Best 5910 quotes in «desire quotes» category

He pulled my head back further, and I could hear his ragged breathing as his mouth came close to my ear, sounding so desperate for me. God, I was turned on so much…

He once had lips as cold as stone and a heart that equally matched, but I had managed to warm him up and now all I could sense was his need for me.

her dream of becoming a nurse was no ordinary yearning : it was the product of a desire as richly and completely imagined as a novel or a poem. It recalled for him what it meant to be driven to better yourself, to lay claim to a wider world.

Her beauty was enough to get her into most any situation she desired and her tongue—sharp and venomous—was enough to get her out again.

Her endless, futile attempts to make her feelings known fell on stony ground. Slowly she retreated into the darkness where her dreams became reality and reality faded into the deep recesses of her soul....

Here powers failed my high imagination: But by now my desire and will were turned, Like a balanced wheel rotated evenly, By the Love that moves the sun and the other stars.

Here we are, at the place where I get to beg for it. Where I get to say ‘Please, for just one night, will you lay down next to me? We can leave our clothes on, we can stay all buttoned up?’ But we both know how it goes – I say I want you inside me and you hold my head underwater. I say I want you inside me and you split me open with a knife.

Her first instinct was to look away, to shield her wicked thoughts and feelings from his penetrating gaze. But if ever there was a time for truth between a man and a woman, this was that time. She met his eyes steadily and didn't care whether he saw the abandon and bliss she felt. His face held a cross between the wonder of a boy on Christmas morn and the knowing look of a man who was exquisitely aware of what wicked things he was doing to her. He enslaved her with pleasure, and she had no defense. Her cheeks heated, and her breath hitched, but she couldn't look away. He might stop, and she didn't think she could bear it if he did. Instead, she moved. Just a little, so his finger would brush her sensitive tip. A jolt of longing shot through her body from her breast to her womb. "Merciful God!" she breathed. "Aye, lass, and 'tis a good thing He is," Rob said with a wicked grin, "for I am no' merciful in the slightest.

Her half-closed eyes were moist and tremulous and languid with desire. I began to drink love from them with thirsty kisses; which revived her spirits a litle.

Her lips found his and a stab of exquisite desire shot through him. This is what he's been waiting for all this time. Not a stolen embrace. A gift, freely given. One that he would keep forever in some small part of his soul.

Her steel blue eyes captivated him at first glance and along with the alluring scent of jasmine surrounding her presence, he lost all sense of time and rhythm, and barely remembered the ensuing conversation. Thinking he had died and gone to heaven, the only thing that stuck in his memory, as they found themselves pressed urgently against the wall of her hotel room, was her name; Ginny.

He says "You are my property" and I feel relieved. After all, no one wishes to shatter what he owns.

He sees those tears in your eyes. He knows the desire of your heart. And you will hear from Him-just in time to take the next step.

He walked the beach the same as before, a single set of footprints praying for the Sun to rise. The whispering Ocean assured him it would all come, a promise to rise and wipe the memories away.

He took the woman from her bed, pretending not to notice the question posed in his mind: Why do you always experiment on women? He didn't care to admit that the inference had any validity. She just happened to be the first one he's come across, that was all. What about the man in the living room, though? For God's sake! he flared back. I'm not going to rape the woman! Crossing your fingers, Neville? Knocking on wood? He ignored that, beginning to suspect his mind of harboring an alien. Once he might have termed it conscience. Now it was only an annoyance. Morality, after all, had fallen with society. He was his own ethic. Makes a good excuse, doesn't it, Neville? Oh, shut up.

He wanted to live life to the extreme, but without any mess or complications. He wanted to live life in such a way that if a photograph were taken at random, it would be a cool photograph. Things should look right. Fun; there should be a lot of fun and no more sadness than absolutely necessary.

He was a late night shot of bourbon the taste of him left me burning with mouth on fire body full of desire.

He was an erotic necessity, clad in denim...

He was discovering that even hatred died a little at the end. But it still lasted longer than desire, longer even than love.

He wants the minute and secret reflection between them, the depth of field minimal, their foreignness intimate like two pages of a closed book.

He was hers. To have and hold. Not forever, maybe--not forever, for sure--and not figuratively. But literally. And now. Now, he was hers. And he wanted her to touch him. He was like a cat who pushes its head under your hands.

He was my addiction and once I got that taste of him I wouldn’t want to stop even if I was getting eaten alive with guilt for doing it. - Taylor First, The Tutor by Kailin Gow

He was no god, just an artist; and when an artist is a man, he needs a woman to create like a god.

He was on the verge of obtaining his heart‘s dream, perhaps; a more alarming prospect than the verge of one‘s own death. For after all death, whatever else it may be when it comes to us, is not going to be a disappointment.

He was impressed by her stillness. Her calm willingness to allow him such liberties. To reward her, he leaned forward, just enough so he could press his lips to her shoulder. Touching the tip of his tongue to her skin, he reveled in the sound of her breath catching with pleasure. She tasted salty and sweet. Innocent. Pure. A delicate shudder passed through her, and she turned her head toward him. Her lips were parted and swollen, as though she'd been worrying them with her teeth. The thick drift of her lashes was still lowered over her gaze. "My lord?" she said in a whispered plea. "Do you enjoy the feel of my hands on your body?" "Yes." He kept one hand pressed to her lower back as he stepped around to her side, where he could better observe her full reactions. His other hand slid over her hip and across the gentle curve of her belly. Her body quivered. "Are you afraid?" he asked as he moved to cup her full breast in his hand. "Yes," she replied in a weakened voice. Her spine softened, and her chin lowered by a fraction. "But I love the way you frighten 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 looking at her with that intense blazing gaze – the one that made her feel she was the only woman in the world. Oh God, don’t let him get to her. She’d tried to raise her defences against him, but he was so very attractive – almost irresistible. It would be easy to admit defeat…

He was not the strongest, the quickest, or the most talented, not by any measure. He knew this and knew he could not control this. However, he could control his effort, the work he put in, and there he would not be beaten.

