Best 40 quotes in «sexual attraction quotes» category

I’ve put my life to risk for others ever since I joined the Army. It’d be a nice change to risk my life for something I want for me.” His humorless face smolders. “I crave you.

He watched her retreating form, his sinful mind fixating on her small, pleasantly rounded bottom, which had a wiggle that was definitely unintentional, but quite engaging. Apparently deeming it safe to come out again, his stallion, Petruchio, came out from hiding. The beast nudged Rothbury in the back, breaking his concentration. "I beg your pardon," he muttered to the horse. "I do not have the attention span of a butterfly when it comes to women.

His clean skin had a sweet earthy scent, like ripe roasted breadfruit, or warm oiled saddle leather. It was an evocative fragrance that rambled through her blood, at once comforting and licentious.

His duchess rode like a woman born to the saddle, moving gracefully with the horse. Here, on the riding path in Green Park, her smooth mask of serenity slipped, and she became a woman saturated in bliss. It was as if the wind in her face and the great beast beneath her made her forget who she wished to be- and instead made her who she was. Remington wanted her to look like that for him, too. He wanted her to rise and fall above him, her face absorbed in pleasure, as she took him inside her again and again...

Girls and guys, don't let anyone tell you who and what you should be into.

He made her feel out of kilter, wholly off-balance. The other night in his arms, it had felt so good to lean on him, if only for a while. To forget the load she had borne for so long now. And she could see it, God help her, she could, an erotic vision that ran through her mind, filled her world; her hands running over his shoulders- dark and burnished as his face. His form, long and muscular and naked, all fluid masculinity as he raised himself above her. Heat seemed to gather at the place between her thighs. Her breasts were swelling, as if her nipples sought to stab through every layer of stiff, starched cloth. She knew that if she looked down- there would be no hiding the sight of her nipples standing pebbled and hard beneath her gown. She wanted to clamp her hands over them; better still, she wanted him to clamp those strong, masculine hands over them both and...

His aggravation was soothed by the sight of Sophia's serene face, the dark lashes screening her blue eyes as she concentrated on her task. Remembering the sweet fire of her response, Ross felt a glow of triumph. Despite her fears, she had been willing to let him make love to her. He would not press the issue now, not until he was well again. But then... oh, then...

His head bent over hers; she could feel the rush of his unsettled exhalations. The hairs on his chest were not flat and straight, but softly curling. She wanted to brush her nose and lips across them. He smelled of soap, male skin, clean earth and meadow grass, and every breath of him made her feel warm in places that hadn't been warm in years. When the placket was finally unfastened, Mr. Ravenel raised his arms and let the shirt settle over his head, wincing as the neat row of stitches at his side was strained. Phoebe reached up to tug at the hem of the garment. Her knuckles inadvertently grazed the dark fleece on his chest, and her stomach did an odd little flip. From the surface of her skin down to the marrow of her bones, her entire body was alive with sensation.

It had been too long since he had bedded a woman. Sir Ross Cannon could think of no other explanation for his reaction to Sophia Sydney... a response so powerful that he was forced to sit behind his desk to conceal a sudden, uncontrollable erection. Perplexed, he stared intently at the woman, wondering why her mere presence was enough to ignite such raging heat inside him. No one ever caught him off guard this way.

On the drive to Paris, Michelle barely drew breath, speaking to her uncle about her holiday and pointing out landmarks to Delta. Secretly, Delta was relieved. She needed time to acclimatize to the potent force that was Édouard Valois. Sitting beside him in the front of the black Mercedes-Benz, she was all too aware of his presence: his sheer size, his stunning profile, his elegant hands upon the steering wheel deftly controlling the luxury machine, his dynamic and intriguing personality. He was living, breathing masculine perfection.

Love at first sight is a myth, but thundering sexual attraction at first sight is hard science.

Mina’s mouth dropped open, and he bent his head as if to kiss her. She jammed her gun barrel under his chin. He grinned.

