Best 75 quotes of Christina Lauren on MyQuotes

All you Millennials staring at your phones,” he grumbled.

Are you going to sleep in the bed with me?” Jensen shrugged. “I hadn’t really gotten that far. If we share a bed . . .” His meaning was clear. “You think if we share a bed, we might have sex.” He nodded, studying me. “We might.” I could barely move, I was shaking so intensely. “Do you want sex?” I laughed at myself immediately. “I mean, not that we—it’s just, tonight when you kissed me, it felt like you weren’t just playing.” “I fucking love sex,” he said in a quiet growl. “Of course I want it. But tonight was complicated, and I don’t just have sex with someone on impulse.” “God.” I let my head fall back against the headboard. “That’s incredibly hot, and I don’t even know why.” “Pippa.” I grinned up at him. “Jensen.” My heart beat a savage rhythm in my chest as he reached forward, lifting a hand and touching my bottom lip with the tip of his index finger. “Do you like sex?” he whispered. Oh, fuck me. “Yes.

Don’t be silly.” I turned to my suitcase, pulling out my pajamas. “I’m just going to go change . . .” He coughed down at his own suitcase, open on a chair in the corner of the room. “Of course.” I changed, washed my face, put my hair up, pulled my hair back down, put it up again. Moisturized. I brushed my teeth, used the loo, washed my hands, moisturized again. Brushed my teeth again. I stalled. And then, stepping out, I let him past me to do the same routine, realizing as he walked into the loo that he had only a pair of shorts in his hand. He slept shirtless. Fuck me sideways. However, when he finally came out of the restroom, Jensen was still wearing his T-shirt, to my enormous dismay. “I thought you slept shirtless.” What. What did I just say? He looked up at me in surprise. “I mean, I usually do, but . . .

Don’t let yourself fall for someone who’ll put your world before theirs. Fall for the powerhouse who lives as fearlessly as you do. Find the woman who makes you want to be a better man.

Do people call you Ollie?” Lola asked. Oliver looked at her, completely dumbfounded by the possibility of this nickname. She may as well have asked him if people call him Garth, or Andrew, or Timothy. “No,” he said flatly, and the only thing charming about him was the way his accent seemed to run through every vowel with one syllable. Lola’s eyebrow twitched in her single tell—mildly annoyed—and she lifted her flashing LED drink cup to her lips. Lola wears mostly black, including her glossy dark hair, and has a tiny diamond pierced into her lip, but, even still, she’s never been able to pull off the full physical manifestation of the angry Riot Grrrl. With her perfect porcelain skin and the longest eyelashes in the world, she’s simply too delicate. But once she decides you’re an asshole, it no longer matters to her what you think. She gives good glare. “The flower suits you,” she said, tilting her head to study him. “And you have pretty hands, kind of soft. Maybe we should call you Olive.” He grunted out a dry laugh. “And a really beautiful mouth,” I added. “Gentle. Like a woman’s.” “Aw fuck off.” He was laughing outright by then.

Everything feels yes.

Figure out how to balance Oliver with a career you’ve wanted your whole life,” he tells me. “Because you’ll end up with neither if you think you have to choose.

Finally, my cluelessness comes in handy.

For the love of God, Hanna, where are you?" he yelled. Across the room she lowered her fruity drink, held up her hand decorated with a beautiful engagement ring, and called out, "Is that what this ring means? That I come to your rescue?" He nodded fervently, shouting, "Yes!

Getting Pretty Panties Ripped Requires Real Damn Initiative. Or--general, personal, possessive, reflexive, reciprocal, relative, demonstrative, and interrogative!

Give me those moments where I think he's coming back. I can take the hurt. The reminder that he's not coming back-and why-will keep me fighting.

