Quotes About Temptation

sins of the flesh will not get you punished in the afterlife. They will only get you punished in this life.

That's when Felipe from Brazil asked me in the most natural and relaxed of ways (almost as if he were wondering if we should get a bite to eat), 'Shouldn't we have an affair together, Liz? What do you think?

My old man also said this about Martha Knox: "She's not beautiful, but I think she knows how to sell it." Well, it's true that I wanted to hold her braid. I always had wanted to from first seeing it and mostly I wanted to in that dance, but I didn't reach for it and I didn't set down my beer bottle. Martha Knox wasn't selling anything. We didn't dance again that night or again at all, because

Tiramisu for desert.

The problem is that we're all full of desire, it is the very hallmark of our emotional existence, and it can lead to our downfall - and to the downfall of others.

One does not leave so small and beautiful a female creature alone with ten heated men in the middle of the night.

Oh, the deliciously blinding yearnings of the young—which inevitably take us right to the edges of cliffs, or trap us in cul-de-sacs of our design.

Here is what I do know, however: sins of the flesh will not get you punished in the afterlife. They will only get you punished in this life. As you've now learned.

People have a strange trust in their devils, indeed.

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.

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.

Nothing I have will tempt you?" King Herla murmured. Lin could only shake her head. "Then perhaps I should offer myself," Herla said as he sank to his knees before her. "Wonderful girl, will you have me as your husband?" "Oh, yes," Lin said.

At her gesture Michael cursed and caught her hand, falling suddenly atop her. She stared up at him wondering what bedchamber faux pas she'd committed. He groaned at her look. "I'll let ye pet and play all ye want—after. Now I need"—he pushed her chemise to her waist, parted her thighs, and settled between them—"to be inside ye.

Have you ever noticed that once you have had a tasted of certain sweets- raspberry trifle is my own despair- it is quite impossible not to think, not to want, not to crave until you have taken another bite?

She threw one leg over his and straddled his lap, then reached under herself and found him again. He tore his mouth from hers. "Wait." "No." She looked him frankly in the eyes. "I don't care if you spill at once. I need you inside me now." His beautiful eyes widened and then narrowed. "You'll not always hold the reins, my lady." She smiled sweetly. "Naturally not, but I do now.

For a moment she lay still in the big bed, blinking sleepily, loath to move. And then she realized that the angel's song hadn't stopped on her waking. Silence sat up. The tantalizingly beautiful voice was coming from the half-open door to Mickey O'Connor's room.

Mickey cursed under his breath, letting his head fall back against the wall. His c*ck still beat angrily against his clothing. Once he would've simply sent for a whore. Now that thought was oddly unsatisfying. He could have a willing woman, a woman who would do anything he might request of her, even the most exotic acts of sex, but instead his flesh wanted just one woman. A woman who was as fierce in her maternal love as he had been as a boy in his will to survive.

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.

Behave, Miss Greaves," he murmured under his breath, his voice husky and deep. "Fine words for a man who runs about St. Giles at night in a mask," she whispered. He frowned, glancing around. "Hush.

She moaned, long and low, wanting to arch, to thrash, to scream. Instead she opened her mouth and bit his shoulder, tasting salt. Tasting want. Then she gasped. Please. What do you want? he whispered in her ear, an incubus, dark and alive and in her. Tell me. What do you need? I... Her mouth opened, wordless. Tell me, his smoky voice curled around her. You. He chuckled, dark and low.

No one could hear them over the carriage wheels, yet somehow it felt right to whisper. His eyes dropped to her gaping bodice. One nipple was reddened and still moist. He averted his eyes, swallowing. His erection, silly thing, didn't know the show was over.

Oh, Séraphine, he purred, pushing his nose close to her jaw to inhale her righteous scent. Who do you suppose sits in Parliament? Who makes the laws, runs the government of this great and lofty nation, hmm? She hadn't bathed this morning, he could tell, and she smelled of herself: woman, sweat, sex. He licked across her cheek, tasting salt and pure saint, to her mouth. He bit her lips. Once, twice, a third time, wanting, craving .

It would be the height of idiocy for the Duke of Wakefield to pursue the cousin of the woman he wanted as wife. And yet, for the first time in his life, Maximus wanted to let the man rule him instead of the title.