Quotes About Passion

Stupendous sex is a drug, addictive, consuming. I know from personal experience.

Fuego para su frío, hielo para su fuego

My eyes are only for him.

This man would not kiss me as I like to be kissed but as he does. His way is too hard, demanding, dangerous. His way is not love. It is passion and it burns. Incinerates.

For something so soft, she takes her fucking hard, with a twist. I taste her. I could eat her alive. She closes her mouth on my dick. I close my hands on her head. I might not let her go. Slick with sweat, I defile her with reverence. Or revere her with defilement. Every. Inch. Of. Her. Motherfuckingfinebody.

Need me," he repeated firmly. "Use me to explore the woman who has never been given the opportunity to live. Take from me, need from me, and satisfy all that curiosity I feel burning in you. And by Dagda, let go of that maidenhead. Do you wish to live and die, never having known passion? Never having tasted what I offer you? Be bold. Take." He uttered the last word in a low, masculine tone.

What it takes to be the last one standing is an unquenchable hunger to live. He who wants it the most wins. It takes fire, willingness to burn down to your motherfucking core.

One day you will kiss a man you can't breathe without, and find that breath is of little consequence.

Some people bring out the worst in you, others bring out the best, and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. Of everything. They make you feel so alive that you'd follow them straight into hell, just to keep getting your fix.

The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were trouble." "Ditto." "I wanted to drag you between the shelves, fuck you senseless, and send you home." "If you'd done that, I never would have left." "You're still here anyway." "You don't have to sound so sour about it." "You're upsetting my entire existence." "Fine, I'll leave." "Try and I'll chain you up.

One day you do meet a man who kisses you and you can't breathe around it and you realize you don't need air. Oxygen is trivial. Desire makes life happen. Makes it matter. Makes everything worth it. Desire is life. Hunger to see the next sunrise or sunset. To touch the one you love. To try again.

Zelnora," he rasped back, "the bullfrog has croaked it. I want your dewy pussy clamped down around my prick.

He slurped unashamed like a cow in a lake, as though her quim were the most ambrosial trough of sauterne imaginable. Was this some strange Indian thing? It was unbelievably shameful yet arousing to have his beautiful pointed nose buried in her sex, lapping away like a mountain cat.

Until she'd known him she'd never experienced sorcery. Never known what it was like to feel passion. For the sheer blinding alchemy of that she would be forever grateful. But being with him was oddly more. It was the taste of an orange, the smell of a rose, the touch of the first spring raindrop expanded and multiplied and folded over itself. The meaning, perhaps, of joy.

What were her abilities? She played the pianoforte passably well even though it didn't interest her. She loved to read and could spend the rest of her life in a library. She'd written a book, and her imagination was such that she could transport herself from the wilds of Scotland to anywhere.

You look beautiful sitting there spitting at me like a she-cat. All I have to do is look at you, and I lust. I'm going to take you back to the hotel and take off that delectable dress and make love to you until you don't have the energy to be mad at me anymore." Ian Connelly, Marquis of Derne

It was sad and fierce all at once, alive with a lonely purity.

We've all loved someone way too freakin' much.

You know what's sexy? A person who's been through a life challenge, and comes out with insights, more depth, and a fiery passion to face forward, forward, forward!

Because whether I live for another seventy years or another week, what's the point if I'm not living the life I want?

A great man once wrote, "Absence diminishes small loves and increases great ones, as the wind blows out the candle and blows up the bonfire." If only I were as eloquent as Mr. de la Rochefoucauld...I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. And I want you. And I need your kiss. And your touch on my skin like a man needs water. Always.

No. I simply love Charleston.

Chris's tongue traced a path of fire down Tia's neck. His hands sought her breasts, kneading the soft flesh.

While I am absorbed by fiction, I pull the strings like a puppeteer; I make things happen. It's a passion and a lifelong obsession.