Quotes About Intimacy

They sit together, physically separate but utterly connected by the moment they've created

Quindi lei ti ama, e tu vuoi amarla. Non è la stessa cosa

Here, at it again, he'd met, questioned, made friendly contact with a stranger when he ought to have been at home on his knees to his wife.

We want to be women who advance. The kingdom of God is advancing, and the gates of hell will not prevail against it. Don't you want to advance along with it? Don't you want to help it to advance? And don't you want to advance into the deeper realms of the heart of God? Advance into more healing, more deliverance, more intimacy, more life? Fear makes us retreat. Love causes it to advance.

Your heart itself, as a woman, is an invitation. An invitation delivered in the most intimate and personalized way. Your Lover has written something on your heart. It is a call to find a life of Romance and to protect that love affair as your most precious treasure. A call to cultivate the beauty you hold inside, and to unveil your beauty on behalf of others. And it is a call to adventure, to become the ezer the world desperately needs you to be.

While they lasted, male friendships included much more physical contact and emotional intensity than most heterosexual men are comfortable with today. James Blake, for example, noted from time to time in his diary that he and his friend, while roommates, shared a bed. "We retired early," he recorded one day in 1851, "and in each other's arms did friendship sink peacefully to sleep." Such behavior did not bother the fiancée of Blake's roommate a bit.25

Women had to discard the doctrines of sexual purity that so often led to frigidity in marriage. Entrepreneurs were glad to help. For just ten cents a woman could buy a discreetly wrapped book titled How I Kept My Husband, which instructed her in how to give oral sex.32

Love? It's when you don't give a thought to all the ifs and want-to's in the world. It's when if all the fires of hell were between you, you'd walk in them gladly to be with him, and sing with joy at your own burnin' if only his kiss was on your mouth.

Every relationship worth keeping sustains, at the very least, splintered glazes, hairline fractures, cracks. And aren't these flaws the prerequisites of intimacy?

Maybe we feel such a strong kinship with pique assiette because it is the visual metaphor that best describes us; after all, we spend much of our lives hurling bits of the figurative and literal past into the world's landfill—and then regret it. We build our identities from that detritus of regret. Every relationship worth keeping sustains, at the very least, splintered glazes, hairline fractures, cracks. And aren't these flaws the prerequisites of intimacy?

I hated that I let him touch my sweat, that he knew how I kissed. I wanted to collect my things from him, but the things were only moments.

It was not the first time she'd been kissed, yet it was.

With a silent mew, Myst stood, stretched, then padded forward to twine about his leg. Vane reached down and rubbed his fingers over the sleek head, then ran his nails down her spine. Myst arched, tail stiffening; the rumble of her purr reached Vane. It also reached Patience; she glanced down. Myst! she hissed. Stop bothering Mr. Cynster. She's not bothering me. Capturing Patience's gaze, Vane added: I enjoy making females purr.

he knew beyond words, beyond thought, beyond understanding that this wonder, this joy, this aching togetherness would never end.

Vane watched her reaction from under heavy lids, watched flaring passion light her eyes. Sparks of pure gold flashed in the hazel depths as he gently kneaded, then sent his fingers gliding over her silken skin. He knew he should kiss her, distract her, from what came next- but the compulsion to witness, to know her reaction as she learned what he would do, as he filled his senses with her, waxed strong.

He dragged in a shuddering breath and forced his lids up. He looked down, at her on her knees, leaning into him, her glorious hair rippling over her shoulders, gilded in the firelight, shifting as her head moved and she pleasured him. He saw his fingers locked on her head, felt hers slide higher, circle the base of his staff, and tighten.

You don't have to say anything. You just have to accept. Just have to stop resisting…" He breathed the last words as his lips lowered to hers. "And let what we both want, simply be.

That woman who was her true self saw Lord Sebastian Cynster, Marquess of Earith, as, quite simply, hers.

I hoped you would know without needing to be told. His eyes held hers; his chest swelled as he drew in a steadying breath. God-and half the ton-know I love you. He searched her eyes, then added his voice deepening, Unreservedly, without restraint, far more completely, deeply, madly than I suspect is at all wise.

The warm stillness within the room was broken only by the rustling of sheets, and soft, urgent murmurs. Then the silence gave way to soft moans, groans, breathless pants, desperate gasps. Culminating in a soft, piercingly sweet scream, dying, sobbing, into a deep guttural groan.

Stephanie Laurens

I wanted you to kiss me, you know." Damned impertinent and overbold female. "I know.

Almost done," he said. Trinity pulled back, and her cheeks were still red. "You set me on fire?" He winced. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Wasn't intentional.

It didn't work. He still had wool in his teeth. I couldn't make love to him. He had bone fragments and wool in his incisors, you know?" "Yeah, sheep remnants would be a major mood killer," Trinity agreed