He closes the door with a determined click, and I hear him call to a flight attendant, and I sink down onto the toilet seat, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands as I listen to him through the door. "I'm sorry to bother you but my wife," he says, and then pauses. With the last word he says, my heart begins to hammer. "The one who now got sick? She's started her... cycle? And I'm wondering if you keep any, or rather if you have... something? You see this all happened a bit fast and she packed in a hurry, and before that we were in Vegas. I have no idea why she came with me but I really really don't want to screw this up. And now she needs something. Can she, uh," he stutters, finally saying simply, "borrow quelque chose?" I cover my mouth as he continues to ramble, and I would given anything in this moment to see the expression of the flight attendant on the other side of this door. "I meant use," he continues. "Not to borrow because I don't think they work that way." I hear a woman's voice ask, "Do you know if she needs tampons or pads?" Oh God. Oh God. This can't be happening. "Um..." I hear him sigh and then say, "I have no idea but I'll give you a hundred dollars to end this conversation and give me both.

He looked back up again, giving me a crooked smile. “You have special underwear for when you’re on your period and I’m the dorky one?

High school is such an incestuous little pool.

He's not recruiting me to the oiled-up Gay Bliss Club of Northern Utah, but to the LDS Church.

His voice is both low and quiet, and it has this hypnotic rhythm to it. I wonder whether someday he'll give sermons with that voice, whether he'll throw down judgement with that voice.

Honestly, he'd said more perverted things to my face. To my boobs. Did he really think he was school-ing me in being sexy right now? Really? You're completely unimpressed? Zzzzzzzzzzz, I wrote back.

I always thought I caught you in . . . a phase. His left eyebrow makes a fancy arch. Apparently you're just like this.

I am a monster beneath him, with arching hips, an octopus with hands everywhere at once. I don't think anything in the history of time has felt this good.

I can't wait for that one girl to come in and kick your feet from under you. You think you have things organized, sorted. [...] When that one girl comes along, I'm going to say I told you so, and give you no bloody sympathy when you've turned into a lovesick strop.

I'd somehow always expected love to be primarily a mental state, so I still felt unaccustomed to the physical manifestation of my feelings for her: the way my stomach would grow tight, the way my chest would press in, my heart pounding blood hard and fast through my arteries.

I feel like we meet people in life and want so much for them to like us that we suck in our stomachs and pretend we don’t fart and tell them a bunch of things we think they want to know. If it works they fall for the person we want to be, and not for the person we are.

I forgot how it feels, how insanely different it is to make love, not just hook up of get off. It isn't two bodies coming into contact for pleasure alone. It's the weird sense of getting inside that person, turning sex into a fucking revelation.

If you move to the West Coast, I will make a gun out of this," she said, drunkenly brandishing a tiny straw before searching the rest of the cluttered table, "and these peanuts and this glass and shoot you in the dick, Will." I winced at the visual. "Wow-" I began. "In the dick, Will.

I just want to see you come apart." I wanted to tell her that she was witnessing it now, and in all honesty she'd been watching it happen for weeks.

I knew everything happened for a reason. I just wished the reason would hurry up and make itself known.

I know you're saying something profound, but it's hard to focus when your tits are out.

Inside my chest, my lungs are wild animals, clawing at the cage. "Oh, man," Autumn mumbles from beside me. "His smile makes me stupid." Her words are a dim echo of my own thoughts: His smile ruins me. The feeling makes me uneasy, a dramatic lurch that tells me I need to have him or I won't be okay.

I realize I should be mortified that Past Hazel was so dramatically inappropriate, but it's not like I'm that much better now, and regret isn't really my speed anyway.

It still irks me that I'll probably spend most of my life dividing the people I know into two groups: the people who support me without question and the ones who should.

I've never done this before. Just know I'm falling for the girl I married.

I want this to be everything you want it to be." Leaning in, he smiles and says, "I want you to see your dream come to life.

I was getting married today. Me. I’d pinch myself, but if this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.

I was terrified of what that meant but as she took my hand in hers, kissing it softly before entwining our fingers, I realized it didn’t matter. I’d passed the point of no return and whether she wanted me or not, I was hers. “Je suis à toi.

I woke up when my pillow was yanked out from under my head and Chloe mumbled something incoherent about spinach and hot dogs. The woman was a sleep-talking, restless bed hog.

