Best 2267 quotes in «kissing quotes» category

All that matters is the way he’s angling my face up to his, thumb and forefinger still on my jaw and my chin. It makes me think of someone taking a drink, only the drink in question is my lips. He wants to taste me there, and oh, that’s exactly what it feels like. He doesn’t press his mouth to mine, too hard and too frantic. He just dips in, getting a little of me on his lips before going back for something deeper and sweeter. It’s so much sweeter I could cry. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this for a thousand years, and, if his reaction is anything to go by, so has he.

All the while, my mind reeled with what had happened. I have a hickey. I let Adrian Ivashkov give me a hickey.

And even as I'm kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, I wish I were kissing him, wanting more, more, more, more, like I can't get enough, never will be able to get enough.

And I don't care what age you are, kissing in the rain is the best.

And I know when your lips meet mine I feel as though I have never been kissed before.

And no matter what closet we were thrown in, up what river we were sold for an embarrassment, or worse, traded for a bottle of gin-- we’d carry on in playful stitches, friends ‘til the end…which came sooner than wished.

And now that I've been exposed to this feeling, perfect mouth against perfect mouth, the natural order of things, I wonder why people don't kiss all day, every day. How does anything ever get done?

-and our lips meet with feels-- like not slow motion-- but every moment in my life and the lack of time altogether.

And the last remaining pace between our lips were gone and i was falling headlong into her eyes, right there on Palo Verde after dinner. And I can tell you, that was no saint kissing me.

And then he was kissing me like we were both on fire and he was trying to put the flames out, and I kissed him back like an arsonist with a pocketful of matches.

And then in a moment of pure magic, our lips touch tenderly and sensitively!

And then, with the feather-green darkness pressed against the windows, he puts his filthy fingers on my scrubbed hope face and says, "If I kiss you, it's all over." And then he does. And then it is.

And then his arms were around me. When he kissed me it was hungrier somehow, as if this moment was all we had, and we had to taste it, drink it, savor it, and not waste a single drop.

And then I kissed you and, for that second, just for that one moment, the whole world and all its bullshit completely disappeared.

And this is the potency a first kiss should have: it should be earned. The moments leading up to it should be as tense as a crossbow drawn back. The reader should want it as badly as the hero and heroine, and feel as satisfied and transported and transformed as the hero and heroine in the wake of it. There are different ways to use kisses in a romance, but that first kiss is so meaningful, a pinnacle, and can be more intimate than sex.

And then she kissed him," he murmurs, "and all manner of thought left his head. It was a kiss he had dreamed about, but it was a thousand times better than his dreams. And he was ruined in all the best ways...and he'd never be the same again.

And we kissed again. It was a warm, indescribably lovely feeling. But it was more than just physical. It was a dialogue between two young people with high ideals and a Big Plan. It was about belonging, secrets, partnership, commitment.

And when you are being kissed like this, you are Christmas Day; you are the moon shot; you are field larks. My shoes were suddenly worth a million pounds, and my breath was the ethyl in champagne. When someone kisses you like this, you are the point of everything.

And we were kissing like drowning people breathe-- like suddenly we'd discovered something that has never been so sweet before that moment.

And you know what? My kisses are mine. I don't have to explain them to anyone, I'll give them out as I see fit and to whomever I want. Like money. Except that everyone has kisses, they're much more democratic, and a lot more dangerous too, since they put us all on the same level. And if you did the same, if we all did the same, the world might be a little more chaotic but a lot more fun.

Apples are kissing other apples. Gray cats are kissing other gray cats. Trees are kissing trees. You and I are not kissing. We work in an office together. We are both married to other people. It is okay because we only have ideas, you and I, about whether we should kiss or not. These ideas are both good and bad, probably. At work, we do not say these words aloud but make elaborate diagrams for one another. You write these words: Kissing you would be like this, and draw a picture of two butterflies being struck by lightning. I stare at it and wonder if you may be right. I do my own drawing and write, Kissing you would be like this, and sketch a picture of a man made of ice kissing a woman who is actually a stove. We have made hundreds of these drawings. We do not actually do any work.

Angel slowly closed her door then sighed as she leaned against it feeling the sudden loss of her new love leaving for a while which they forgot to exchange on, and they have a positive outcome. Soon as Angel got up from the door, her doorbell rang she was hoping it was just Jana coming back again for something else, but when she looked at the peephole she saw it was Scarlett so she sighed and unlocked her door saying, "What do you need Scarlett? We broke up a long time ago." Scarlett pushed Angel inside, and they both landed on the couch as Scarlett kissed her long and hard as Angel try to shove her off then once she pushed her off saying, "What do you want Scarlett?" Scarlett gave a sweet smile replying, "I want you back of course baby, you are my world I realize that." Angel shoved her out of the apartment replying, "Get the heck out of here and never come back, you found love in someone else and so have I, so get out, GET OUT!

