Best 2267 quotes in «kissing quotes» category

Echo, kissing you for the rest of my life would be good enough, and you need to get these fucked-up thoughts out of your brain. I’m scared of making love to you because you’re too good for me. I’m terrified that after I share this with you, you’ll realize the mistake, and I can’t take that. Not from you.

Elliot and I were more 'adult' about it all. We'd kiss hello and goodbye and we'd kiss as part of foreplay, but we wouldn't kiss just for the sake of it. not when we got together properly. I would love to snog Jack Britcham. I would love to inhale the smell of him, feast in the scent of him, become intoxicated by him. And of course there is nothing wrong with looking at him. I would love to run my fingers over the lines of his body, touch him and see if I could absorb him through the pads of my fingers, have him enter my bloodstream and race through my veins. I would love to taste him. See if he tastes as good as he looks. I don't know why he's got so far under my skin, but he has. And that's not a bad thing, I didn't think. It gives me something to look forward to, I suppose. Loved-up saddo

Even though I like kissing... No matter how much I think I want him to stop, that I hate him and want him to let go, in that moment, I couldn't care less. That's why... I'm... wondering whether I'm mistaking that for love.

Every kiss from you makes my heart explode with love.

Everything ritualistic must be strictly avoided, because it immediately turns rotten. Of course a kiss is a ritual too and it isn't rotten, but ritual is permissible only to the extent that it is as genuine as a kiss.

Five seconds, and my body's humming. I go half-man, half-machine, and my thoughts go straight to touching her more, to how far I want to go, how far she might want to go, and damn, I start to hurt. No amount of music or hard work will fix this. My body's a beast. A beast that's been held back too long.

Forget about that and kiss me," I say. I weave my hands in her hair. She wraps her arms around my neck as I trace the valley between her lips with my tongue. Parting her lips, I deepen the kiss. It's like a tango, first moving slow and rhythmic and then, when we're both panting and our tongues collide, the kiss turns into a hot, fast dance I never want to end. Carmen's kisses may have been hot, but Brittany's are more sensual, sexy, and extremely addictive. We're still in the car, but it's cramped and the front seats don't give us enough room. Before I know it, we've moved to the backseat. Still not ideal, but I hardly notice. I'm so getting into her moans and kisses and hands in my hair. And the smell of vanilla cookies. I'm not going to push her too far tonight. But without thinking, my hand slowly moves up her bare thigh. "It feels so good," she says breathlessly. I lean her back while my hands explore on their own. My lips caress the hollow of her neck as I ease down the strap to her dress and bra. In response, she unbuttons my shirt. When it's open, her fingers roam over my chest and shoulders, searing my skin. "You're . . . perfect," she pants. Right now I'm not gonna argue with her. Moving lower, my tongue follows a path down to her silky skin exposed to the night air. She grabs the back of my hair, urging me on. She tastes so damn good. Too good. !Caramelo! I pull away a few inches and capture her gaze with mine, those shining sapphires glowing with desire. Talk about perfect. "I want you, chula," I say, my voice hoarse.

For God’s sake, man!” Frederick Carlyle bellowed across the room. “At least wait until you’re alone before you kiss her, if you please! Remember, her family is watching you, and we haven’t had our dinner yet!

For that short space of time, she forgot she was sad and a little afraid. She let herself forget that after tonight, she might never see him again and that if she did, whatever it was between them would no longer exist. When he deepened the kiss and his weight pressed her against the ground, she forgot everything, losing herself in a wave of sensation that carried no threat, inspired no fear, and belonged to no one but her.

Freddie’s smile basically lit up the entire store. It was the kind of smile that made me think kissing her might be nice.

Fuck! The things she does to me with a simple kiss.

Girls love kissing. Our lips replicate the lips we discreetly hide. We redden lips to show the health and allure of our labia, the welcoming of your tongue in our mouth a foretaste of lips moistened and blood-gorged by desire. Some kisses last forever in our minds, some kisses are best forgotten. Every kiss is unique and kissing lips is uniquely human.

