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Famous Julie Anne Long Quotes

“I don't know,' he said irritably. 'Is it meant to improve you?' She swiveled toward him, eyes wide with shock. 'Because nothing could,' he added. Her mouth dropped in astonishment. Blotchy scarlet rushed her complexion. One would have thought he'd shot her. Oh dear God! He realized belatedly how wrong it had sounded. 'No! God... that is to say.. nothing is necessary to improve you. Nothing could possibly make you better... than you already are.”

FunnyWrongHilarious
Book:How the Marquess Was Won
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“He leaned back on his hands. And then idly turned to her. She inhaled, and exhaled an almost long-suffering sigh. And he began in a patient, almost leisurely fashion, in a voice fashioned from dark velvet, a voice that stroked over her senses until they were lulled, to lecture directly to her as if she was a girl in the schoolroom. "A proper kiss, Miss Eversea, should turn you inside out. It should... touch places in you that you didn't know existed, set them ablaze, until your entire being is hungry and wild. It should... hold a moment, I want to explain this as clearly as possible..." He tipped his head back and paused to consider, as though he were envisioning this and wanted to relate every detail correctly. "It should slice right down through you like a cutlass with a pleasure so devastating it's very nearly pain." He waited, watching her face, allowing her to accommodate the potent words. Her mouth was parted. Her breathing short. She couldn't look away. His eyes and voice held her as fast as if he'd cradled her face with his hands. And as he said them, an echo of sensation sounded in her, like a remembered dream, an instinct awakened. She thought about Mars getting ready to give Venus a good pleasuring. Stop, she should say. "And...?" she whispered. "It should make you do battle for control of your senses and your will. It should make you want to do things you'd never dreamed you'd want to do, and in that moment all of those things will make perfect sense. And it should herald, or at least promise, the most intense physical pleasure you've ever known, regardless of whether that promise is ever, ever fulfilled. It should, in fact..." he paused for effect "haunt you for the rest of your life." She sat wordlessly when he was done. As though waiting for the last notes of a stormy, discordant symphony to echo into silence. 'The most intense physical pleasure.' His words reverberated in her. As if her body contained the ancient wisdom of what that meant, and now, having been reminded, craved it.”

PleasureSensationalAlexander MoncrieffeGenevieve And Alexander
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“Which was why he reflexively turned when a flash of iridescence caught his eye. His first thought was: Morpho rhetenor Helena. The extraordinary tropical butterfly with wings of shifting colors: blues, lavenders, greens. It proved to be a woman’s skirt. The color was blue, but by the light of the legion of overhead candles, he saw purples and even greens shivering in its weave. A bracelet of pale stones winked around one wrist, a circlet banded her dark head. The chandelier struck little beams from that, too. She’s altogether too shiny for a woman, he decided, and began to turn away. Which was when she tipped her face up into the light. Everything stopped. The beat of his heart, the pump of his lungs, the march of time. Seconds later, thankfully, it all resumed. Much more violently than previously. And then absurd notions roman-candled in his mind. His palms ached to cradle her face—it was a kitten’s face, broad and fair at the brow, stubborn at the chin. She had kitten’s eyes, too: large and a bit tilted and surely they weren’t actually the azure of calm southern seas? Surely he, Miles Redmond, hadn’t entertained such a florid thought? Her eyebrows were wicked: fine, slanted, very dark. Her hair was probably brown, but it was as though he’d never learned the word “brown.” Burnished. Silk. Copper. Azure. Delicate. Angel. Hallelujah. Suddenly these were the only words he knew.”

Love At First SightInfatuation
Author:Julie Anne Long
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“What is your name?" she asked suddenly, instead. "Your full name?" "Christopher Whitelaw, Viscount Grantham. Kit, to you, Miss Makepeace." And then he smiled a smile that made Susannah remember that he'd made a fortune in smuggling, and was wanted for piracy. Perhaps he'd also had an affair with the queen. For it was just that sort of smile: crooked, slow, unnervingly inclusive and intimate. It knew things, that smile. She felt shy suddenly; she was acutely aware of how substantial he was, how hard the muscles under his shirt and trousers were.”

SmileIntroductionIntimidatingName
Book:Beauty and the Spy
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“And with awe he saw her lose her battle with that smile. It fought first with one corner of her mouth, then the other, and then it broke all over her like a sunrise. The very shape of her face changed. Or rather, she came into focus at last in that moment; she'd simply been awaiting illumination from within. There were dimples, and a pointed chin, and elegant cheekbones. Her face was heart-shaped, sweetly drawn, very 'alive.' She was 'incandescent' with wicked amusement. In that moment was an entirely different girl. He stared, stunned.”

SmileFacial BeautyGenevieve Eversea
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“His lips touched hers, just a brush, once, twice, over the full softness of her lovely mouth, discovering what she knew of kissing. With devastating instinct, she echoed him, dragging her lips softly across his, with his, until the desire in him was coiled so tightly his limbs trembled from it. "Susannah." A ragged whisper. She sighed a warm breath out against his lips and brought her other hand up to hold his face; in her hands he could feel her tension and urgency. And he'd meant to linger over this kiss, to take it deeper with delicacy and finesse, and then to end it, but he found he could not. His desire was suddenly untenable; he was convinced only the taste of her could ease it. He touched an impatient tongue to her lips and coaxed them open. When she parted her mouth he sought her tongue, and discovered, with a low sound in the back of his throat, the hot, silken sweetness inside her mouth. Her tongue tentatively moved, tangled with his. Oh, God. "Like this?" she whispered. "God, yes," he breathed. She smiled against his mouth. "No smiling," he murmured. "Only kissing." Their mouths moved languidly over each other at first, nipping, delving deeply, retreating. And gradually it built to urgency. He rose up over her to take his kisses deeper still, to taste the contours of her mouth, teeth clashing against her teeth, and still it never seemed enough. The sensation was like soaring in place; Kit couldn't feel the ground beneath him, or the air above him; he was aware only of the sweetness of the woman joined with him, and distantly he marveled, he'd never felt quite so lost. He tucked his hip in firmly against hers, astounded at how painfully aroused he was. "Sweet," he murmured, moving his lips from hers to kiss, to nip beneath her chin, to draw his tongue down the cord of her throat. Her breathing was rushed, and with the rise and fall of her chest he could see the tight darkness of her nipples beneath the fine fabric of her dress. "Sweet," he sighed again, moving his mouth to breathe against her breast; he touched his tongue to her nipple through the fabric. She caught her breath at the sensation, arced up a little to meet him. And as she did, his fingers, five feathers, began to stroke the tender skin inside her thigh.”

