Quotes About Intensity

He doesn't speak. Instead, he grasps me by the collar of my coat and presses his lips to mine. Kiaran kisses me deeply, with an urgency I never thought him capable of. He kisses me like he knows he's going to die. He kisses me like the world is going to end.

I managed to fall in love with him within the space of just a few hours, which is a model of efficiency. (The young can do that kind of thing, as you must know, without difficulty. In fact, passionate love, executed in short bursts, is the natural condition of the young..)

passionate love, executed in short bursts, is the natural condition of the young.

She swallowed and licked her lips. "It's rather good." He laughed breathlessly. Have care, part of his brain whispered. This way only leads to pain. But his c*ck was pressing hard against the placket of his breeches and he wanted to take her hand and draw her away to his rooms and keep her there until she learned to scream in pleasure. Until she screamed his name and no other.

Why me? Because you draw me. Because you are kind but not soft. Because when you touch me, the pain is bittersweet. Because you cradle a desperate secret to your bosom, like a viper in your arms, and don't let go of it even as it gnaws upon your very flesh. I want to pry that viper from your arms. To suckle upon your torn and bloody flesh. To take your pain within myself and make it mine.

Somehow she knew he would take a love affair very seriously indeed. Once that pinpoint focus was engaged, he would throw himself body and soul into the liaison. In the the woman he decided to take as a lover. A shiver ran through her at the thought. To be the object of such ferocious regard was an alluring prospect, but it also gave her pause.

I'll use any means necessary -- any f*cking violence I want --in order to keep you safe. Do you understand me, Eve? This isn't bloody negotiable. I will f*cking kill if it means it'll keep you safe.

Darling," she said and caught his face between her hands, making him meet her eyes. He didn't want to. He didn't like the look in her eyes—a grim determination. "I love you," she whispered and his soul soared until she uttered her next words. "But I must leave you." "No." He clutched at her hips as if he were a child of three refusing to give up his toy sword. "No." "Yes," she replied.

He was like a young tiger, all muscle and passion, and she wanted to ride him--not to tame the beast, but to feel for a small moment all of his vitality.

She flew in, all fiery flashing eyes and flushed cheeks, her bosom heaving beneath black wool. She was magnificent. Tell them to let her go! Séraphine ordered him imperiously. Tell them to let her go right now . She stood over him, her lips wet, her body shaking with her rage, and he wanted to take her and roll her beneath him and fuck her into the mattress.

He attacked her throat and she was so startled by the sudden move that she squeaked. He was laving her with his tongue, openmouthed, and she moaned, arching, wondering wildly if this was the same man who wore pink silk coats and black velvet bows. This seemed so base , so animal. Not at all like the effete aristocrat she thought she knew.

He met Caire's eyes. I hope we can finish this soon. I left your sister in my bed. St. John swore under his breath and stepped between them, facing Val. Are you insane? Many think so,. Val was watching Caire, his lips twitching. Caire hadn't moved. Only his eyes, hard and staring and trained upon Val, showed that he'd heard Val's words. Those eyes burned a bit like Séraphine's, Val mused, and he wondered if the other man truly meant to kill him this morning. Well, he would certainly try .

Then I wish I had it in my power to make him live without the sun for the rest of his pitiful life." She stopped and glanced at him. "That's a romantic thing to say." He shook his head. "I'm not a romantic man, Miss Greaves. I don't say things that I don't mean. I find it a waste of time.

His nostrils flared just a little bit, and the lines bracketing his mouth grew deeper. He snarled with his beautiful, twisted lips and she thought, half on the edge of falling again, she thought he looked like a demon making love to her. A demon fighting for his life or light or possibly redemption.

The earl slowly pivoted to face her, the crunching of his boots in the gravel drive loud in the stillness. They stood only a few feet distant. He took a step, his beautiful, heavy-lidded eyes intent on her face.

His wide brow, his Roman nose, those too-cold eyes, and the lips that in another life- another, better world- would still have been beautiful. This man was her husband. He was intense and intelligent, arrogant and vulnerable, dark and strange. The more she found out about him, the more she thought that perhaps she might fall in love with him, Raphael de Chartres, the Duke of Dyemore. What was more, he was hers . And in that she would not fail.

TEMPERANCE STARED

She lies! cried the Fox, and he leapt toward her, his arm raised. The Wolf lunged, seized the Fox's right arm, twisted it up behind his back, and slammed the other man to his knees. Iris stared and felt a tremble shake her body. She'd never seen a man move so swiftly. Nor so brutally. The Wolf bent over his prey, both men panting, their naked bodies sweating. The snout of the Wolf mask pressed against the Fox's vulnerable bent neck. Don't. Touch. What. Is. Mine.

He rose up suddenly and turned her, so that she lay on the bed. He pushed up her skirts, found the ties to her panniers, and yanked them off and threw them to the floor. Then he was on her again, trailing his mouth down her neck, biting at her collarbone. She ran her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, grasping, trying to hold on as he moved on her so intently. He'd always been in control when he'd made love to her. Now he seemed moved by a sort of compulsion. An animal need.

God.' She'd tasted of oranges and honey and he'd felt her shake beneath his hands. He'd wanted to strip her right there in the carriage with his men riding outside. She was driving him mad. He couldn't look at her anymore without feeling the pull. And yet he could not send her away- everything inside him rebelled at the thought. She had to stay with him so that he could protect her. So that she could illuminate his darkness just a little.

Fuck, you mean? His eyes narrowed to slits.Make love. Make love to me. Now

And why should I do such a thing- tell you something that can only dismay you? Well, that is the nature of love: it is brutal in its demands.

The greatest stories ever told trace a path through the charred and exalted landscape of romantic love.

her heart pounding like a teenaged boy on a hooker...