Best 221 of Romantic comedy quotes - MyQuotes
Boyfriend?” He was smiling slightly. Karl rolled his eyes. “Not if you’re going to be like that about it.” “What, happy?” Aiden teased. “You supposed to want your boyfriend to be happy, you know.” “I want you to be happy,” Karl muttered. “I just don’t want you to be a smug little bastard about it.
She was Darcy Montgomery, Southern Sanctuary Special Liaison, she fixed things. When people irritated her, well, she fixed them… she fixed them good. Or should that be, for good?
I want the strings. I want the ball and fucking chain. I want to be so tied to you that you can’t ever slip away from me again.
I’m probably getting too familiar with him, but there’s something about him that makes me feel like I would tell him anything. He asks these incredibly direct questions, things that some of my closest friends have never even thought to ask, and I’m inexplicably compelled to share all these deeply personal thoughts. He’s like human Xanax or something.
I believe in making my potential models comfortable,’ he explained when she shot a surprised look at him. ‘I’m considerate, unlike some artists who bend their sitters into difficult positions and expect them to stay there for hours. My demands are entirely reasonable.’ For a moment, her libido got interested in his demands. What would it be like to listen to the soft caress of his voice as he told her how he wanted her? To have those midnight-blue eyes roam over every inch of her body? To be passive, helpless, whilst he did whatever he pleased?
Save a horse. Ride a cowboy... or two!
A bear! I've landed on a wild and wicked bear!
Whoa. If every time Rafael dialed up the knight in shining armor act I lost a little bit of my IQ – then I think I just lost my doctorate.
Once I checked my email, I would get lost in a book so I could feel the main character's pain instead of mine, laugh at her missteps rather than lament my own, and cheer for the happy ending that seemed to elude me.
Where's Mason?” “Planting explosives.” Zinio did a double take. “You actually handed that man explosives?” “Damn it, Zinio. Let other people have some fun.” The explosion in the distance was followed by Mason yelling, “Yahoo!” Zinio and Delaney stared speechless as Mason flew by in the adjoining tunnel, riding the concussion wave of the blast. Finally, Zinio stomped after him. He peeled him off the floor in the adjoining tunnel. “You having fun yet?” “Hell yeah!” “Wanna go again?” “Hell yeah I wanta go again!” A short while later, Zinio watched Mason fly by on a concussion wave from the latest explosion, as Mason shouted, “Hot Diggity!” Zinio made his way over to the somewhat more charcoaled Mason. “You had enough yet?” Mason nodded shakily. “Good—because it'd be nice if we actually put a hole in the fricking wall! That is the object of this little exercise.
Baby, I can give you a better orgasm than this thing and it wouldn’t cost you a dime.
If you’ve ever grown zucchini, you know they all ripen the same day. You wait all of June and July for zucchini. August rolls around, and one day—bam! You have more zucchini than you know what to do with. You start handing them out to your neighbors and friends at work because there’s no way any single person can handle all that zucchini. Not even if you’re smart and resourceful and have accumulated dozens of good recipes, not even a person who likes zucchini as much as I do.--Grace Savage
His eyes were wide, and they were asking if I would be his, simply and earnestly. I couldn’t answer. I had to look away.
The only options I have are a four fingered shuffle and an aging vibrator whose batteries, the last time I looked, were leaking a sticky liquid. I long to do the same.” Time Was by Paul Adams
He’s the thing my teenage fantasies were made of. Woodsy male scent. Muscular, yet trim frame. A quick wit that always finds a way to pull me into a debate.
Blondie?" "You don't like it? I could always call you Bae, or fat ass?
So, how’d you get the tattoo?” she said. “Drunken frat boys don’t say no to things their drunken frat brothers are telling them to do.” “That almost sounds like an admission of weakness from the invulnerable Andrew Sheffield.” “Not weakness. Stupidity, maybe. That, I’ll cop to.” “I can’t believe the man behind such a successful business is stupid.” “You’d be surprised. Just as there are different kinds of intelligence, there are different kinds of stupid.
The only thing better than a cowboy in Wranglers is a cowboy out of Wranglers.
He swims easily to the side of the boat and pulls himself up on the ladder, water droplets clinging to his chest and abs. Still hanging on to the rope, he brings himself effortlessly over the side of the railing and onto the deck. His khaki shorts are completely soaked through, and they hang low and loosely on his hips. I have to force myself, consciously, not to ogle him.
Coralie Casey was the kind of woman calories were made for; that dewy peaches-and-cream complexion, glossy cherry lips, the succulence of her body beneath that orange, silky dress. A cornucopia of curves, you could say, except it was probably better not to think about horns of plenty.