Give me your hand," Alice said, barely a whisper. Bones held out his hand tentatively. She took it and placed it on her heart over her left breast. So small. So delicate. She didn't move. He didn't move. Alice was his life. How could he make her his eternal? "Kiss me," she said. Bones let his hand linger, and then slowly slip away, not wanting her to think he was greedy. He touched her cheek, careful not to poke her in the eye. He wasn't sure what to do with his other hand, so he put it in his pocket. Classic move. He felt stupid for worrying about his breath, knowing it was gross from the wine--and he worried Alice was about to find out how little he knew about kissing--and he wondered if she had condoms in the bag--and imagined himself unrolling one, all suave-like--and realized he was wasting the most amazing moment of his life--and wished his brain would just shut the fuck up. Alice leaned forward. "Now." Bones shuddered. "Okay.

God, you're so sweet.” He holds my face in his hands and kisses me deeply. I slowly unzip his hoodie and touch a hand to his bare chest. I relish in the feel of it. Barely an hour ago I was admiring it from afar, and now it's no longer just a tease. When I slide my hand down to his stomach, he groans and his hands slip just under my shirt. “So that's why you didn't want to change.” I can feel his smile against my lips. “You just wanted me to take your clothes off for you.” “Guilty.” I lift my arms for him to pull it off. Instead of returning to kissing me, his eyes roam down my body. I fight the urge to cover myself; even though my bra is still on, I feel exposed. His hands lightly touch each side along the seam. My breath catches in my throat. Meeting my eyes, he says, “You're so damn beautiful.” He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss in between my breasts. I shiver at the light touch of his lips to my sensitive skin. If this is how he makes me feel with such little contact, then how will the rest of this feel? The need is building inside like a spark starting a fire.

Good God, woman! Can you not take a compliment?" "Perhaps not," she replied, but he detected a note of indecision. That was all he needed. He leaned closer. "You should learn how to take one, my dear, because I could shower you with them if you would only say the word. And I truly wish you would." Evelyn swallowed apprehensively, for no one had ever wished to shower her with compliments before, and she was quite frankly unwilling to believe any of it. She had to remain on guard where her passions were concerned, because if she gave in to them, God help her, she'd be done for. "I don't want, or need, your flattery, Lord Martin." "Oh, but I believe you do. I also think you need to be kissed. Quite thoroughly kissed in fact." Her head drew back in shock. Remaining on guard against her passions was one thing, but resisting his advances was quite another. "I can assure you I need no such thing, and certainly not from a scoundrel like you." "A scoundrel like me. Indeed." He leaned closer and cradled her chin in his hand, and heaven help her, just the heat of his touch melted whatever resolve she had left. It kept her from retreating into that guarded fortress again- the place where she would only try to reject him before he had the chance to reject her. He leaned closer, still, and the instant their mouths met, she felt with shock the soft, hot texture of his tongue sliding into her mouth. Her breasts rose and fell with the quickening pace of her breathing, and unfamiliar shivers of delight coursed through her body. She had never been kissed like this. Ever. She closed her eyes and could do nothing but surrender to the burning heat of it. Was this real? she wondered in a love-struck haze she would surely chastise herself for later. Was Martin truly kissing her? And was she letting him? Yes, yes she was. She reached up to rest her hands on his broad shoulders while passion raced through her veins. She felt a throbbing sensation between her thighs from the chaos of vibrations in her body, and it sent her head spinning. Slowly he drew back, and she opened her eyes. He was regarding her closely. "Was that necessary?" she asked with breathless, lingering desire, knowing she wasn't fooling him for a second with that feeble attempt at hauteur. She'd just dissolved into warm putty in his hands, and he knew it. "I believe so." He leaned into her again, kissing her deeply a second time. She let out a whimper, a sound she'd never heard herself make before, and reached out to hold his face in her hands, to run her fingers through his beautiful thick hair. A symphony of little sighs poured out of her. Oh, she had definitely made the right decision to come sailing today, she thought with a rapturous smile. Think of what she was learning. It was all truly sublime. "You're delicious," he said, kissing down the side of her neck until she could barely breathe inside her tight bodice. His fingers played in the upswept hair at her nape. "You're beautiful, Evelyn. You must know it. Look at me. I want you like a schoolboy." He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and pressed his mouth firmly to hers again, and she met the kiss eagerly with lips parted, fists gripping his lapels. She could barely comprehend the ferocity of her desires.

