Quotes About Passion

Ele sabia que preferia morrer a lutar com ela, do que viver me paz com qualquer outra pessoa.

God, I love men. She got up from the desk, walked to him, cupped his face in her hands and gave him a smacking kiss on the mouth. You're just so cute. One hard tug on her hand had her tumbling into his lap. An instant later her quick laugh was cut off, and her heart pounding. He hadn't kissed her this way before, with impatience and heat and hunger all mixed together in a near brutal assault. He hadn't kissed her as if he couldn't get enough. Would never get en

He dropped the cases with a bang that made her jump. "You talk too bloody much." With that, he gave her a yank. Off guard, she plowed into him, and managed no more than a quick oof before he shoved her chin up. And took her mouth like a man starving for it.

her back and intimately over her bottom

her head, stopped a breath from his lips, pulled back

Love that is not madness is not love.

It pulled at her, as such scenes often did, and she found herself leaving the scent of coffee, grabbing her Nikon, and rushing out barefoot into the chilly night to photograph the deserted street. It soothed her as nothing else could. With a camera in her hand and an image in her mind, she could forget everything else.

arousing, the faint flush desire brought

Justin, I won't deny that I want you, but I think it would be best if we gave it some more time." "Reasonable," he agreed as he drew her into his arms. "Time's up." He stopped her protesting laugh with his lips. There was no food to stop this hunger. His mouth was hard, devouring, before Serena could respond or struggle away. Yet she knew as he crushed her body to his that this time he would permit no struggle.

Men come and go, enjoying them is fine, But loving them is suicide.

The dark hair and dark eyes made her think of a Brontë-hero, Heathcliff or Rochester, she wasn't sure.

I want you. I want you under me and over me and around me. And you want.

Love and hate. Everything else stems from that.

I believe a great many people are born writer or artist, and die without ever realizing it. Books go unwritten, paintings unpainted. The fortunate ones are those who discover what they were meant to do. I might have been an excellent soccer player. I might have been an excellent writer. If I'd tried to do both, I'd have been no more than mediocre. I chose not to be mediocre.

If he found her, he thought it might be a fine idea to lock the doors and take her mind off work, as ordered. He'd been wondering all night just what she had on under that red dres

I've got me a fascinating, beautiful woman I'm falling for. Falling hard." "Quick work." "In the blood. My mama and daddy barely did more than look at each other, and that was that.

She moaned, wrapped her arms around him and met greed with greed. This was no gentle exploration, no easy sampling. It was all heat and hunger, passion warring against passion, strength pitted against strength. She was wild tastes and silken textures. She was arousing scents and soft sighs. Her mouth was pure sin, and was rapidly driving

he didn't intend to marry just for responsiblity. There would be love, and passion, and the meeting of minds before there were vows.

doubt he understands you and Fin are hot for

high. The stone around his neck flamed

Love, she thought, should not come with such quick intensity. It should flow slowly, with tenderness and gentle feelings. It shouldn't stab like a sword, striking without warning, without mercy. How could one love what one could not understand?

profession." "Art

Romance & the mystery of it, for everyone who can find it.

He stepped up. She should've seen it coming. She was always, always aware of moods and moves. But he stepped up, pulled her in before she'd read the warning sign. He didn't go slow; he didn't ease in. It was one bright, hot explosion followed by shuddering dark. His mouth covered, conquered, while his hands ran straight up her body as if they had every right, then down again.