Best 5910 quotes in «desire quotes» category

He handed the dust pan and brush over. I knew they wouldn’t be much use in cleaning the floor. I also knew the real reason he had given them to me: so he could look furtively at me, as I bent over. That idea turned me on. I welcomed it, and decided to give him a good look at what he wanted.

He is insatiable in love. His wife is a great cook.

He: I have this crazy yearning in my heart, to make you mine. She: Sure, go ahead and make me your bad habit!

He knew even at an early age of seven, how dangerous it was for someone like him to have hope. He knows how to have no expectations. He can completely control not just what he wants, but what he needs

He knows her like man knows earth, touching the surface but unaware of her depth.

He laughed and came forward impulsively to kiss her—his affection a potent thing, a flourish of light. She was smiling, her tears feeling fresh on her face. He smelled of sweat and roses. She felt it in the palms of her hands, in her loins. It was right. It was Southampton she had wanted all along.

He was still a mystery to me. And God, did I want to play Nancy Drew.

He lashed the belt against my ass again, and I was starting to feel like I was some supernatural being that was more than he was. He was just human, but I felt like something from heaven, an angel from the stars, that had come down to grace him with my presence. How beautiful lust is, when it makes you feel this way. Have you felt this yourself, do you know what I mean?

He looked at me like I was the stars when all I’d ever felt like was the dark nothingness between them.

He looks me right in the eye, and all of a sudden I want to kiss him. [...] I almost take a step forward, there’s that kind of draw. It’s almost spiritual. Does he feel it too? He looks at me like he does.

He longed for cleanliness and tidiness: it was hard to find peace in the middle of disorder.

He looked at me, and then looked away quickly. But I could tell he was interested. I think my tight t-shirt might have had something to do with it. And the way I was pushing my breasts towards him, with an inviting smile on my face.

He made what apology he could and hurried home, overjoyed that the satisfaction of his curiosity had preserved their love intact, and that, having feigned for so long, when in Odette's company, a sort of indifference, he had not now, by a demonstration of jealousy, given her that proof of the excess of his own passion which, in a pair of lovers, fully and finally dispenses the recipient from the obligation to love the other enough. He never spoke to her of this misadventure, he cased even to think of it himself. But now and then his thoughts in their wandering course would come upon this memory where it lay unobserved, would startle it into life, thrust it more deeply down into his consciousness, and leave him aching with a sharp, far-rooted pain.

He may be a nobody to you, but he is a somebody to me..

He needs little who desires but little.

He prayed for the day when he'd become her North Star, a trusted and true destination she longed for. He would then be awakened in the night and she would be there, not as an aberration but as safe a port as he had ever known and one he would never want to leave. He, in turn, would light her sky with a love she had never known, and would never need search for again.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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 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 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 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 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.