Best 221 quotes in «romantic comedy quotes» category

Dance, cher?” he asks, his blue eyes playful. I nod and he pulls me gently into his arms. He’s warm. We sway to the music and the gentle rocking of the boat. His hand rests on the small of my back, in that sweet spot that makes you feel feminine and protected and adored all at once.

Did you want to change into something more comfortable?” Adrian asks with a raise in his eyebrows, breaking me out of my train of thought, but not away from naughty thoughts. I smack his knee. “I'm comfortable, but I know you're not.” He doesn't mind dressing up, but on most days I see him in casual clothes like screen-printed tees and hoodies. “You're right,” he says, tapping my knee lightly, standing up. As he walks toward the hallway, he slips his shirt off the rest of the way. I can't look away from the sight, even if it is only from the back. Damn. What is happening to me? Have I gone mad? Before I can tear my eyes away from him, he turns around. Judging by the look in his eyes, I've been caught. I have so been caught. Damn again. I didn't want him to see me practically drooling. It's too late for that now. He smirks. “You know, I could spend the rest of the night just like this.” He places a hand to the hard muscles of his chest. I clear my throat, trying really hard not to imagine my hand in place of his, and say, “If I'm wearing clothes, you're wearing clothes.” “So if I'm not wearing clothes...” I grab a coaster from the coffee table and fling it at him. He catches it in his hand. “Just remember, all you have to do is say otherwise.

Everything melts away. All that I know is this kiss; all that I feel is his lips pressing into mine. I become dizzy from want, need, and the lack of oxygen. Our lips, our bodies, our souls, have always fit perfectly together—like two pieces of a puzzle. Alexia Grant More Layers

Excuse me, your attention please.” He waited until the whole floor had stopped what it was doing and turned to face him. For a split second his impulse control kicked in, but by then his mouth was fully engaged. “For the record, Claire Marsden and I are not having sex.

Facebook should start publishing breakup stories. 'So and so and so and so are no longer in a relationship.' With a tombstone next to it.

Fiona ritorna a Cape Love dopo undici anni, scrittrice di successo e con una bambina di dieci anni a carico... Quell’uomo era un coach, no?, quindi era normale che avesse un fisico coi fiocchi. Con un sospiro Fiona continuò la perlustrazione. Lo sconosciuto aveva anche de bei capelli castano chiari che si arricciavano appena sul collo, abbronzato e forte. Per un attimo, come in un déjas vu, ebbe la sensazione di aver accarezzato quei capelli, mentre quelle braccia forti la stringevano e quei fianchi stretti si muovevano contro di lei. Dentro di lei. Naaa. Solo un uomo, a CapeLove, l’aveva avuta, e quell’uomo – il fottutissimo bastardo di cui sopra - ora si trovava a Manhattan. Vide l’allenatore chinarsi verso Rachel ed ascoltarla con attenzione. Poi, con un senso di ansia crescente, lo seguì mentre si girava con lentezza impossibile e seguiva il punto che Rachel gli indicava con la mano. Quel punto era lei. Di colpo si sentì proiettata in avanti, senza cintura di sicurezza, come se il mondo all’improvviso si fosse fermato. Perché quello sconosciuto stava fissandola con due occhi blu che appartenevano ad un altro uomo? E perché aveva sul volto quell’ espressione sorpresa, immobile, come se il respiro non gli andasse né su né giù, esattamente come stava succedendo a lei?

For a long time we sit there not saying anything, enjoying the quiet of the bay and the occasional steamy knee bump.

Don’t you worry, darlin’,” he says, his intensely blue eyes full of mischief. “I like surprises

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

Drop the biggest mind bomb of all time,” she paused for suspense. “Ask him, ‘What are you thinking?

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.

For a split second, I wondered if he were some type of sexy sorcerer, who was able to remove my clothing by the force of his will alone. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on the buttons of his shirt, willing them to pop off. It didn’t work. Then again, it was pretty hard to focus while he was touching me, so maybe under different circumstances, I too could be a sexy sorcerer. Watch out world.

For a woman to be taken as seriously as a man she must be three times as effective. Happily, this is not difficult.--Simone de Beauvoir

Friendship matters first.

From the first touch of their hands to the first brush of their lips, Christopher and Ella’s love has transformed more and more each day.

Gentlemen do not carry a cane or a hat? No gloves?” “Gentleman may still wear them, but I’m afraid the problem is that there aren’t many left.

Ganteng bukan segalanya. Kau belum tahu saja, sewaktu-waktu dia bisa berubah menjadi monster yang mengerikan.

He held up his hand, and in it was... Oh, God. The neon-pink vibrator, glowing in the dark now. It was following her, stalking her, all the way down the yellow brick road to hell.

He pulled forth and waggled a leash. A leash. To go around her neck.

