Sexual Desires Quotes

“Self-control is a divided battle in one body. The "self" produces desires that "you" must battle with and kick off. Two wrestlers in one body. Just imagine. It's difficult, though rewarding!”
― Israelmore Ayivor

“He wanted more. Much more. He wanted Miss Fionna Hawkes beneath him, around him, above him, her slim, naked limbs twined with his. He ached with the need to feel himself rooted deep and hard, all the way to her womb.”
― Samantha James, The Seduction Of An Unknown Lady

“Drowning in guilt and fear and desire, she tried to push his caressing hand away from her throat. His fingers delved into her hair with a grip just short of painful. His mouth was close to hers. He was surrounding her, all the strength and force and maleness of him, and she closed her eyes as her senses went quiet and dark in helpless waiting. "I'll make you tell me," she heard him mutter.
And then she was kissing her.
Somehow, Beatrix thought hazily, Christopher seemed to be under the impression she would find his kisses so objectionable that she would confess anything to make him desist. She couldn't think how he had come by such a notion. In fact, she couldn't really think at all.
His mouth moved over hers in supple, intimate angles, until he found some perfect alignment that made her weak all over. She reached around his neck to keep from dropping bonelessly to the floor. Gathering her closer into the hard support of his body, he explored her slowly, the tip of his tongue stroking, tasting.
Her body listed more heavily against his as her limbs became weighted with pleasure. She sensed the moment when his anger was eclipsed by passion, desire changing to white-hot need. Her fingers sank into his beautiful hair, the shorn locks heavy and vibrant, his scalp hot against her palms. With each inhalation, she drew in more of his fragrance, the trace of sandalwood on warm male skin.
His mouth slid from hers and dragged roughly along her throat, crossing sensitive places that made her writhe. Blindly turning her face, she rubbed her lips against his ear. He drew in a sharp breath and jerked his head back. His hand came to her jaw, clamping firmly.
"Tell me what you know," he said, his breath searing her lips. "Or I'll do worse than this. I'll take you here and now. Is that what you want?"
As a matter of fact ...”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Think about touching you again, tasting you. I go to sleep with your name on my tongue and your scent on my skin."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move, ensnared by the urgent pulse of his words.
"I wake up hard and aching, remembering how your sweet little nipple rose for me. Think about how I want to suck it again, fucking feast on you."
We stared at each other, heat and tension coiling between us like a living thing, tugging at my nipples, stealing my breath. His chest rose and fell in agitation, color washing over the sculpted crests of his cheeks.
I wanted. I wanted so badly.
He swallowed audibly. "You haunt me, Emma. Every damn thing about you does."
My fingers curled into a fist as blood rushed through my veins. "I think about you too. I've seen you bare but never got to touch. I want to."
Lucian grunted an agonized sound of want.
My words came out breathless. "I think about it at night, when I'm alone."
He closed his eyes, as though absorbing a hit. When they opened, the frosty green turned bright. "You don't know what that does to me, honey."
"Tell me."
A lock of his inky hair fell over his brow as he turned his head with a jerk, giving me his strong profile. "I feel owned. By you. And I like it."
I exhaled as my insides dipped.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“She leaned forward, her expression determined. "Do you mean to sleep with me tonight?"
He looked at her.
She was like a dog that would not leave a bone. She sat across from him in his mother's old yellow dress- the same dress she'd worn ever since he'd risen from his sickbed. He couldn't wait to clothe her in brocades and velvets. To present her with everything she deserved as his duchess.
Now her rose-pink lips were pressed into a line as she awaited his answer, her brows drawn together. She watched him very seriously.
And dear God, he wanted to kiss her. To pull her from her chair and taste her sweet mouth again. To make love to her until she gasped and panted.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“He could see her breasts lift and fall gently with her breathing. She'd thrown off her blanket. He watched now. Feeling like an adolescent. Just as ridiculous, just as enthralled.
He imagined going to her, lying next to her on the bed, pulling her into his arms, waiting for her to stir awake. He imagined the feel of the fine, fragile fabric of the night rail against his hands---it would be warm, fragrant from her--- and the whisper of sound it would make as it slid over her body when he lifted it from her. He imagined his hands gliding over the curve of her shoulders and hips; over the petal skin of her breasts, and her softer-still nipples. He imagined her lithe body rippling beneath his touch as he discovered her again, and thoroughly this time, he imagined his mouth finding, tasting every bit of her, the hollow of her belly, the musk between her legs, her soft cries of pleasure as he did. He imagined the slow final taking of her, moving inside her as she clung to him---
Oh, God.
He wanted. He wanted. He wanted.”
― Julie Anne Long, Beauty and the Spy