Miss Sydney-" "Sir Ross," she interrupted, standing and bracing her hands on his desk. Her high-necked dress revealed nothing as she leaned toward him. However, if she had been wearing a low décolletage, her breasts would have been presented to him like two succulent apples on a tray. Stimulated unbearably by the thought, Ross forced himself to focus on her face. Her lips curled in a faint smile. "You have nothing to lose by letting me try," she pointed out. "Give me a month to prove my worth." Ross stared at her intently. There was something manufactured about her display of charm. She was trying to manipulate him into giving her something she wanted- and she was succeeding. But why in God's name did she want to work for him? He realized suddenly that he could not let her go without discovering her motives. "If I fail to please you," she added, "you can always hire someone else." Ross was known for being a supremely rational man. It would be impractical for him to hire this woman. Stupid, even. He knew exactly what the others at Bow Street would make of it. They would assume that he had hired her because of her sexual appeal. The uncomfortable truth was, they would be right. It had been a long time since he had been so strongly attracted to a woman. He wanted to keep her here, to enjoy her beauty and intelligence, and to discover if she returned his interest. His mind weighed the scruples of such a decision, but his thoughts were eclipsed by male urges that refused to be quelled. And for the first time in his magisterial career, he ignored reason in favor of desire.

Naked, Aidan watched from the bed with smoldering eyes. He grinned. "But come tame this monster first!

I wasn’t giving this guy an inch. He disturbed me. I didn’t like things that disturbed me, which is why I was licensed to shoot most things that disturbed me. Unfortunately, humans were not on the list and sexual attraction was not considered a valid reason to shoot someone.

Now, had he the dressing of her- and why should he not?- he would put her in reds- rose and scarlet and deep, sensual crimson. Those dark inquisitor's eyes would burn from a foil of crimson cloth, mysterious, feminine. Beautiful. He was startled at the thought. Plain Mrs. Crumb beautiful? Well, most might not think her so, but oh, if she burned-

She couldn't help stealing a covert glance at the exposed part of his torso, the flesh so firm and tanned it appeared to have been cast in bronze. Lower down near his hip, the satiny brown skin merged into a line of ivory. The sight was so intriguing- and intimate- that she felt her stomach tighten pleasurably. Leaning over him as she was, she couldn't help breathing in the dusty, sweaty, sun-heated scent of him. A stunning urge seized her, to touch that brown-and-white borderline with her fingertip, trace a path across his body.

Physical attraction did its part to glue them together, but something stronger than sexual attraction sealed the bond. When men and women grow apart, it is for the same reason they are drawn together; because they are finally, inherently too different. Friendships among women, on the other hand, were burdened by similarity.

She enticed him. She intrigued him. By heaven, she entranced him. A woman, he thought again. Aidan hadn't been convinced, yet maybe Alec was right. Perhaps a woman was just what he needed. But he rather suspected this prickly chit wasn't what either of them had in mind. No, he strongly suspected, Miss Fionna Hawkes was not the kind of woman with whom one had a hot, torrid affair. Yet there was no denying that desire that scalded his veins like fire. He wanted her, the lovely Miss Fionna Hawkes. Around him. Beneath him. Atop him... he didn't care how. And that certainly shocked him, as much as he was sure it would shock the fetchingly lovely Miss Hawkes.

She loved watching him eat, as she always loved watching someone enjoy her flavors. But this was also very different. She could hear him breathing and making involuntarily sounds of enjoyment while he chewed and swallowed. It was primal, and she was intrigued, watching him lose control and give in to that.

Sure enough, he saw Kat in the distance, wearing a red coat with a fur-lined collar, trudging through the snow at a leisurely pace. Immediately, he made plans to buy her at least two other outfits in that startling shade. It brought out the soft pink in her skin and the dark midnight of her hair. Perhaps a nightgown in red. Red satin that he could peel off her shoulders... His body clenched with need as hot blood moved to the most uncomfortable places. She inspired such strong reactions in him. Such outrageous desires.

Sophia resumed her seat, the light sliding gently over her rich brown hair. "You don't look the way I expected, either," she informed him. Ross arched a brow in sardonic inquiry. "Oh?" "I thought you would be a portly old gentleman with a wig and a pipe." That drew a brief laugh from him, low and scratchy, and he realized that it had been a long time since he had made such a sound. For some reason he could not help asking, "Are you disappointed to find otherwise?" "No," she said, sounding a bit breathless. "No, I am not disappointed." The temperature in the office rose to a blistering degree. Ross could not help wondering if she found him attractive. He would soon be forty, and he looked his age. Threads of silver had begun to appear in his black hair. Years of relentless work and little sleep had left their mark, and the reckless pace of his life had left him almost rawboned.

