Quotes About Sensuality

The curve of her cheek, the top of her shoulder where her shift had slipped, had the bloom and sheen of just-risen cream ready to be licked.

Kissing her was not like kissing Julia, who had been all length and plum softness, and whose messages had been very clear. Kick was like a powerful trapped beast. She stirred restlessly, one hand in the small of my back, pulling me closer, one on my shoulder pushing me away. I eased to one side, weight on my right elbow, head propped on my hand. I stroked her belly. The muscle loosened. She sighed. The sigh sounded as though it had a smile in it. I smiled in the dark.

When she climbed out of the car, I saw the difference, the sleekness, her buttocks as ripe as mangoes, her arms and legs plump and muscled.

It was good to feel the living movement between two bodies, to feel the feedback, play with some of the strength.

Her skin felt marvellously alive beneath mine. We moved back and forth, and my belly warmed, and I knew hers warmed, too, as we revolved around the gym and each other, a planet and each other, a planet and its satellite turning about the sun.

Wolf eyes," she whispered, and I could feel her breath on my throat, "so pale and hungry.

Now when she spied on women and men she crept close and closer, closer than was safe, because she was drawn to the curve of a lip, the gleam of sweat on a throat, and she longed to feel the weigh of glossy hair on her skin.

For a moment my face hung near the opening of her robe, and I breathed in the soft, buttered-toast scent of sleepy, naked woman.

I kissed her, and stroked the soft planes of flank and thigh, teased with a fingertip and breath and gaze, and when she shuddered like a kite on a long line, when she began to whip and plunge, when she begged me, I turned her and steadied her and let her loose. It was always the same. They flew and I flew, but to different places.

She could smell herself: rich, sleek, ready.

In the flickering ochre-and-gold light, Peretur saw the heat rise in Nimuë's cheeks, and her lips redder, and her own belly warmed, and she filled with another hunger.

She knew that scent, and her need rose like the tide.

Sometimes I think I know you, know who you are deep down, better than you know yourself. You think efficiency is the key to your personality, but it's not. You're a sensualist, a hedonist of the first order. Look at the way you cradle that cup, the way you tilt your face to the sun like a flower." "It's efficient. Absorbing heat means my body doesn't have to create its own." "But it's also delicious.

I looked at my hands, turned them over in the tarnished shine of streetlights seeping through a crack in the curtains. They were long; strong and competent with nicely shaped nails; hard enough for a palm strike, soft enough to trace gentle arabesques on a taut trembling stomach or along a soft inner thigh. The stains did not show.

She could have taken her sexual energy and smoothed it down, but she wanted to let it burn through her, she wanted to enjoy being alive.

As she rode, her dreams filled with that yielding breast and warm breath and those luscious lips until she thought she might run mad.

Her lips were soft and plump as rain and Peretur wanted to plunge her hands deep into her golden yellow hair, deep under her skirts to the soft places beneath, and she could feel their hearts thundering like horss, like hoses yoked and racing together, pulling towards the same goal, beanth tearing in and out.

Sensuality is a cultural legacy of the ancient world. Societies where the Greco-Roman legacy is being wiped out, or where it does not exist, only know sentimentalism and sexuality.

Quisiéramos no acariciar el cuerpo que amamos, sino ser la caricia.

Replacing the concrete sense perception of the object with its abstract intellectual construction makes man gain the world and lose his soul. What draws us away from God is not sensuality but abstraction.

Tu viente sabe más que tu cabeza y tanto como tus muslos. Ésa es la fuerte gracia negra de tu cuerpo desnudo. Signo de selva el tuyo, con tus collares rojos, tus brazaletes de oro curvo, y ese caimán oscuro nadando en el Zambeze de tus ojos.

and they would imprint upon each other's lips such a long and languishing kiss, that a little straw cigar might have been smoked during the time it lasted.

opening and closing the pages of a celestial dictionary at will and always falling upon the words hair fur and sex until a bunch of distant images arise at the same time as June when she kneels in front of me her tongue making little cross-strokes in my full-moon fur my enchanted-lake fur we should do it again so that I too can stroke through June's fur.

You don't have to be naked to be sexy.