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!

Her insides began to roar with a ferocious explosion of sensation and entitlement. For a moment, her thinking mind know this was what male and females were put on earth to do.

He’s been a bit grumpy since Potato Day.’ She heard Gethin choke back a laugh. ‘He set up an all-day workshop on all things potato after reading up about successful winter events at other nurseries,’ she went on, unable to hide her own amusement. ‘It was a terrible failure. Hardly anyone turned up apart from our poet, Wilfie, who wrote a Potat-Ode to celebrate the occasion.

He smells like what I always imagine Bruce Wayne must smell like - a lot of money and a big, bad secret.

He shackled her with his hands, the press of his mouth ceaseless in its demands. She couldn't move, couldn't see, could barely breathe. Giving herself over to the fact that this was actually happening, that she wasn't misreading every cue in her stupid life, she ran her hands over the planes of his chest and settled more firmly against him.

He's reading a book called Great Warlocks of the 18th Century, and to get this ball rolling before Dean Devlin shows up and rains on our private parade, I snort and ask, "Good book?" I forget I'm pretending to be sitting behind my two-thousand-ninety-eight-page Highlights of Modern Chemistry book, so he snorts back. "Better than yours.

He shifts awkwardly, and I realize a few things: First, I’m still clinging to a stranger I fell into like an idiot. Second, before he moved, I think I felt something hard. Down there. Maybe. Third, I have cupcake all over my face.

...he's just so out-of-this-world. They don't make them like that anymore.

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.

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.

He was just drifting off when he heard her soft whisper. "Cooper?" "Still here." Maybe she'd changed her mind about the sheet. The thought made his body twitch. Yeah, she was going to toss that damn thing aside and roll toward him. She'd wrap that hot little bod tight to his, and he'd --- "Thank you." Breanne said very quietly. He blinked. "Thank you? He slid his hand down to cup himself. Still hard. Nope, he hadn't missed anything...

For her friends, Ella is a hero! She will do anything in her power to not leave a woman behind. A feminist who stands up bravely for women against the pile of narcissistic sperm affiliates who spend their whole lives scouting out for hilari uteri.

He couldn’t just come right out with it, could he? No, that would scare her off. He had to be subtle, build up to it. Explain himself. “I love you.” Of course, straight to the point was also an effective strategy.

His name is Richard Bingham and he’s an advertising executive at Bingham, Charles & Alexander. And yes, he is the Bingham in the title. He says, “I loved watching you eat your lunch. You really savored the flavors.” I am immediately mortified by his comment as I can only imagine what I must have looked like. I get an image in my head of a phone sex commercial for 1-800 eat-this. I grimace and beg, “Please tell me you were not watching me eat.” But he just smiles, “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. That’s why I brought the desserts over. I can die a happy man if you’ll just take one bite of each of them for me.

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.

His sisters had posters of Henney plastered all over their bedroom walls, had even established a man-beauty scale of one to Henney.

How my heart missed beating like this. For him. Only for him.

How ’bout you take this Cajun injector here,” I say, gripping the steel rod in his shorts, “and give me a shot of protein instead.

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.

I am going to ask her why, when I requested face-slimming, feathery layers à la Jennifer Aniston, she adorned me with a Lego head helmet à la no one since the 1960s.

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?

How can she take my 'no' seriously when my dick is saying, 'yes?

I don't suppose you have a rocket powered helicopter hidden in your bra?

I'd rather be stung to death by a bunch of piss ants. ~Synola Harper, You're Busting My Nuptials

I feel like I've been ironing all day in high heels and no brassiere. ~Tizzy Donovan, Laid Out and Candle Lit

If I call him back here," Cooper whispered in her ear, "will you crawl up my body again?

He gently takes the lead, and I trail behind him up the narrow spiral stairway at the back of the kitchen. His hand is warm, and holding it feels like the easiest thing in the world. Too easy. I’m going to get myself in trouble.

I blame Chennai. Pointless neighbourhood gossip travels faster than tsunami alerts around here. I know that aunties are a universal problem but this city is particularly aunty dominated. And by that, I mean, even many of our twenty-somethings act like aunties. Forgive the rant. Maybe I've lived here too long (and have therefore outgrown it) but I sincerely believe that Chennai has no business being called a metro. I mean, if a thirty-year-old single woman living alone while her parents are in the same city, is still such hot news, then maybe we need to graciously give up our metro status to someone more deserving. And since we have no qualms about lagging so far behind the times, maybe we should call ourselves retro.

I’d eat a picnic in Hades with him.

I didn't want to miss out on another second with this girl. Fuck everything. Fuck everyone. None of it mattered.

I don't get it. Why would you want to endure someone who squeezes the toothpaste the wrong way and deprives you of a simple pleasure every morning?