She moved to push past him. When he did not move, she stopped, unwilling to touch him. A pity. The memory of the warmth of her gloved hand on his cold cheek flashed. Apparently her behavior outside had been the product of surprise. And pleasure. He wondered what else he might do instinctively in response to pleasure. An image flashed- blond hair spread wide across dark, silken sheets, ice blue eyes alight with surprise as he gave prim, proper Penelope a glimpse of dark and heady pleasure. He'd nearly kissed her in the darkness. It had started out as a way to intimidate her, to begin the systematic compromising of quiet, unassuming, Penelope Marbury. But he did not deny that as they stood in his barren kitchen, he wondered what she would taste like. How her breath would sound fluttering across his skin. How she would feel against him. Around him.

She nestled against him, already limp and relaxed. With a tremulous little sigh, she curled her fist against his chest. Aidan had to force himself to relax. He held himself very still, tempering the desire that churned and clamored in his chest, twisting and turning restlessly. He was still shocked by it, by its strength, its persistence, for it grew more rousing with every moment spent with her.

Sometimes you want to stay with someone, not only because it's magic and it's promising and it feels like home; but sometimes you find someone and you want to stay with him (or her)—because you're the same kind of animal.

Sophia left the bedside and moved about the room, quietly straightening articles on the washstand, folding discarded cloths and towels. Ross watched her with predatory intensity, thinking of what he would do to her, when he had recovered his strength. Surely she had no idea about the turn of his thoughts, or she would not be quite so calm.

Tangled up in sheets and pillows, Charlotte scrambled rearward on her back using her elbows and heels. But the earl was too quick- even with the blindfold still in place. "Oh, no, you don't," he said with dark amusement. He crawled stealthily toward her, like a stalking panther, his tousled dark blond locks completely loose and hanging in his face. "You're not going anywhere until I find out who you are." The muscles of his chest rippled with his movements. For a second Charlotte felt paralyzed by her fascination. He was mesmerizing. Hesitating, she had to remind herself to keep moving backward, for some wicked part of her wanted to do nothing more than wait for him to catch her.

And then, of course, there was the sari itself. What a garment, Randy! There isn’t another outfit in the world that balances better the twin feminine urges to conceal and reveal. It outlines the woman’s shape but hides the faults a skirt can’t — under a sari a heavy behind, unflattering legs are invisible. But it also reveals the midriff, a part of the anatomy most Western women hide all the time. I was mesmerized, Randy, by the mere fact of being able to see her belly button when she walked, the single fold of flesh above the knot of her sari, the curve of her waist toward her hips. That swell of flesh just above a woman’s hipbone, Randy, is the sexiest part of the female anatomy to me. And I didn’t even have to undress her to see it. I was completely smitten.

The best sex and the most satisfying sex are not the same. I have had great sex with men who were intimate terrorists, men who seduce and attract by giving you just what you feel your heart needs then gradually or abruptly withholding it once they have gained your trust. And I have been deeply sexually fulfilled in bonds with loving partners who have had less skill and know-how. Because of sexist socialization, women tend to put sexual satisfaction in its appropriate perspective. We acknowledge its value without allowing it to become the absolute measure of intimate connection. Enlightened women want fulfilling erotic encounters as much as men, but we ultimately prefer erotic satisfaction within a context where there is loving, intimate connection. If men were socialized to desire love as much as they are taught to desire sex, we would see a cultural revolution. As it stands, most men tend to be more concerned about sexual performance and sexual satisfaction than whether they are capable of giving and receiving love.

The line of Miss Eversea's spine seemed positively 'alive' with... something. Outrage? Horror? Hilarity? He noticed the very fine line of hair traveling up the fragile nape of her neck, and something about that intimate little trail made the back of his own neck tingle as though she'd brushed her fingers there. Something entirely unexpected was happening in the region of his solar plexus.

Then, as she twisted to the right, she revealed her talking partner. I literally broke step, my body deciding before my brain that my presence would not be needed in their interaction. Carol was gorgeous. A tall, confident, amazon of a woman. The lines of her gold lamay dress skimming every curve of her body. She was clearly not wearing underwear. She looked like a glossy magazine perfume ad. And this man was her magazine equal. He was perfect. Tall. Substantial. He looked muscular without giving the impression that he worked out. Maybe he was a rower. Or it could be tennis. Maybe he chopped down trees. Yes, he'd be very good at chopping trees down. I remember feeling an unnaturally strong desire to watch him do that.