I know it must seem completely idiotic to you," Maddie said, hoping to coax at least a grunt from her, "hiring a date to your only sister's wedding and all." Louise slowly nodded. "I mean, who does such things nowadays, right? Women don't need men for anything. Well, they do need them for one thing. But that's all—and, really, debatable depending on your sexual orientation.
She’d played her part as the ugly duckling that never became a swan, but remained the goose inside a nightmarish cliché fairy-tale movie...
Snuggling into my lumpy pillow again, it occurs to me that I’m laying down. Then it occurs to me that the arm rest between us must have been lifted because I am in fact lying on Elliot’s lap and the hard pillow that I’m snuggling my face into isn’t actually a pillow at all. And the reason it keeps getting harder is because… hello! Elliot Fielding is not as immune to me as he would like us both to believe. Before I sit up, I purposefully put my hands under my cheek and cop a brazen feel. Then I push up and stare into the eyes of the man who has allowed me to sleep on him for the past two hours.
Maggie chiuse gli occhi e contò sino a dieci. Uno, due, tre… Se voleva arrivare a casa di sua sorella prima che facesse notte, non aveva altra scelta che chiedere al cowboy di accompagnarla. Certo, avrebbe sempre potuto optare per il motel e attraversare quelle duecento iarde pullulanti di lupi. Un altro ululato. No, non avrebbe potuto. «Lupi» disse Mitch, il braccio sinistro che sporgeva indolente dal finestrino, il mozzicone del sigaro stretto tra le dita. «Lupi» ripeté lei con un’alzata di spalle, come se si trattasse di barboncini addestrati. Poi mosse un paio di passi esitanti verso il pick-up. Quell’affare era così alto che dovette allungare il collo e sollevare la testa per parlare al cowboy. «Mi chiedevo…» mormorò vincendo ogni residua resistenza. Lui rimase immobile, se non per il sopracciglio sinistro che scattò verso l’alto. «… se per caso tu non potessi darmi uno strappo.» Lui finse di prendere in considerazione la cosa. Poi, con un altro sbuffo di fumo, disse: «Mi sembrava che avessi rifiutato la mia offerta, dieci minuti fa...». «Perché non intendevo esserti di disturbo» rispose lei come se si stesse rivolgendo alla duchessa di Kent. E di fatti lui scoppiò a ridere. «Essermi di disturbo? Dopo avermi assalito come un ninja? Ma sarò magnanimo. Dai, sali.» Maggie tirò un sospiro di sollievo. Era così stanca e infreddolita che anche quel pick-up scassato le parve per un istante una limousine. «Dove metto la valigia?» «Buttala dietro, nel cassone.» Buttare nel cassone la sua Samsonite rosa, costata una cifra improponibile? «Preferirei sistemarla in cabina, se non ti spiace.» «In cabina non c’è posto, qua dietro è pieno di roba. A meno che tu preferisca viaggiare nel cassone e la valigia sul sedile…» Lei rimase zitta, gli occhi sgranati, per nulla certa che quella fosse solo una battuta. «Ok, ci penso io» tagliò corto lui, aprendo la portiera e scivolando a terra con un balzo. Afferrò il trolley per la maniglia e, senza un’altra parola, lo fece volare nel cassone. Oh! Il botto risuonò nelle orecchie di Maggie come una granata. Risistemandosi lo Stetson sulla testa, il cowboy girò intorno al pick-up e con un sorriso esagerato aprì la portiera del passeggero. «Sali, sorella di Suzie, o vuoi che dia una mano anche a te?»
I’m going to ear you like a starved man and I want you to keep your eyes on me the whole time. Are we clear?” – The Seduction Factor Casual Encounter 1
Billionaires’ Indulgence Is A Heart-Stopping, Mind-Blowing And Jaw-Dropping Ménage Romance Series.
Longing to know more about each other, Tinderella and her prince began that day a nightly journey of long conversations filled with the excitement of new beginnings. Every night, a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered their wings in her stomach, as two hearts learned to find a new rhythm beating as one.
Here, you drive," Erik said. "What? Why?" "In case we do have to start shooting; I have a badge and you don't," he explained. "Fine. But for the record, I'm a better shot than you are." "For your information, I was the youngest kid awarded the rifle shooting merit badge in my troop," Erik said, holding the wheel as she climbed across him. "Is that supposed to impress me?" "Just enough to get you back into my bed." She took over the gas pedal and Erik slid out from underneath her. "It takes more than fancy shooting," she said loftily, making a sharp turn. Erik was thrown against the door. "Would you warn me before you do that?" "It's a car chase!
