Quotes About Attraction

Each other, perhaps. Not each other's words, but each other's thoughts. Each other's spirit. If you ask me what I believe, I shall tell you this: the whole sphere of air that surrounds us, Alma, is alive with invisible attractions—electric, magnetic, fiery and thoughtful. There is a universal sympathy all around us. There is a hidden

The English travel writer Isabel Bird, famous for her cool and detached prose, seemed scarcely able to keep from exclaiming hubba-hubba as she checked out the rugged men she kept encountering on her trip to America in the 1850s:

To feel physically comfortable with someone else's body is not a decision you can make. It has very little to do with how two people think or act or talk or even look. The mysterious magnet is either there, buried somewhere deep behind the sternum, or it is not. "To lose balance sometimes for love is part of living a balanced life.

Allo, darlin'. Oi'm so glad to see it's love at first sight for you, too.

What," came a deep male voice, "is this?" Silence froze, her hand still outstretched, clutching a damp, dirty cloth. Oh, dear Lord. Slowly she raised her eyes and found herself face-to-thighs with Mickey O'Connor's extremely tight breeches.

Dear God. She ached, wanting something that she knew was a sin. Wanting a man who was sin itself.

She swallowed and looked down at the artichoke petals piled neatly on the side of her plate. Her center certainly felt like it was melting, growing soft and wet just from the rasp of Mr. O'Connor's voice. Why should a man already devilishly handsome also have a voice that could charm birds from the sky? It simply wasn't fair.

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.

You should leave her entirely. Caire's mouth twisted humourlessly. I find I cannot. Why? St. John shook his head. She isn't even your type. What is my type? St. John glanced away. They both knew well enough the kind of women Caire favoured. There's something about her, Caire said in a low voice. She cares for everyone about her, yet neglects herself. I want to be the one who cares for her.

I'm afraid I'm rather used to females making themselves shameless for me.

The duke brought her hand to his mouth and, his azure eyes glittering in the candlelight, pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. And then the edge of his teeth. She felt the warm softness of his lips, the prickle of against tender skin, and a sort of shock seemed to go straight through the center of her body. He let her go and her wrist felt the cold of night. Séraphine. The burning one. I should've known.

He was covered, of course, but she knew what lay beneath the sheets- she'd seen him entirely nude at the Lords' revels. She had the image burned into her memory: a proud, thick penis, heavy sac, and curling midnight hair. If the coverlet slipped just a little bit downward, she would see the upper edge of that nest of black hair. The thought made her press her thighs together under her dress. Did he know how his body affected her?

No, the Duke of Wakefield would never be a darling of the feminine members of society. Something about him was so opposite to female that he almost repelled the softer sex.

The sight of her was like a swift, cool wind through his frame, quickening his body, alerting all his senses, making him completely aware he was a male and she a female.

I believed… No. I knew we had an attraction. Then you left and I realized you were taking what you felt for me and giving it to another woman. A woman you didn't even know. And I wanted—needed—" Anna threw up her hands in frustration. "I wanted to be the one you-you swived with.

He paid scant attention to the conversation. He could smell his own sent on Anna's body, and it satisfied him in a primal way ... She gasped as he buried his nose in her maiden hair and inhaled. His scent was strongest here, in her gilded curls so soft and pretty in the morning light.

She nudged his arm to wash under it, where his dark hair grew in a swirl. Where the scent of his masculinity was the strongest. She shouldn't find this erotic. A lady shouldn't find this erotic. And yet she did. His lifted arms made the muscles move over his ribs stand out in intriguing ridges, and she wanted- rather badly, in fact- to lean down and inhale his scent.

She took two swift steps forward and placed her palms against his chest, pushing. He allowed himself to sway an inch backward with her thrust before righting himself. She stilled, staring up at him. The top of her head barely came to his mid-chest. He could feel the brush of her breath on his lips. The warmth of her hands seemed to burn through the rough fabric of his waistcoat. This close her green eyes were enormous, and he could see shards of gold surrounding her pupils.

He turned to see her glaring at him, her blond hair a halo about her head in the carriage's lantern light, and felt his lips quirk. She really was rather extraordinary. A pity he could not make her his wife in reality.

Elizabeth Hoyt

He opened his eyes to see her licking her lips nervously. I... er... We should remove your banyan. At least the upper portion. If he were a man given to mirth he might've grinned then. She was playing in the flames of his control. Did she not understand her own peril? But her blush had deepened and she was deliciously out of sorts. He simply could not resist- either his own urges or her innocent befuddlement. He spread his arms and said gravely, Be my guest.

She swallowed. He was covered, of course, but she knew what lay beneath the sheets- she'd seen him entirely nude at the Lords' revels. She had the image burned into her memory: a proud, thick penis, heavy sac, and curling midnight hair. If the coverlet slipped just a little bit downward, she would see the upper edge of that nest of black hair. The thought made her press her thighs together under her dress. Did he know how his body affected her?

Would you prefer it if I'd continued to wear your shirt and banyan? Actually he'd quite liked her wearing his clothes, both because her breasts had been unbuttoned it made something in him very, very content. The yellow dress, however, quite suited her. She seemed to glow in the candlelight, like a beacon of purity.

I didn't know what it was I was feeling. Then I realized it was seeing someone and knowing immediately that you love him.