Quotes About Connection

I respect you," he murmured. "and your views. I think of you as an equal. I respect your brains, and all those big words you like to use. But I also want to rip your clothes off and have sex with you until you scream and cry and see God." -Jack Travis (Smooth Talking Stranger)

Mysteries of attraction could not always be explained through logic. Sometimes the fractures in two separate souls became the very hinges that held them together.

I want to fill every part of you, breathe the air from your lungs and leave my handprints on your soul. I want to give you more pleasure than you can bear.

Now he knew that it was only love when you knew there could be no end to it. When it was as inevitable as gravity. Falling in love, a helpless descent in which the only way to avoid being hurt was to keep going. Keep falling.

To feel the presence of the Lord is an amazing thing.

I didn't realize what an impact having a No. 1 single would have. It connects me with people of different ages, and I get to travel all over the world.

Yeah, well, food is always a part of everything.

With my daughter, we do arts and crafts, we read a lot, we listen to music, and we cut the strings off balloons and bounce them around after birthday parties.

I could always feel a cactus resting softly on my neck when he looked my way.

Whatever it was had become essential to their lives. The pair had been inseparable since the day Owen stuck his fingers in Luna's mouth.

into his shoulder, "maybe you better put some clothes on.

In that case, Cooper," she said faintly into his shoulder, "maybe you better put some clothes on.

The feelings he aroused in her were like a complete realignment of her being, right down to the molecular level.

He'd called again five minutes later, timing it to the second. Because, well, hanging up and calling again right away would be a tad...obsessive. Wouldn't it?

He'd always considered whatever went on between "Hello" and "Let's get it on" to be perfectly useless. An empty wasteland of time getting to what both parties wanted.

He couldn't wait—not one second more—and entered her with one long hard thrust. He was so careful with her, always, but this time he couldn't be careful, couldn't be gentle; he needed to possess her the way he needed to breathe.

The rest of what she wanted to say was lost in his mouth. A red mist rose in his head. Fast as lightning, he picked her up, stripped her, pulled off his sweatshirt, pushed his sweat pants down—he deliberately hadn't put on underwear, either—and embedded his c#ck in her. Just shoved it in because he'd die if he didn't have his c#ck in her now.

She made him feel alive after a long time feeling like he'd been buried in the stone cold ground. She made his heart beat again. No one was going to touch her.

Her hand lifted without any volition on her part, as if it were the hand itself that wanted to be held by his. He gently grasped it in both hands, instead of the impersonal handshake she'd been expecting. His hands were as hot as a furnace. Slowly, watching her every second, he brought her hand to his mouth and—oh my God—kissed it. Something inside her, something she'd never even suspected existed, pinged to life. Heat, excitement . . . desire.

She whimpered, the sound lost in Mike's mouth. She was entirely his, completely without willpower or volition. His mouth ate at hers, his shoulders curved in to her like some powerful wall of flesh. He moved his hips against her in short, stabbing movements, hands lifting her hips against his.

His son. That funny creature that looked like a skinned rabbit was his son.

They were bound by the most ancient law of all. He had fought and killed for her. She was his.

She'd gone into the glass booth of the station to pay and the young man behind the counter was reading Anna Karenina and he turned the book over on the counter regretfully. She saw the big Russian saga drain out of his eyes as he took her in...she had watched as the gas attendant dragged himself from a cold night in Russia, full of passion and big fireplaces and lust. Back into the cold, lonely night of St. John's to take Helen's debit card, and she had felt motherly.

It wasn't the first time he'd met someone that made him want to kneel, to crawl, to submit, but it was the strongest reaction he'd had in a long time. And she had no qualms about manhandling him. His wrists still ached from where she'd grabbed him, and he wanted to savor that.