Best 875 quotes in «kiss quotes» category

I open my eyes. I want to know: what is in the abyss of a kiss? Are stars born in these black caves that house bated breaths and unspoken words? Do our souls crawl on these tender cheeks to greet one another by ivory gates? What happens when we kiss? Where do you go? Don’t tell me. For I have lost my desire to know. Kiss me so that I forget myself. I close my eyes and fall in the abyss.

I promised myself that we’d have this little air-clearing chat today without my tongue ending up in your mouth.

I pushed him against his Jeep, looked him dead in the eye and kissed him. He asked if he could come up, and I just walked up the steps and said, not yet. That was the moment I knew I loved him.

I pushed her shiny blond hair away from her face and leaned down, our faces only inches apart. She inhaled softly, our lips so close I could feel her breath and the scent of her skin, like honeysuckle in springtime. She smelled like sweet tea and old books, like she had always been here. I pulled my fingers through her hair and held it at the back of her neck. Her skin was soft and warm, like a Mortal girl's. There was no electric current, no shocks. We could kiss for as long as we wanted. If we had a fight, there wouldn't be a flood or a hurricane, or even a storm. I wouldn't find her on the ceiling of her bedroom. No windows would shatter. No exams would catch fire. Liv held up her face to be kissed. She wanted me.

I raise my face to his, ready for the crush of his lips against mine, wanting to share more than these nervous breaths.

I remember your shadow― those faded lines between the cracking clouds above― strained in hues of solitude― a simple kiss― against the night we forced among the stars― locked into places fashioned from old snapshots―

Iris gasped. Dyemore's mouth burned. Almost his entire weight had sagged against her- and he wasn't a small man- but it was the kiss that most startled her. He... She could taste him, the wine he must've drunk this morning, the scent of smoke in his hair, drifting about her face, the heat rolling off him in thick waves. He was so overwhelmingly large, so excruciatingly masculine. She'd been married. She'd been kissed before- of course she had- but it hadn't been like this. Nothing like this. It was as if everything that made her female was being awakened and called forth by everything male in him.

I said he kissed me. Really kissed me. It rocked me to my soul. It was brutal. It was brilliant. It was horrible. I thought I was going to die.

I said I would kiss you. I never said where I would kiss you." [...] "A kiss between two people is, by definition, on the lips," she argued. [...] "But this isn't about two people kissing. It's me kissing you.

Isaiah runs his hand through my hair, and every cell in my body vibrates with the gentle pull. “Rachel.” “Yes.” It’s hard to breathe. “Kiss me.” Isaiah doesn’t wait for my answer. Instead his lips meet mine and his arms wrap around my body. All the hesitancy I felt the first night we kissed evaporates like mist on the heels of a summer storm. Within seconds, our mouths open, and Isaiah slips his tongue against mine. I get lost, liking the way my body curves around his, liking the way my hands explore as if they have a mind of their own, and loving how Isaiah grips my hair while tracing my spine. Tingles and shock waves and earthquakes and hurricanes. All of it takes place at the same time as our mouths move not nearly fast enough. Nothing seems fast enough. The closer I become, the closer Isaiah presses, and the more he presses, the more I want to crawl inside and live in this delicious world of warmth and fantastic hunger. Isaiah hooks an arm around my waist, and I suck in a breath when he turns us and shifts me up against the door to his Mustang. My eyes widen and I stare up at him as he stares down at me. Our chests move in unison, as do our breaths. My fingers curl into the muscles of his arms, and I briefly close my eyes, loving how his body fits into mine.

I say, 'But he does not have you,' and I kiss her through the orchard gate. It's a kiss I have longed to take. A kiss that gently tugs at Astrid's seething power, at the wildness inside both of us. It's sweet and feels like a confession: I love her.

I see - Your bare skin Shining the sun of spring Your neck refreshed By an indolent breeze Your tangled hair Our lips shared I see - The ultimate landscape of your beauty.

