Quotes About Desire

Possessive? As if I'd want you for my own. I'd kind of wanted you for my own. I want someone for my own! You're just a blood bag in a big-dicked package. Who didn't last long enough to get me off.

Plus, she had centuries of sexual experience over this hard-up virgin novice. Though she'd never take it too far, she could tempt him up to a point. She'd run circles around him, wrapping him around her little finger.

Because you're the type of woman who needs to be kissed. Hourly, softly. Fiercely." He skimmed his hand down over her hip and murmured near her ear, "Thoroughly.

Ah, lass, you're looking at my cock like you want tae give it a suck.

My thirsty wanted whiskey...

The main ploy of the flesh is to slip worldliness into the mind under the guise of necessity.

the flesh is a "fisher of men.

No heart that holds onto a right desire can tread the road of loss

I miss you. You don't know how much I miss you. You don't know how my heart sinks inside me when I think how far away you are. But then, maybe you know that feeling. I hope you do. No, I wouldn't wish that on you. But then, yes I would . . .. Forgive me for missing you that much.

I still didn't look at him. I was afraid if I did that, I would turn around, run back to him, and hurl myself into his arms.

I always thought it was what I wanted: to be loved and admired. Now I think perhaps I'd like to be known.

And before you barrel through some idiotic Cosmo girl list of how-well-do-you-know-your-man questions, let me say that I don't know squat about him except that he kisses like a god and screws like a devil.

But when he looked at her—and she looked at him—they both knew that there was something worse than kissing the wrong person. It was wanting to.

El futuro es un vacío indiferente que no le interesa a nadie, mientras que el pasado está lleno de vida y su rostro nos excita, nos irrita, nos ofende y por eso queremos destruirlo o retocarlo. Los hombres quieren ser dueños del futuro sólo para poder cambiar el pasado.

As I was saying before," he says, his eyes glued to me as I begin to writhe on the sheets beneath me, "I will allow it.

and I remember . . . the kisses, the taste of him, the feeling of him inside me.

You can always have the best, Kasie," I say quietly. "A woman like you never has to settle for anything.

But when Robert touches me in just the right way, I forget. I forget what it is I want, or rather I forget that I want anything other than him.

No woman has made me quiver before, but she does.

Your problem is that you have never fully understood the power of being a desired woman.

As we stay there, pressed against each other, the room smelling of coffee and sex, I hear him mutter . . . perhaps to himself, perhaps to me, "Last time, my ass.

Two weeks ago I didn't know what it felt like . . . to be pressed against a wall, to be propped up on a desk, to be made love to on the floor of the Venetian.

Even with him in me I ache for him, and it's that aching that brings me rapidly to the brink.

How can I fight so hard for freedom only to be enticed by captivity?