As he was bringing his hands up her sides, his fingers just barely brushed the outer curve of her breasts, and she gasped into his mouth. Shane immediately sat her upright, and moved to the other end of the couch. His face was flushed; his eyes were bright and no longer looked even a little bit tired. “No,’” he said, and held out his hand like a traffic cop when she tried to scoot closer. “Red flag. If you make that sound again, we are in trouble. Or I am, anyway.

A rugged-looking fellow with long, curly black hair loosened his jaw by repeating the phrase, “red leather, yellow leather, red leather, yellow leather.” I wondered if that was a secret exercise actors did before kissing scenes [Cram, Cusi, "‘One Life to Live’ and 14 Beautiful Boys to Kiss," Cafe, January 14, 2015].

A smile is worth dozens of words, but a kiss is worth a thousand.

As long as you're better at it than skating...," Anna said and stood up too. She wanted to say more, but that wasn't possible because he was kissing her. Reasonable Anna wanted to draw back the danger of touch. But unreasonable Anna welcomed the kiss like happiness. Maybe, she thought, it's better to take these moments when you get them - there might not be too many in life.

Because as much as she thought she wanted safety, wanted security and reliability, the kiss had shifted something in her.

At that very first kiss of my life I felt something melt inside me that hurt in an exquisite way. All my longings, all my dreams and sweet anguish, all the secrets that slept deep within my limbic brain came awake. I felt billions of Beach Boys playing their sweet melody inside my heart in perfect harmony with the universe.

Ba't ba naghahalikan ang mga utaw? Para magpalitan ng laway? Magdikit ang mga dila? Bakit hindi mga ilong na gaya sa ibang bansa, o kaya ay mga balikat? Bakit maski sa pisngi lang siya nahalikan ni Homer ay parang ang kaluluwa niya ang tinamaan ng nguso nito? At andito na rin lang tayo sa subject ng paghahalikan, me pagkakaiba ba kapag lalaki o babae o kapwa lalaki o kapwa babae ang mga ngusong nagdidikit? Paano ang mga walang nguso?

Beauty is dad kissing mom's hand when it cramps. Beauty is seeing a Persian woman dance. Ugly is not the absence of beauty. Ugly is the inability to identify it. The inability to be surprised by it. It is the persistent reluctance to be made a child by it. Beauty is simply the manifestation of love.

Before he could say my name, I closed the space between us. Quickly, my lips moved against his. The mental and emotional emptiness took over instantly, but physically, I was more alert than ever. Wesley’s surprise didn’t last as long as it had before, and his hands were on me in seconds. My fingers tangled in his soft hair, and Wesley’s tongue darted into my mouth and became a new weapon in our war. Once again, my body took complete control of everything. Nothing existed at the corners of my mind; no irritating thoughts harassed me. Even the sounds of Wesley’s stereo, which had been playing some piano rock I didn’t recognize, faded away as my sense of touch heightened. I was fully conscious of Wesley’s hand as it slid up my torso and moved to cup my breast. With an effort, I pushed him away from me. His eyes were wide as he leaned back. “Please don’t slap me again,” he said. “Shut up.” I could have stopped there. I could have stood up and left the room. I could have let that kiss be the end of it. But I didn’t. The mind-numbing sensation I got from kissing him was so euphoric-such a high-that I couldn’t stand to give it up that fast. I might have hated Wesley Rush, but he held the key to my escape, and at that moment I wanted him… I needed him. Without speaking, without hesitating, I pulled my T-shirt over my head and threw it onto Wesley’s bedroom floor. He didn’t have a chance to say anything before I put my hands on his shoulders and shoved him onto his back. A second later, I was straddling him and we were kissing again. His fingers undid the clasp on my bra, and it joined my shirt on the floor. I didn’t care. I didn’t feel self-conscious or shy. I mean, he already knew I was the Duff, and it wasn’t like I had to impress him. I unbuttoned his shirt as he pulled the alligator clip from my hair and let the auburn waves fall around us. Casey had been right. Wesley had a great body. The skin pulled tight over his sculpted chest, and my hands drifted down his muscular arms with amazement. His lips moved to my neck, giving me a moment to breathe. I could only smell his cologne this close to him. As his mouth traveled down my shoulder, a thought pushed through the exhilaration. I wondered why he hadn’t shoved me-Duffy-away in disgust. Then again, I realized, Wesley wasn’t known for rejecting girls. And I was the one who should have been disgusted. But his mouth pressed into mine again, and that tiny, fleeting thought died. Acting on instinct, I pulled on Wesley’s lower lip with my teeth, and he moaned quietly. His hands moved over my ribs, sending chills up my spine. Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss. Only once, as Wesley flipped me onto my back, did I seriously consider stopping. He looked down at me, and his skilled hand grasped the zipper on my jeans. My dormant brain stirred, and I asked myself if things had gone too far. I thought about pushing him away, ending it right where we were. But why would I stop now? What did I stand to lose? Yet what could I possibly gain? How would I feel about this in an hour… or sooner? Before I could come up with any answers, Wesley had my jeans and underwear off. He pulled a condom from his pocket (okay, now that I’m thinking about it, who keeps condoms in their pockets? Wallet, yes, but pocket? Pretty presumptuous, don’t you think?), and then his pants were on the floor, too. All of a sudden, we were having sex, and my thoughts were muted again.