There, on a spindle-legged chair positioned against the far wall under the warm glow of the twin sconces, Lord Rothbury, blindfolded with his own cravat, his hands tied together, secured behind the back of the chair. In vain, she tried to swallow, only it felt as if her throat had been doused with sand. Good Lord! Why on earth was he tied up? His shirt lay open, displaying the tawny skin of his broad chest, his flat nipples, and the sparse golden hairs that brushed the plane of his muscled stomach. Her greedy eyes remained fastened on that sleek, bare stomach, mesmerized by the rise and fall of each breath he took. A voice in the back of her mind told her she should look away. After all, he was sin embodied. But what a sight he was for her starved eyes. His dark blond locks lay in splendid disarray and he gave his head a quick jerk, tossing away the hair that fell across his forehead. He was unsuccessful, the silky strands sliding back into their former position. He blew out his frustration with a low growl.

Troubled, she nudged the frayed muslin curtain aside to gain a better view of his office window. As if he could somehow feel Sophia's gaze, Sir Ross turned and glanced directly at her. Although there was no lamp or candle burning in her room, the moonlight was sufficient to illuminate her. He could see that she was dressed only in the fragile night rail. Being a gentleman, Sir Ross should have turned away immediately. But he stared at her intently, as if he were a hungry wolf and she were a rabbit that had ventured too far from the warren.

Upon reaching her, he stilled, bewildered by her beauty. She wore a light blue gown with short cap sleeves and a plunging bodice; a band of lace stretched across the top was meant to disguise her bosom, but only served to tease him. Another narrow band of lace was wrapped around her delicate throat, and her golden locks had been swept up neatly. Tiny pearls had been tucked here and there within the curls piled atop her head. She looked elegant and refined and... and all he wanted to do was strip her naked and lick her from top to bottom.

We have all made mistakes." "Not you, surely." That elicited a wry smile from him. "Especially me." Her blue eyes were alert. "What kind of mistakes?" The question amused him. He liked her for her fearlessness, as well as the layer of vulnerability beneath. "None that you need to know about, Miss Sydney." She smiled slowly. "Then I remain skeptical as to your having made any." It was the kind of smile a woman might wear in the sultry aftermath of lovemaking. Very few women possessed such effortless sensuality, a natural warmth that made a man feel like a prize stallion on a stud farm.

What if you married again?" Sophia asked, held prisoner by his vivid silver gaze. "Wouldn't you worry about your wife's fidelity?" "No." "Why not?" "Because I would keep her so busy in my bed that she would have neither the time nor the inclination to seek another man's company." The words caused an odd quiver to shoot through Sophia's belly. It was an admission of nothing less than an all-consuming sexual appetite. It conformed everything she had learned about him so far. Sir Ross was not a man to do anything by half measures. Before she could stop herself, Sophia imagined what it might be like to lie tangled with him in intimacy, his mouth at her breasts, his hands moving gently over her body. Her face flamed with a mixture of embarrassment and awareness. "Forgive me," he said softly. "I should not have spoken so frankly." Another surprise- Sophia had never encountered a man from any walk of life who would lower himself to apologize to an employee, much less to a female one. "It was my fault," she managed to say. "I should not have asked such personal questions. I don't know why I did." "Don't you?" His gaze snared hers again, and the hot flicker in his eyes made it difficult for her to breathe. Sophia had been trying to discover more about his character and the workings of his heart. It was all for the purpose of manipulation, of course. All part of her quest to make him fall in love with her. Unfortunately, she was finding it difficult to ignore a growing attraction to the man she planned to hurt. She wanted to remain cool and uninvolved when they finally shared a bed. However, there were so many seductive qualities about him: his intelligence, his compassion for vulnerable creatures, the raw need beneath his self-controlled facade.

When selecting a one-night stand, a heterosexual woman who is materialistic is a trillion times more likely to choose a sexually unattractive poor man who seems rich over a sexually attractive rich man who seems poor.

after I hit puberty, it was like a switch inside me flipped, and instead of becoming a testosterone-driven sex monster like most of the guys in my school, I failed to find anyone I wanted in my life in that way.

A ring around the finger does not cause a nerve block to the genitals.

As her gentle voice continued, Rhys had the sensation of floating, the red tide of fever easing. How strange and lovely it was to lie here half dozing in her arms, possibly even better than fucking... but that thought led to the indecent question of what it might be like with her... how she might lie quietly beneath him while he devoured all that petal softness and vanilla sweetness... and slowly he fell asleep in Lady Helen's arms.