Grabbing her close to him, he spun her around and pushed her against the wall. They needed something solid to keep them steady, because he didn’t see himself giving up those lips any time soon. He would kiss her until she lost her breath and it was only his lips on hers that kept her upright. Only the kiss that kept her breathing.

Happy birthday,” he whispered, his breath landing warm and suddenly close to my lips, making my insides flip. And just as quickly as he’d surprised me with the cake, he kissed me, one frosting-covered hand moving from my hair to the back of my neck, the other solid and warm in the small of my back, pressing us together, my chest against his ribs, my hip bones just below his, the tops of our bare summer legs hot and touching. I stopped breathing. My eyes were closed and his mouth tasted like marzipan flowers and clove cigarettes, and in ten seconds the whole of my life was wrapped up in that one kiss, that one wish, that one secret that would forever divide my life into two parts. Up, down. Happy, sad. Shock, awe. Before, after. In that single moment, Matt, formerly known as friend, became something else entirely. I kissed him back. I forgot time. I forgot my feet. I forgot the people outside, waiting for us to rejoin the party. I forgot what happens when friends cross into this space. And if my lungs didn’t fill and my heart didn’t beat and my blood didn’t pump without my intervention, I would have forgotten about them, too. I could have stayed like that all night, standing in front of the sink, Matt’s black apple hair brushing my cheeks, heart thumping, lucky and forgetful…

Have you been kissed before?” “I don’t know whether to say yes or no. Which answer will make you do it again?” “Oh, I’m going to do it again.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “Just wanted to know how slow to take things.” “A little faster would be fine.

Have you ever kissed a guy?” “I’ve kissed my dad and my granddad.

He cups my face with both hands leans in, eyes lingering a sweet second before his lips are there on mine, teasing, playing, tasting, kissing. When he pulls away, I'm breathless. He nuzzles my ear. "Now that's thrilling." You got that right.

He couldn’t look back at the children. He couldn’t think of it. All he could do was watch the eyes of his wife. He pulled her to him, her body soft, her skin warm. She was life, she was his. He took her lips and tasted his freedom once more. The subtle tenderness. The hope hidden in joined breath. He took it into himself. Soaking in the peace that came with it. And even as the rustling began he felt still, he felt calm. Scratching and scrapping within the stones, and the rustle of wings. But all Eli knew was the nature of love.

He didn't overpower, exploring her mouth with confident thoroughness, as if they had all the time in the world. Gradually, he increased the intensity, his mouth sliding this way and that, angling his head to find the perfect fit. Then, before she had any idea what he truly wanted, he coaxed her lips to part so he could slide his tongue inside. He dipped and sipped, licked and pressed, teasing her in ways that made her thoughts turn to ash. Her fingers opened and closed spasmodically against the fine wool of his coat, and she rocked up onto her toes to get more. He chuckled low in his throat as he slowly eased away, leaving her momentarily confused and bereft, her body keenly aware of the abrupt loss of pleasure. His eyes gleamed like gold coins. "You taste every bit as sweet as you look, my dear." He skimmed the back of one finger over her cheek. "Maybe this bargain we're making won't be such a bad one after all.

