Quotes About Desire

He slipped his tongue between her lips and thrust it wantonly inside her mouth over and over, echoing the enticing move of his hips against hers. She clutched him closer, reveling in the feel of him, and the fact that she'd made him moan for her, whisper her name over and over, beg her without words for more. To kiss him more. To touch him more.

God save her from a man with green eyes. It was like trying to do complex math while your favorite song played in the background.

Beth sighed. "I want a relationship, but then again…I don't." To her surprise, Grandfather cackled. "That's quite normal, my girl. Quite normal indeed. There are no guarantees in this life. You have to take what you can get and enjoy it while you have it.

With a hoarse moan, he swept her against him, kissing her wildly, passionately, his mouth promising and teasing, as if her kiss had broken the dam that had held back his passion.

Roland was brave an romantic, and his speech imploring Lucinda to flee with him had filled Bronwyn's eyes with tears. I wish I knew a Roland. During her unpleasant season, she'd come to realise that the world was woefully short of Rolands.

I'd no particular ambitions beyond being either widely admired or stealthily influential—I was torn between the two.

We don't choose whom we love," he told Maura, so gently that she knew he knew. If she wasn't going to be loved in return, she would have liked not to be pitied for it. She got neither of these wishes. "But people have this advantage over swans, to put their unwise loves aside and love another. Not me. I'm too much swan for that.

I want a normal girlfriend. Someone restful. You know anyone like that? I'd volunteer if you were rich, I told him. Like hugely rich. I could be restful for massive sums of money. Flattered. But no.

I felt her loss in a powerfully physical way. I missed her smell and the sticky wet of her breath on my neck. I missed her fingers scratching through my hair. We sat next to each other, lay across each other, pushed, pulled, stroked, and struck each other a hundred times a day and I suffered the deprivation of this. It was an ache, a hunger on the surface of my skin.

But here's the thing--no matter how many possessions you have, you never feel secure. As soon as you get one thing, there is always something else you need.

A few brief, paltry kisses after so long apart, it wasn't enough. It was a single sip of water offered to a man dying of thirst. He hungered

Mental seduction. He'd never thought it possible

He wanted her now in a way that was barely human.

Just when she thought she could feel nothing more, he began to increase his pace, strokes that pushed her over the edge. The storm swallowed her screams of pleasure. She heard his exultant laughter as she jerked her hands free, gripped his buttocks and pulled him to her, riding out her climax with his.

To you." He kissed her mouth, then nipped her lower lip lightly. "With you, for you. In you.

When someone gets you hot and bothered, turn on the prayer conditioner.

I loved him. I know you don't want to believe that, but I really, truly, giddy, heart-breaking, longing, achingly loved him.

In a rare moment of candor, he had once told her that being in a library was like sitting down at a table laid with all his favorite foods but not being able to eat any of them. And he hated himself for it.

Do what?" Buddy sounded flip. His eyes darted down to the wad of cash. "You got what you wanted." She shook her head. She had never wanted this. She had wanted to feel safe. To feel protected. To have someone interested in her life, her thoughts, her dreams.

Yeah?" "I miss the way you taste." She tried to sound bored. "It's still Colgate." "That's not the taste I was talking about.

She's just come undone, her mother had whispered on the phone to her aunt Bella. It was an old colloquialism, the sort of thing you didn't think people still said. The phrase fit Sara so completely that she had found herself surrendering to it, imagining her arms and her legs detaching from her body. What did it matter? What did she need arms or legs or hands or feet for if she couldn't run to him, hold him, touch him?

Their husbands were not attracted to the groupies because they were hotter than their wives. They were attracted to them because they were groupies. It was a hell of a lot more fun to be with somebody who thought you were perfect than it was to be with a woman who wouldn't put up with your shit.

At this rate, the only way she was going to get laid was to crawl up a chicken's ass and wait.

That's when you fall in love with somebody. The lust and fucking like rabbits and letting your life fall to shit so you can be around him—that's passion. It's borderline obsession. And it always burns itself out. You know that, Liddie. That high never, ever lasts.