I settled on the floor and whispered to Sam, “I want you to listen to me, if you can.” I leaned the side of my face against his ruff and remembered the golden wood he had shown me so long ago. I remembered the way the yellow leaves, the color of Sam’s eyes, fluttered and twisted, crashing butterflies, on their way to the ground. The slender white trunks of the birches, creamy and smooth as human skin. I remembered Sam standing in the middle of the wood, his arms stretched out, a dark, solid form in the dream of the trees. His coming to me, me punching his chest, the soft kiss. I remembered every kiss we’d ever had, and I remembered every time I’d curled in his human arms. I remembered the soft warmth of his breath on the back of my neck while we slept. I remembered Sam.

Is it always like that?" I ask, breathless. “No,” he says. “It's never like that.” I hear the wonder in his voice. And just like that, everything changes.

Is kissing you generally considered a joyful affair?" -

Is it true?” I ask him. “Is what true?” His eyes are the color of honey. These are the eyes I remember from my dreams. “That you still love me,” I say, breathless. “I need to know.” Alex nods. He reaches out and touches my face—barely skimming my cheekbone and brushing away a bit of my hair. “It’s true.” “But . . . I’ve changed,” I say. “And you’ve changed.” “That’s true too,” he says quietly. I look at the scar on his face, stretching from his left eye to his jawline, and something hitches in my chest. “So what now?” I ask him. The light is too bright; the day feels as though it’s merging into dream. “Do you love me?” Alex asks. And I could cry; I could press my face into his chest and breathe in, and pretend that nothing has changed, that everything will be perfect and whole and healed again. But I can’t. I know I can’t. “I never stopped.” I look away from him. I look at Grace, and the high grass littered with the wounded and the dead. I think of Julian, and his clear blue eyes, his patience and goodness. I think of all the fighting we’ve done, and all the fighting we have yet to do. I take a deep breath. “But it’s more complicated than that.” Alex reaches out and places his hands on my shoulders. “I’m not going to run away again,” he says. “I don’t want you to,” I tell him. His fingers find my cheek, and I rest for a second against his palm, letting the pain of the past few months flow out of me, letting him turn my head toward his. Then he bends down and kisses me: light and perfect, his lips just barely meeting mine, a kiss that promises renewal.

I squint my eyes and glare at him. “I don’t have a crush on Quinn anymore.” He raises a golden eyebrow. “No?” I shake my head. “No.” “Why is that?” I stare at him long and hard, trying to decide what to say. Should I be downright, painfully honest? I’ve always found that the best way to be, so I nod. “Two words.” He waits. “Dante. Giliberti.” I hear him suck in his breath and I smile. Sometimes, honesty is refreshing and so very worth it. “Me?” He sounds so surprised, as though he doesn’t know that he is practically a living breathing Adonis. I nod. “You.” He studies me again and I fight the need to fidget as I wait for his reaction. After a minute of nerve-wracking silence, he finally answers. “So, will you keep the bracelet?” I nod. “Can I kiss you again?” I nod. So he does.

I sure would like to get kissed. How would that feel on my mouth, How different would I be after, a changed climate down in my insides?

I take back what I said—come here with your unplaceable frustration, let me add it to my calendar of knife-like headaches, let me kiss you if I want for months at a time.

I think he wanted to kiss me." "What does that mean?" "I don't know." "Is it a form of attack?" "Uh… not really, I guess. Most witches probably like it." What is done during this… kiss? This time, Sanna's cheeks flared she turned away grateful that shadows had fallen. “You touch with your lips.” He snorted. "I cannot see the purpose." "Me either.

I think I finally understand the saying like a moth to a flame. I’m the moth. My heart flutters like the paper thin wings. And he is the flame, incendiary, scorching my soul. He inhales so heavily, like he’s been holding his breath under water. He presses his lips against mine and tugs at my hair gently. My head falls back and my mouth falls open. His tongue, slick as silver, dances with mine. I’m wrong. I’m not a moth. I’m Icarus and I’ve flown too close to the sun.