He flashed his wicked grin and lowered his voice. “Mrs. Frost always runs late. I could kiss you now and give the crowd what they’re looking for.” That would be an awesome way to start class. I licked my lips and whispered, “You are going to get me in so much trouble.” “Damn straight.” Noah caressed my cheek before heading to his seat in the back. I settled in my seat and spent the entire hour trying to keep my mind focused on calculus and not on kissing Noah Hutchins.

He kisses like a poet. Like he's writing poems on my lips.

He kissed her, and the magic that had been building up steadily around them exploded, raining down in arcs of silver fire that made her half-remember a prophecy from her dreams. One by one, they all will die. Something had been set into motion.

He kisses me until my mouth is sore from his stubble, and most likely cherry red. Then, when he sees its ripe colour, he kisses me more to make up for it. He kisses me between courses and in the middle of them too, licking chocolate from my lips when I accidentally make a mess – so uncaring of whatever anyone in here might think.

He kissed her for an eternity, which was fine, because heaven had eternities to burn. Then he kissed her for another.

He kisses me back with a kiss like a smile.

He kissed her good morning like she was the reason sun decided to shine.

He leaned down, far enough that the dark ends of his hair brushed feather-light against her face, caught in her lashes, She had just enough time to take in a breath, to blink, to part her lips before he took them with his own. Time froze. Her heart ceased to beat. Her eyes fluttered shut. The cool slip of the small metal loop pressed into her skin as he kissed her. Urgent. Gentle. So slow. Sweet, soft demolition. He tasted of cloves and coffee. And of something else. A farawat essence, familiar and yet somehow foreign, too. Something sere and arid. A little like some. A little like decay Ash.

He leans towards me for a kiss and our mouths fuse. I explode. I'm all over him, absorbing his warmth and the beat of his heart. It's like he knows my pain, and he's trying to erase it. It's like he's bringing me back to life with every brush of our lips.

Hell! His beard grows fast as blazes, like a damp wicket in springtime sun, green, and Rachel's skin is so fine, his bristles can score her red the way a new ball marks a bat, English alum on English unbleached willow, finest quality, special selection, Rachel-grade. Zach, my man, you have cricket on the brain! Thomas has asked him to play on Sunday. Bring Rachel, he said. Thomas 'All Souls' Aubry, gentleman, corinthian at heart, and half French yet more English than a true-born.

He mumbled words against her lips, too low for her to hear, but she imagined she got a strong impression of what he wanted to say, as he coaxed her lips apart, letting Scarlett taste the coolness of his tongue and the tips of his teeth as he grazed her lower lip. Every touch created colours she had never seen. Colours as soft as velvet and as sharp as sparks that turned into stars.

He pulled her up against him, his hands not the slightest bit gentle, and his body was hard and strong against her softness. "Let me give you a little demonstration of what I'm sparing you," he whispered against her mouth. She'd been kissed before. She'd fought Frederick Varienne's assaults, and her uncle's too fond salutes, and she had always thought she didn't like kissing. She was wrong. He put one hand behind her neck, his long fingers holding her head still, while his other arm encircled her waist. He lowered his mouth to hers, leisurely, brushing his lips against hers, back and forth, slowly, oh, so slowly. She wanted to push him away, she wanted to draw him closer, so instead she simply let her hands rest at her sides. As long as she didn't respond, didn't participate, there could surely be no harm in it. Besides, she didn't have much choice in the matter. If Killoran decided to kiss her, for whatever dark reasons, then kiss her he would. His thumb was stroking the side of her face. He was pressing his hand against the small of her back, so that her hips were thrust up against his, and she let her eyelids flutter closed as he just touched the surface of her lips, his brandy-flavored breath warming her. The sensation was disturbing and enchanting, and she wanted more of it.