Before he could stop himself, Carlos pulled Michael down into a kiss, letting his lips and tongue communicate everything he'd been bottling up for days – months, if he was being honest with himself. Michael responded with a tenderness that begged to be answered, plying his mouth with soft, teasing kisses until Carlos pulled away, moving until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. “We don't have to stop,” Michael whispered.

Before you leave," he said softly, "I have some advice for you. It's not safe for a young woman to wander alone through the hotel. Don't take such a foolish risk again." Poppy stiffened. "It's a reputable hotel," she said. "I have nothing to fear." "Of course you do," he murmured. "You're looking right at it." And before she could think, or move, or breathe, he bent his head and took her mouth with his. Stunned, Poppy went motionless beneath the soft, burning kiss, so subtle in its demand that she wasn't aware of the moment her own lips parted. His hands came to her jaw, cradling, angling her face upward. One arm slid around her, bringing her body fully against his, and the feel of him was hard and richly stimulating. With every breath, she drew in an enticing scent, an incense of amber and musk, starched linen and male skin. She should have struggled in his arms... but his mouth was so tenderly persuasive, erotic, imparting messages of peril and promise. His lips slid to her throat and he hunted for her pulse, working his way downward, layering sensations like silken gauze until she shivered and arched away from him. "No," she said weakly. The stranger gripped her chin carefully, forcing her to look at him. They both went still. As Poppy met his searching gaze, she saw a flash of baffled animosity, as if he had just made some unwelcome discovery.

As you know from our trips to Belmont Park in San Diego, I can scream like a girl when required.” he said. Angie laughed then she grabbed him by the face and planted a kiss on the lips so fierce, Mel wondered if it was Angie’s way of putting a lip-lock protective spell on her man. She hoped it was and she hoped it worked.

At the first kiss I felt something melt inside me that hurt in an exquisite way. All my longings, all my dreams and sweet anguish, All the secrets that slept deep within me came awake, Everything was transformed and enchanted, everything made sense.

Cash leaned forward against her hand and Harper met him halfway. The kiss was powerful and demanding. Harper wrapped her arms around Cash, feeling his heartbeat against her chest. The kiss was more aggressive than either of them meant it to be, and, when they pulled apart, they were both breathing fast, like they had sprinted toward each other. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do that,” Cash said, out of breath. “Eight years,” Harper murmured. “My whole life,” Cash corrected, leaning in again.

But before, not so long ago - my own rose from prom still OK on the mirror, dried but not a corpse - you were just Ed Slaterton, jocky hero, handsome in the student newspaper and star of a million strands of gossip. Now Annette was a person to me, standing right there, and not just an oh-my-God-have-you-heard, and I tried to put it together in my head, the print and the negative, the boyfriend and the celebrity shadow, like Theodora Sire sat next to me in history, borrowing pencils, but was still a movie star above my bed. Because as you came out of the dark to me, you were the boy I was kissing and wanted to kiss more, back to find me at a party like anybody might do, but you were Ed Slaterton too, and not the cad you are now, but just Ed Slaterton, co-captain, with a beer in your hand and Jillian Beach on your arm.

But maybe kissing was enough. Maybe kissing was the only thing that mattered, anyway. Maybe kissing could overcome the whole vampire/basketball thing.

be the kiss in my hair that no one sees move, when i move sigh, when i sigh... be that line from a poem that i hold in my eyes.

But Aladdin says nothing. Instead, he lowers his face and softly kisses the side of my neck, his mouth trailing up to the skin behind my ear. Goose bumps break across my skin, and I turn my face to meet his lips with mine. This kiss is gentler than our last, long and slow and restrained. It is a kiss of longing. A kiss of farewell. His hands tighten around my waist, pulling me against him. We drift in a slow circle, sending out ripples that make the floating flowers bob and dip. “You keep so many secrets,” he murmurs. “I could spend the rest of my life discovering you.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, his eyes devouring my face.