It is never just a kiss. It is the marriage of two minds that have decided they can stand each other‘s arrogance.

I think I fell in love with you that amazing night on the kitchen floor. Or maybe it was the evening you stepped up and set my arm." Testing things, he reached for her hand, and, to his joy, she glared, but she let him take it. "Or maybe the night I knew I loved you was when I kissed you under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve. It's hard to say because I look at you now and it seems to me there's never been a time when I didn't love you.

I thought he might kiss me as we sat shivering on the bank of the spring with our clothes soaked through and our feet dangling in the steaming water. We looked into each other's eyes the way I'd always imagined people did right before they leaned in closer and touched lips for the first time. But that was all we did. We looked at each other. Into each other. We were still clutching hands.

It is already dawn and you are not sleepy. The views are already glued; Tears streaming down your face. Thinking is in the man of your heart; on a day that he will call you to ask for your hand. You're an innocent girl who does not see malice. You think that everything is tale and wants it for your life. The signs of brilliance say it is love already. The smile in his eyes has already paralyzed you. Even though it is close the thought is distant; Look at your prince charming of elegant visual. In dreams it will become all real. He will come down from his beautiful sorrel, to ask for your hand. The first kiss is dream. The second is passion.

It made me giddy. It made me blush, worse than before. It was like liquor. It made me drunk. I drew away. When her breath came now upon my mouth, it came very cold. My mouth was wet, from hers. I said, in a whisper, 'Do you feel it?

It is wonderful, this whole business of tickling and kissing God every night.

It may not seem like much - a few kisses in the dark - but it was enough to burn a hole like an ulcer in my heart.

It's like this," Nana says. "All your life you're yellow. Then one day you brush up against something blue, the barest touch, and voila, the rest of your life you're green.

I try to tell myself that it isn’t him I’m attracted to. It was the thought of a stranger desiring me enough to kiss me with as much passion as he kissed me that day. That’s what I’m envious of. The idea of it all.

It's an innocent kiss at first. Soft lips meeting; a gentle pressure that creates a slow burn. The type of kiss you give to someone that means something. This isn't the type of kiss to be wasted on me.

It seared her senses; it made her feel alive, even as it sucked that life away - and she kept coming back to it, again and again. Waves of sensation pulled her under - drowning her. But Blue made drowning feel like the loveliest thing. Like she was losing her breath, but she didn't need it, didn't want it, only wanted him.

it's like kissing a boy, finally, a boy

I took her in my arms and kissed her. And thus in the midst of a city of wild conflict, filled with the alarms of war; with death and destruction reaping their terrible harvest around her, did Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, true daughter of Mars, the God of War, promise herself in marriage to John Carter, Gentleman of Virginia.

It’s all right now, Louisa: it’s all right, young Thomas,’ said Mr. Bounderby; ‘you won’t do so any more. I’ll answer for it’s being all over with father. Well, Louisa, that’s worth a kiss, isn’t it?’ ‘You can take one, Mr. Bounderby,’ returned Louisa, when she had coldly paused, and slowly walked across the room, and p. 18ungraciously raised her cheek towards him, with her face turned away. ‘Always my pet; ain’t you, Louisa?’ said Mr. Bounderby. ‘Good-bye, Louisa!’ He went his way, but she stood on the same spot, rubbing the cheek he had kissed, with her handkerchief, until it was burning red. She was still doing this, five minutes afterwards. ‘What are you about, Loo?’ her brother sulkily remonstrated. ‘You’ll rub a hole in your face.’ ‘You may cut the piece out with your penknife if you like, Tom. I wouldn’t cry!

