceval had no idea how to react.

Marlowe patted Matthew on the shoulder, and Matthew found himself grinning in naked relief; notorious rakehell, sodomite, and playboy he might be remembered as, but lately Christopher Marlowe was the only person who seemed willing to touch Matthew without some implication lying predatory behind it.

Worthy or not, despised or adored, she was his and he was hers.

I have wanted you to see out of my eyes so many times.

Did his own need, too barely exposed, burn friendship out? Or was he one of those unfortunates who were quite unaware of some element in themselves which repelled intimacy and blighted emotional response? After all, the ability to form satisfying personal relationships did not lie with everyone. It was part instinct, part luck, part hard work, endless unselfish giving. Hope. Loyalty.

she'd never experienced for Chandler the kind of feeling a woman should have for a man she thought about marrying, that breathless kind of wanting, that aching sort of yearning, that endless, ferocious passion, that insistent, frenzied, needy demand, that hot, sweaty, wanton arousal that made a woman just want to rip off her clothes and wrap her naked body around a man and feed herself to him whole, that... that…

Why shouldn't we, so generally addicted to the gigantic, at last have some small works of art, some short poems, short pieces of music ... some intimate, low-voiced and delicate things in our mostly huge and roaring, glaring world?

Close, close all night the lovers keep. They turn together in their sleep, Close as two pages in a book that read each other in the dark. Each knows all the other knows, learned by heart from head to toes.

Why shouldn't we, so generally addicted to the gigantic, at last have some small works of art, some short poems, short pieces of music [...], some intimate, low-voiced, and delicate things in our mostly huge and roaring, glaring world?

Intimacies between women often go backwards, beginning in revelations and ending in small talk.

And because no one answered or cared and a conversation went on without her she felt profoundly lonely, suspecting once more for herself a particular doom of exclusion. Something of the trees in their intimacy of shadow was shared by the husband and wife and their host in the tree-shadowed room. She thought of love with its gift of importance. "I must break in on all this," she thought as she looked around the room.