Quotes About Sensuality

Diana Gabaldon

He grabbed her and held on, thinking that nothing in his life had ever felt better than the weight of her against him and the taste of her mouth, in spite of the fact that she'd plainly eaten onions for lunch

You want to anchor the scene with physical details, but by and large it's better to use sensual details rather than overtly sexual ones.

This is why you use imagery when writing about sex; it's a means both of evoking immediacy and of distilling emotion.

I thought of telling him that his own touch seared my skin and filled my veins with fire. But I was already alight and glowing like a brand. I closed my eyes and felt the kindling touch move to cheek and temple, ear and neck, and shuddered as his hands dropped to my waist and drew me close.

Gently, he turned me away from him and fitted himself to my back so we lay nested together. His hand cupped my breast, not in invitation or demand, but because it seemed to belong there.

To the taste of breasts like apricots, the warm scent of a woman's navel when she wakens in the winter, the warmth of a mound that fills your hand like a peach, split with ripeness.

his mouth was soft and warm and I moved instinctively toward him. I was vaguely conscious of noises, Scottish whoops of enthusiasm and encouragement from the spectators, but really noticed nothing beyond the enfolding warm solidness. Sanctuary.

I pulled the chemise off

God, your arse looks fine, wi' the wet linen of your shift clinging to it. It goes all transparent, and I can see the weight of your buttocks, like great smooth round melons—

What the bloody hell had happened, though? How had they done it—why? He felt as though he was fevered, his mind dazed with the waves of heat that throbbed over his body. And like the half-glimpsed things in fever dreams, he saw her naked flesh, pale and shimmering with sweat in the humid night, slick under John Grey's hand Ã¢â'¬Â¦ We were both fucking you!

She's goin' about now bare as a wee lassie?" "She says," I replied delicately, "that men find it erotic.

He could hear Jamie's breath, or thought he could—it seemed part of the soft wind that touched his face. He could smell Jamie, smell the musk of his body, the dried sweat and dust in his clothes, and felt suddenly wolflike and feral, longing changed to outright hunger. He wanted. Master me, he thought, breathing deep, or shall I your master be?

She had dark hair, very wavy, bound back from her brow with a rose-colored ribbon but falling loose down her back, nearly to her waist. He had actually raised a hand to stroke it before catching hold of himself. Then she turned around. Pale skin, big dark eyes, and an oddly knowing look in those eyes when she met his own—which she did, very directly, when he set the third chair down before her. Annalise

Claire. To feel the small bones of your neck beneath my hands, and that fine, thin skin on your breasts and your arms Ã¢â'¬Â¦ Lord, you are my wife, whom I cherish and I love wi' all my life, and still I want to kiss ye hard enough to bruise your tender lips, and see the marks of my fingers on your skin.

as strong as lust, was the desire simply to be taken, to have him master me, quell my doubts in a moment of rough usage, take me hard and swiftly enough to make me forget myself.

I have a very European feel about nudity.

One would think of a boy laying syllables with his tongue onto a woman's skin: those are lines sewn entirely of silence.

You step out of the shower and the entire nation calms— a drop of lemon-egg shampoo, you smell like bees, a brief kiss, I don't know anything about you—except the spray of freckles on your shoulders! which makes me feel so thrillingly alone. I stand on earth in my pajamas, penis sticking out— for years in your direction.

Have a nice, cuntlovin' day.

He turned his face to hers, and she kissed him, nothing soft and introductory, just picking up where they'd left off, two people who knew each other's bodies.

But I say: "Tilli, sometimes women too are sensual and want only that one thing." And there's no difference. Because sometimes I only want to wake up with someone in the morning, all messed up from kissing and half dead and without any energy to think, but wonderfully tired and rested at the same time.

The famous and rich, even the learned and wise, Singly or in pairs went to her dwelling To press their civilized lips to her thighs Or learn at first hand her buttocks' swelling "Old nicoise whore

For women, the best aphrodisiacs are words. The G-spot is in the ears. He who looks for it below there is wasting his time.