It’s always a good kiss when it leaves you that happy.", FADE by Kailin Gow

It´s been over two years since someone else´s tongue has been inside my mouth, so I would assume I´d be a little more hesitant than I am. But the second he slides it against my lips, I immediately part them and welcome the warmth of a much deeper kiss.

it’s like . . . finding a book inside another book. A small treasure of a book hidden inside a big common one—like . . . spells printed on dragonfly wings, discovered tucked inside a cookery book, right between the recipes for cabbages and corn. That’s what a kiss is like, he thought, no matter how brief: It’s a tiny, magical story, and a miraculous interruption of the mundane.

It's okay, we can go back from this." It comes out of his mouth so kind - he means it - and it just makes me feel worse. That he can kiss me like this and change everything, but still promise me nothing has to change because I can't promise him anything.

It's the kind of kiss that ends with clothes on the floor and somebody getting dicked out up against the wall.

It's shocking, isn't it, that a kiss could have led to something so big and violent and full of light as a human being? It makes me dizzy to think of all the things that start that way. Whole families, whole countries, whole worlds. Isn't it strange how a whole life can begin with a little spark?

It’s the kind of kiss that makes you realize oxygen is overrated.

It's the truth." Her voice was barely more than breath. "I believe you." He was gently kissing his way along her jaw. "You came all this way to bring me a photo." "Yes." She said. "Well, I can..this morning..here bring it." He raised his head, "What?" She glared at him, "I can't talk when you're doing that." He grinned, dimples appearing. "Sorry. Say it again.

It was a kiss that had sneaked in through an open window, a kiss that lay folded in a paper giraffe, in the silences between 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, in the pits of the mini mangoes and here, now, at least, it was set free. And the rightness of it, the feeling of longing and belonging, made me want to hold on to it forever. I wanted Damian to keep kissing me, keep kissing, keep kissing, until every other kiss had been erased, until this was the only kiss.

I turned back to the shrike, but the beak of his mask grazed up my neck and warm lips brushed my ear. Thrills coursed through me, but I didn't move until he started away. I caught his hand. "Wait." He'd felt right. I knew who I needed him to be, even if the way we'd danced was not how- That kind of passion he reserved for music. Not me. A cold breeze made me shiver as I tightened my grip on his. Stepped closer. Searched his eyes. His lips tilted up at one corner, like amusement. I'd known, but still, the familiar expression stunned me so much I almost didn't act. I kissed him. Rather, I pressed my mouth against his and hoped he wouldn't run. It would probably kill me. Three long seconds and he only gasped and tightened his hands on my back. Then, with a soft moan, he opened his mouth and kissed me. It wasn't an easy, sweet kiss like I'd imagined my first would be, but frustraeted and hungry. That was good, better than easy and sweet, because after everything, I was frustrated and hungry for him, too. His beak scraped my cheek, but I ignored it while the tip of his tongue danced over my lips.

It was an earthshattering kiss, one that stole breaths, stopped hearts, and scared the shit out of me because it surfaced feelings I’d never felt before, ones that rendered me helpless.

It was a sin. Kissing a guy who wasn't betrothed to her was wrong in every way. Everyone knew that. It was haram. Forbidden. You would go to hell for that...

It was nice seeing you again," Pascal continued. He stood up, walked around the table, and gave me a little kiss on my left cheek. He stayed there for a bit, and my face burned so much I was sure his lips would singe from the molten heat of my blushing. Then he walked out the door. I couldn't move. I still sensed Pascal's stubble on my cheek, the smell of meat and toast from his skin. "What the hell was that?" I said to myself, my lips moving, but not a sound coming out. I ran over the entire interaction in my mind. Partly to make sure that I hadn't accidentally cheated on Elliott. And partly to relive Pascal's singular magic.

It was her eyes and my eyes and I felt a surging sensation of rightness, of saying the right thing at the right time to the right person.

It wasn’t the time and place. He oughtn’t to rush his fences. But she’d waved her arms, and that made her womanly parts jiggle and he could only keep one idea in his head at a time, and in any case, oughts never went down smoothly with him. He was who he was, and that wasn’t a good boy. And so down he went, and crushed her sulky little mouth under his.