He was so close to her then that they owned every molecule of air in the tiny room and the air grew heavy with their desire and worked to move them together.

He was the kind of man I wanted: wild, hot, horny, and losing control. And it all pointed back to me, about how much I felt in control of him, with the power of my body.

He was the kind of man I wanted: wild, hot, horny, and losing control. And it all pointed back to me, about how much I felt in control of him, with the power of my body. I felt so in control of him; it was dizzying, and intoxicating.

He who wishes for anything but Christ, does not know what he wishes; he who asks for anything but Christ, does not know what he is asking; he who works, and not for Christ, does not know what he is doing.

High heels evoke a sensuality in a woman.

His entire presence was like gravity, impossible to forget, possible to believe in, a theory merged into a law.

His eyes are open, watching my flushed face, my ragged breathing. I try to stop myself from making embarrassing noises. It’s more intimate than the way he’s touching me, to be looked at like that. I hate that he knows what he’s doing and I don’t. I hate being vulnerable. I hate that I throw my head back, baring my throat. I hate the way I cling to him, the nails of one hand digging into his back, my thoughts splintering, and the single last thing in my head: that I like him better than I’ve ever liked anyone and that of all the things he’s ever done to me, making me like him so much is by far the worst.

His dreamscape sent a tongue of fire across my flowers.

His gaze drops to my lips. I want to kiss him, and it’s getting harder and harder to remember why I shouldn’t. But when he shifts, my immediate reflex is to break the connection and turn away.

His hands fell to my hips, and his fingers dug through my rain-drenched clothes.

His new friends did not, perhaps, realize the overpowering effect of the sudden change upon this northernbred man; the effects of the moonlight and the soft trade-wind, the life of love which surrounded him here. Love whispered to him vaguely, compellingly. It summoned him from the palm fronds, rustling dryly in the continuous breeze; love was telegraphed through the shy, bovine eyes of the brown girls in his estate-house village; love assailed him in the breath of the honey-like sweet grass, undulating all day and all night under the white moonlight of the Caribbees, pouring over him intoxicatingly through his opened jalousies as he lay, often sleepless, through long nights of spice and balm smells on his mahogany bedstead—pale grass, looking like snow under the moon. The half-formulated yearnings which these sights and sounds were begetting were quite new and fresh in his experience. Here fresh instincts, newly released, stirred, flared up, at the glare of early-afternoon sunlight, at the painful scarlet of the hibiscus blooms, the incredible indigo of the sea—all these flames of vividness through burning days, wilting into a caressing coolness, abruptly, at the fall of the brief, tropic dusk. The fundament of his crystallizing desire was for companionship in the blazing life of this place of rapid growth and early fading, where time slipped away so fast. ("Sweet Grass")

His Lips

His proximity, that damn smile, just makes me hot in all the right places, but also pissed as hell. I don’t know if I should knee him in the balls or hump his leg like a bitch in heat.

Hoe krijg je intimiteit in taal? Hoe wordt de roman die ook een film is toch weer een roman met alle typisch romanachtige kanten ervan? En hoe krijg je léven in die roman? Er moet een relatie zijn tussen taal en het andere; de wereld van vlees en bloed daarbuiten. Die laatste kant had ik misschien te weinig ontwikkeld. Ik word tegenwoordig soms zo overvallen door de gekste emoties, of liever gezegd: door verlangen naar die emoties.

Holiness has to do with more than mere acts. Our motives must be holy, that is, arising from a desire to do something simply because it is the will of God. Our thoughts should be holy, since they are known to God even before they are formed in our minds.

Holy Christ, how Win devastated him. He had starved for her for so long, dreamed of her so many nights, and woken to many bitter mornings without her at first he hadn't believed she was real. He thought of Win's lovely face, and the softness of her mouth against his, and the way she had arched beneath his hands. She had felt different, her body supple and strong. But her spirit was the same, radiant with the endearing sweetness and honesty that had always pierced straight to his heart. It had taken all his strength not to go on his knees before her.

Hope can be foolish or misguided, but there was no such thing as false hope. Hope was always true even when there was no evidence to support its claim.” - Liam

Hope and desire, All unfulfilled, Have more than rope And hangman killed.

Hope may seem frail. But in the face of adversity, hope can be our strongest ally.

Hope strengthens desire and love strengthens confidence.

How can I use these [romantic] desires to love him, to serve him as a brother in Christ...

How beautiful it is to replace the world inside us with someone else’s reality. The way we allow someone to look into our deepest fears and desires, our treasured secrets, our worst nightmares and our most beautiful dreams, without any hesitations. The way we give away everything that could destroy us completely to our last bit, and tear us off into uncountable pieces. And yet we sit there, expecting them to carve the most beautiful memories of our life that we could carry to our graves.