Quotes About Pleasure

You're about to come again,and when you do,I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to breathe.

His groan was laced with both pain and pleasure.But that was okay.It was as it was supposed to be.Her eyes filled with tears.I will never keep myself from you.I will never discard your love like trash.Her voice caught with emotion.And I will never starve you. Alexander's eyes glittered with feelings.I can't... You can.You have to.She tipped up her chin and kissed him,soft and loving and hungry,her tongue slipping inti his mouth,playing with teeth,the tips of his fangs.

But right now, baby, I'm fucking you

He loved to fuck,needed the release to keep his muscles content,and though he didn't allow anyone to touch him,undress him,or speak to him,he made sure that the females who spread their legs and bent over the polished black surface of his Bösendorfer came in ways,durations,and decibel levels they'd never known existed.

He loved to fuck,needed the release to keep his muscles content,abd rhough he didn't allow anyone to touch him,undress him,or speak to him,he made sure that the females who spread their legs and bent over the polished black surface of his Bösendorfer came in ways,durations,and decibel levels they'd never known existed.

He ordered food with a childlike glee and watched me eat, tasting it as I did. In private he'd roll on his back like a cat, hands pressed to his mouth as if trying to drain every taste. It was the only thing he did that was cute. He was gorgeous, sensual, but rarely cute. - Anita Blake about Jean-Claude

Oh, I'll enjoy myself. I want to make sure you enjoy yourself. Why? I said. If you enjoy yourself, then there's a better chance you'll want to be with me again.

He made a small sigh, as he swallowed the first blood, then his mouth closed over my earlobe, mouth working at the wound, tongue coaxing blood from the wound. He pressed his body the length of mine, one hand cupping my turned head, the other playing down the line of my body. Maybe it was just blood, but I never stroked my steak while eating it.

More sex. We must have more sex.

We are not made up only of our light and happiness but also of darkness and sorrow. To deny the darkness of yourself is to deny half of who you are, and when you love, truly love, you need to love the whole person not just the part that smiles and waves, but the part that thinks murderous thoughts and knows that pain is both pleasure and temptation, but still thinks puppies are really cute.

there is beauty that hits the eye like a bolt of lightning, that burns and sears and blinds. It is more disaster than pleasure. But yours, yours is a beauty that lulls one into comfort, into not protecting one's eyes from the light, then one night you realise that the moon, too, has its beauty.

Sex may not be the answer to everything, but it's also not the worst answer to a lot of things.

I couldn't decide if it was a new orgasm, or if it was just an extra ending for the first one.

The joys of the flesh are a blessing to be shared, not a curse to be guarded against.

Truth is, I love Corn Dog on a Stick and Mrs. Field's Cookies.

sex was like money in the bank; if you made regular and sizable deposits, you earned more interest. Jean-Claude had earned a lot of interest over the years.

We must eat, drink, sleep, be idle, have sex, love, touch the sweetest things in life and yet not succumb to them.

I won't go about to argue the point with you,—'tis so,—and I am persuaded of it, madam, as much as can be, That both man and woman bear pain or sorrow, (and, for aught I know, pleasure too) best in a horizontal position.

Dinner alone is one of life's pleasures. Certainly cooking for oneself reveals man at his weirdest. People lie when you ask them what they eat when they are alone. A salad, they tell you. But when you persist, they confess to peanut butter and bacon sandwiches deep fried and eaten with hot sauce, or spaghetti with butter and grape jam.

We domestic sensualists live in a state of longing, no matter how comfortable our own places are.

I'd treat myself to a reading marathon all weekend. All the ice cream I could eat, all the pages I could read. Heaven .

Principal Principal stormed in yesterday, smelling pleasure. His mustache moved up and down, a radar sweep for all things unruly. An unseen hand turned off the radio as he crossed the threshold, and bags of potato chips vanished, leaving the faint scent of salt to mix with vermilion oil paint and wet clay.

felt my face relax into a smile of distinct pleasure—nay, call it by name: pure joy. For of all the rules of beekeeping, Rule Three is prime: Never, ever, cease to feel wonder.

Booze and tobacco and lots of sex. It keeps a lad young.