Her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, but she could barely see her hand in front of her face. Just when she was about to rush back up the steps, a large, warm hand settled at her waist. She turned, giving a jolted whimper as Rothbury's lips settled atop hers. His mouth was hot, ravenous, intoxicating. She had no idea where his gloves had gone, but his hands were bare, sliding up and down her back, cupping her backside and holding her tightly to him. Charlotte groaned at his glorious siege of her senses. She wanted to touch him as well, only it took extreme concentration to do something as raise her arms. Gliding her hands up his strong arms and then his neck, she sunk her fingers into his thick hair at his nape, pressing herself closer to him, needing him to touch her more. He spun her around, pushing her back against the stone wall of the terrace. With a finger at her bottom lip, he easily coaxed her open, sinking his tongue inside to mate with hers. Surely, her bones were melting.

Her kiss was a good-bye and a promise and a dream.

Her heart checked for him. That night after Josh's funeral, he'd been the consummate listener. Just watching, taking her cues, waiting for her to open up about her pain, and not indulging in what must have been his own. Then she took advantage by eating his face off.

Her hand wandered under his shirt, feeling his rapid breath expand his ribs. She hesitated for a second—wondering what the chances were that either of her parents would come home early—then lifted his shirt with both hands, guiding it up his arms and over his head. It was her favourite indulgence; holding herself against his bare chest.

Her lips taste like mint from toothpaste or gum, or sometimes like cherries or grapes from her lip gloss. She's soft when I hold her, with curves where my hands rest, and when I touch her I think stupid caveman things like, mine and totally mine—oh yeah, and all mine.

Her mouth— ah, that lush, sweet mouth— was a garden, and I was on my back, face tipped in adoration to the sun for giving me such brilliance, delightful aromas, and the indescribable lightness of being with her.

He was acting like our kiss had broken him, and his reaction was breaking me.

He was more relaxed this time, more confident. He kept one hand on her waist and the other on the side of her neck. She wanted him to envelop her, to engulf her. She wanted to feel his body all around her, all over her. She wanted to get inside his clothes, inside his body and inside his mind. She wanted him, there was no doubt about it. There was no doubt about him wanting her either. His kisses were passionate and hungry but still had that carefulness about them, as if he worried she might break under his touch or evaporate into thin air. She was more concerned that the lack of his touch might make her implode.

He was talented, at an age when other boys were horrible kissers, just horrible and sloppy. I was fourteen then, and he was sixteen.

Hey. I've just thought of something which I shouldn't think about. Hey. Whoa, wait a minute. I feel like I'm thinking of even ore things I shouldn't. After all, I can't want, nor wish for it, because I'll never get it. Even though there's no way that guy's life will belong to me. Why am I this upset? We met more than ten years ago. But even on the day we first kissed, and the day we first slept together, somehow, he has never... told me he likes me, much less that he loves me. I've never said it either. And yet, I've only told him to stay by my side. I thought that was enough. I hate this. Why am I fixated on that man? I don't want to realise that now. That I want him to love me. I want him to love me. I want him to love me so much I could die.

His gaze settled on her mouth. “Have you been kissed before, inspector?” “Why?” If he wanted virgin lips, she’d claim to have serviced an army. “If it’s your first, I’ll do it differently.” “You won’t do it at all.” “Yes, I will.

Every time I tried kissing happiness, it came very close to me and then pushed me away.

Frickin' hit me with the speeding car, now. Take away my intense craving to force myself against him and taste his lips.

He pulled me closer until his lips breathed me in, until we were sharing one breath.

Here's the thing,' he said, his face strained. 'It's just that I've been treading really carefully around you and this whole Cordy thing all day, just like Mort told me to. And I had to make sure you saw her and were okay with it and got home safe — again, just like Mort told me to. And as much as I'd love to continue exploring the implications of Damning roadkill, the truth is' — he plunged his hands into his hair until it stuck up even more than usual — 'you've been back here in my presence for two agonizing hours now, and if we don't properly make out soon, I'm going to hurl myself off the roof.

He relented to the kiss and gave of himself what she required, his lips parting in symmetry with hers until the moment of realization collapsed.