Light bursts behind my closed eyes, so intensely I nearly hear the popping sound. It's my brain melting, or my world ending, or maybe we've just been hit by a meteor and this is the rapture and I'm given one last perfect moment before I'm sent to purgatory and he;s sent somewhere much, much better. It isn't his first kiss - I know that - but it's his first real one.

Like a hot Latin Dementor, Alex materializes at his side.

Look, I wanted to mention something to you," I said. Play it off as casual. Play it off as no big deal. Be cool. Her lips curled up in an amused smile. "Okay?" "You know what a horrible prankster Will can be." She nodded and I continued: "I may have just done something to get back at him and I swear," I said, resting a hand on her shoulder, "I swear, Hanna, you'll think it's hilarious... eventually." "Eventually?" "Absolutely. Eventually." She considered me through narrowed eyes. "This is just a prank, right? No shaved heads or scars?" I pulled back to study her. "That was a very specific question. Scars?" I shook my head, clearing it. "And no, no, no, no. Just a silly little prank." I gave Hanna my best smile, the one Chloe said made panties drop. But apparently it only made Hanna more suspicious. Her eyes narrowed further. "What would I need to do?" "Nothing," I said. "You'll probably see some weird stuff but just... go along with it." "So, basically be oblivious." "Exactly," I said. "And this will be funny?" "Hilarious." She thought about it for a full ten seconds before reaching out to shake my hand. "You're on.

Maybe I'm crying because I'm terrified that he's come here to do more damage, to reactivate what I feel only to let me down easy again, missionary style.

My brain is such a traitorous beast.

My voice of reason is always Lola. "You're a jackass." "You only say that when I'm being your voice of reason." "Out of my head, witch. And don't piss me off, I tell her. "I'll buy you underwear one size too small for Christmas and make you hate life.

Oh my God, Tanner! Do you really care what kind of underwear he’s got on? Let’s talk about your goddamn outline!

Pippa’s hair was down and fell over her shoulders. Beneath her jersey dress, her body was easy to imagine, and I reached forward, sliding a hand around her waist to pull her just a little closer. I wanted to kiss her. I knew that in part it was the wine, and the beer, and the heady sense of freedom in a small town where I knew no one, but I also knew that in no part was that feeling about Becky. Pippa bounced against me, singing terribly into the mic—perfect for the song, really. Her earrings cascaded down from her ears, nearly touching her shoulders. Her bracelets clanged on her wrist. Her lipstick stained her lips a seductive fire-red, and it made her happy smile seem boundless.

Pippa was different. She was an electric charge, a flash of light. Falling in love with Pippa and watching her walk away would be like watching someone extinguish the sun.

See, the problem with boobs is if you have big ones, you can never look thin. You get these burns on your shoulders from bra straps, and your back hurts. And unless you're using them for their intended purpose, they're always in the way." "In the way of what? My hands, My face? Don't you blaspheme in here." He looked up to the sky. "She didn't mean it, Lord. Promise.

She'd proven to be one of the most aggravating people I'd ever met. Unfortunately for me, she was also the best sex I'd ever had. Fuck, he'd better never get that far. I wasn't sure I knew where to hide a body around here.

She was like a fire-cracker standing too close to a match: all potential energy, still wrapped up so neatly. He wanted to watch her explode. Hell, he was the match. He wanted to make her explode.

She was such a surprising mix of gentle and brash, of focused and flighty. It was almost as if I could see the little girl in her battling with the responsible woman, figuring out which would lead the way.

So here were the facts: I felt possessive of her. Not in a romantic sort of way, but in a "hit her over the head, drag her off by the hair, and fuck her" way. Like she was my toy and I was keeping the other boys in the sandbox from playing with her. How sick was that? If she ever heard me admit to that, she would cut off my balls and feed them to me.

Steve Perry versus Arnel Pineda. At his confused expression, I explain, "The guy on YouTube who gained a following for covering Journey songs...then eventually became the new lead singer for the band?