The fish is that perfect, amazing guy it can never work out with—you know, a bird and a fish may fall in love—but where would they live? . . . So the fish is your total dream guy, he’s smart, he’s handsome, he gets all your jokes, he loves to talk, he gives you a nine-hour orgasm and then makes you homemade chocolate chip pancakes and serves you breakfast in bed—but he lives all the way across the country and neither of you can move, or he’s married, or next in line for the throne, or he has a terminal disease or something . . . the fish.
I fight to keep my fingers from trembling. I have a sudden urge to lick him. That’s not part of the plan. Maybe I can take a bit of a detour, taste what’s on display, even though I probably shouldn’t. Going against the plan is never advisable. But maybe just a little peck – it’s harmless, right? I lean in, and my lips connect with his skin. The reasonable part of my brain reminds me, Not a good idea. The other needy and somewhat desperate parts counter with, Oh god. Best. Idea. Ever.
Beaumont wanted Esmond very badly. Esmond wanted Beaumont’s wife. And she didn’t want anybody.
I was just wondering how long we were going to pretend like we annoyed each other before we started sleeping together.
Do you have one where you’re riding a horse or a camel? Or sitting on a rocket ship? Those are always wildly popular with men looking for sex. —SINGLE-MINDED
When taking a suitor to task for not demonstrating sufficient impatience to declare himself so as to scale the wall outside your bedchamber and enter your room through the window, which, you will recall, you did last night,” he said with conversational ease as if arriving to take tea in her sitting room, “it’s commonly accepted courtesy to have a window through which he may enter. In the absence of just such an aperture, I was forced to sneak into the house through the front door.
It was sweet he was checking on me. He didn’t have to, but he knew that Blair and I were friends. Sisters, even. And he wanted to protect her friends like he’d protect her. Well, maybe not the same way. If there was a gun fight he’d probably use me as a shield to protect her. But still, he cared.
È così bello... eppure fa così male. Vorrei odiarlo, davvero, vorrei odiarlo con tutta me stessa, ma il tempo è passato inesorabile e l'odio pian piano ha lasciato il posto a una sottile rassegnazione: quella di non poterlo amare più.
I'd rather be stung to death by a bunch of piss ants. ~Synola Harper, You're Busting My Nuptials
I am a Tamilian by geographical disposition and a Roman Catholic by faith. A very unfortunate combination, if you ask me. Because not only did I get stuck with a name like Sophia Thilagam, I was also frequently subject to the aesthetically disturbing sight of crimson red, Kanjeevaram silk sarees with loud, gold borders worn with Colgate-white veils and equally unsubtle tiaras to match. The Tamil Catholic wedding, of course.
Mark Twain said, "Humor is mankind's greatest blessing." Dorsey Bing said, "I'll take womankind's greatest blessing: more wine.
Ryan allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sight of her legs, long and muscular and indicative of her previous life as a dancer. Off-limits nannies shouldn't be allowed to have legs like that. A man could only get through so many lonely nights before he started to dream of sleek limbs wrapping around him and never letting go. Thankfully for them both, she lifted those sleek limbs away from his grasp. Out of reach, out of mind. Or at least in theory, anyway.
One should not chug an entire glass of wine at an elegant dinner party. I start hacking and coughing, having practically water-boarded myself out of sheer humiliation.
She couldn’t be the first alien to crash-land on twenty-first-century Earth.
I gotta go but... I miss you. That's all." "I miss you too", I say hugging my body tightly with the sleeves of his shirt. This... Is falling.
I rock in his arms under the stars and the blanket of night air, unwilling or unable to tear myself away.
She didn’t sound overjoyed. She didn’t sound even slightly joyed.
that kid may not carry my DNA, but by God, I don’t care. I love that little shit like my own and I want to be his daddy.
She had offered to drive, not least because it would have given her some control over the evening, but Gethin had raised an eyebrow and told her he liked a more comfortable ride. She assumed it was a reference to her van rather than some frank over-sharing.
Outside, the sunlight had turned pale lemon, but the studio remained cool. The white walls and white-tiled splashback behind the sink were made more clinical by the metal tables which looked as if they’d originally been intended for use in an operating theatre. Even though they were laid out with brushes and paints rather than forceps and retractors, the effect was equally daunting; both sets of tools could open you up in strange and unexpected ways.
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The parasail's winch turned, winding up the line, pulling Ally and Serena lower and closer to him in a steady pull. A funny feeling seized him as he watched her. Logically, he knew she kept getting closer, but he suddenly knew she’d never arrive. She’d be suspended out on the end of that line for eternity, seemingly within reach, yet somehow distant. His breath stopped.