But that kiss did more than turn her into a puddle of lust. It terrified her. Not because of how soul-searingly good it was, but because kisses like that don’t just happen. Kisses like that implied history and connection and bone-deep knowledge, and it made her question everything that had existed between them before.

Certainly seems it when she half-turns in his arms and he just leans right down into her and kisses and kisses. Oh, how syrupy-slow his kisses are. She could live in those warm, wet pulls.

Chase grabbed Joey’s neck and hauled him into a kiss. Oh shit. Not again. It didn’t matter how many times it had been wrong, he still wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe it when he kissed a guy and everything inside said him. It had been wrong about Mark and Noah and Jorge and Tom and the whole list going right back to kissing Eduardo under the bleachers in tenth grade. Or maybe before. When he’d been three and told his mom he was going to marry his best friend Cody.

Did they have all the ingredients for the seed cake, Miss Sophia? The caraway and rye, and the currants for the top?" "Yes," Sophia replied as the cook-maid disappeared into the larder. "But we could find no red currants, and-" Suddenly her words were smothered into silence as Sir Ross pulled her into his arms. His lips descended to hers in a kiss so tender and carnal that she could not help responding. Stunned, she struggled to retain her hatred of him, to remember the wrongs of the past, but his lips were utterly warm and compelling, and her thoughts scattered crazily. The pink rose dropped from her nerveless fingers. Sophia swayed against him, groping for his hard shoulders in a futile bid for balance. His tongue searched her mouth... delicious... sweetly intimate. Sophia inhaled sharply and tilted her head back in utter surrender, her entire existence distilled to this one burning moment. Through the pounding heartbeat in her ears she dimly heard Eliza's concerned voice echoing from the larder. "No red currants? But what will we top the seed cake with?" Sir Ross released Sophia's mouth, leaving her lips moist and kiss-softened. His face remained close to hers, and Sophia felt as if she were drowning in the silver pools of his eyes. His hand came to the side of her face, his fingers curving over her cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. Somehow Sophia managed to answer Eliza. "We f-found golden currants instead-" As soon as the words left her mouth, Sir Ross kissed her again, his tongue exploring, teasing. Her groping fingers touched the back of his neck, where the thick black hair curled against his nape. Sensation rustled through her, spurring her pulse to an intemperate pace. Taking advantage of her surrender, he kissed her more aggressively, hunting for the deepest, sweetest taste of her. As her knees weakened, his arms wrapped securely around her, supporting her body as he continued to ravish her mouth. "Golden currants?" came Eliza's dissatisfied voice. "Well, the flavor won't be quite the same, but they will be better than nothing." Sir Ross released Sophia and steadied her with his hands at her waist. While she stared at him blankly, he gave her a brief smile and left the kitchen just as Eliza reemerged from the larder.

Danny had never been so aware for anyone else in his life. Everything shrank from a universe to a pinpoint, every turn of the earth dependent on his next breath, each touch lingering until those eyes found his. Colton pressed a hand to Danny’s chest and laid his mouth gently against his. Danny wasn’t prepared for it—the reminder that Colton was not like him, that his palms were smooth and free of flaws, that his wrist showed no veins, that his mouth tasted of copper and of sweet clean air. He was a boy of air and dust and sunlight. Everything that had gone into the making of the world.

Damn it, Elliot, do you ever make kissing easy?' he said, cupping his nose. 'Maybe you should learn not to be such a tease and get to it a little quicker,' I shot back. 'So, I've got to get to the kissing before you start thinking too hard about something else?' 'Something like that,' I said, reaching to check his nose. He winced. 'You'll heal in a minute,' I said with a smirk.

Delicately, she parted her lips, swept them against his, and kissed first his top, then the bottom. Letting her lead, he pinched his brows together and held still. She didn’t come at him with fire. She told him a story. And he’d be damned if it didn’t start with once upon a time like she were proving he was some kind of hero. Specifically, hers.

Det er en kjedelig uvane som særlig går ut over damene, å måtte låne ut leppene til hvem som helst som har tre tjenere på slep, uansett hvor frastøtende han er.

Come si spiega un bacio su cui ti sei soffermato a fantasticare così tante volte da non riuscire più a tenere il conto? Come descrivi il rumore dei tuoi pensieri che, come in tilt, non smettono di rimbalzare da un angolo all’altro della tua testa, piccole molle alticce perse in un respiro lieve? Un bacio si vive, non si racconta.

Damn, her mouth was a weapon.