KissingTouchingSlow Burn
Book:Beauty and the Spy
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“Stockings, but no drawers?" he teased, breathlessly. He nudged the neckline of her gown lower with his teeth, exposing her breast, distracting her as his hand glided farther up her thigh, to come gently to rest against the damp, silken curls at the crook of them. "Too warm for... drawers... but I liked the... garters..." She gasped out the words, and he gave a short laugh before he took her nipple into his mouth. Puckered velvet, it was, the palest, most delicate pink, like her lips; her breast could fill the palm of his hand. He knew because he skimmed his palm over the other one. "Kit," she rasped. "God." "One and the same," he murmured. He heard her gasp something, either a tortured laugh or a word, which may have been "beast," but she stopped abruptly when he took her nipple into his mouth again and drew slow circles around it with his tongue. Her softly sighed, "oh," her back arching up to meet him, her fingers combing over his head, made him wilder than he thought he could bear. But he would bear it. Today was for her, and today was all there would be. He settled for tucking his hips closer to her, his aching erection brushing against her. His fingers stroked lightly over the curls between her legs, twining in them. And then he returned his lips to hers, gently, because he wanted to watch her eyes when he slid a finger lightly along her cleft. He felt her body go taut when he did; she drew in a sharp breath. His hand stilled. "No?" he said softly. "Yes," she disagreed on a whisper, touching his face. He kissed her softly, as his finger slid lightly again, and then again, and at last her legs slipped open wider still, inviting him in. Desire clawed him, a great bird of prey clinging to his back, he could scarcely breathe. With his fingers, he circled her gently, slowly at first, and then insistently, listening to the pulse of her breath, to her soft murmurs, to learn the rhythm she wanted, until her desire drenched his fingers. He touched nearly chaste kisses to her mouth as his fingers played over her, and watched, triumphant, as her pupils grew large, her beautiful, complicated eyes opaque, her breathing become a quiet storm. "Kit?" she whispered urgently. "I---it's---" "I know," he sympathized hoarsely. "Move with me now." And she began to move her hips in time with his knowing fingers, colluding with him in her own pleasure, and he moved his own hips against her, craving his own release even as he knew he must deny it. He covered her moth with a kiss, a deep kiss, tangling his tongue with hers, and oh the taste of her: honey and velvet, rich as plums. He moved his fingers in time with his tongue, knew by her escalating breathing, the rhythm of her hips, that it would be soon. She took her lips from his, her head thrashed to one side. "Please..." "Hold on to me, Susannah." She was utterly focused on her journey now, and God, how he wanted to go there with her. At last, her fingers dug into his arms and she bowed up with a soft cry, pulsing against his hand. And somehow, this seemed nearly as precious as the beat of her heart, and the pleasure he took in her release was so acute it might well have been his own.”

KissingTouchingOrgasmSexual TensionSlow Burn
Book:Beauty and the Spy
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“She took in a long, unsteadying breath and pushed the bodice of her dress with her hands until it drooped to her waist. She watched his eyes slowly drop from her eyes to her lips... to her... "God,"he murmured with reverent enthusiasm. She almost laughed, but he found her mouth again with his, and then his warm hands were on her bare waist, on her ribs, gliding up, up, up with torturous leisure, until his hands filled with her breasts, and his touch, his lips, became tender beyond words. She nearly sank to her knees. His thumbs traced her nipples into peaks, until at last she needed to take her lips from his and lean her head forward to touch his chest, shivering with helpless pleasure. His hand moved to cup the back of her head there, so he could once more take a kiss as deeply as he could, his other hand pressed against the small of her back, bringing her into the heat of his chest. The sensation of his skin against the hard tips of her breasts was unlike anything she was sure heaven had to offer. She moved her hands down, felt the hard, thick length of his arousal beneath his trousers, dragged her hands over it. He muttered something like "mmm," which she took to mean to do it again. So she did it again, and again, until his hands went down to cup her buttocks and roughly pushed her up against him. She looped her arms around his neck and pushed herself closer still. She wanted desperately to crawl inside him. "Making love to you, Susannah," Kit murmured against her lips, as his hips moved against hers, "would be a rare honor and pleasure." "I want you to make love to me." Her voice was shaking now. "Do you know what that truly means?" His hands had slipped lower now inside her dress, and his finger had found the crease of her buttocks to delicately trace. He looked intently down into her eyes. "Yes." "You do know? You know that I will be inside you..." He kissed her, this one languid, thorough, incinerating. "And that I will move inside you..." He kissed her again, the same way, until her thoughts were glittering fragments. "... Until we are both mad from pleasure?" "I want you inside me." She was nearly weeping with the truth of that.”

SeductionSexual TensionNakedness
Book:Beauty and the Spy
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“And then two footmen staggered forward. They were bearing between them a flower arrangement so brilliant it was nearly 'sentient.' A profusion of roses, the heads of which were nearly as pulsatingly crimson and large as actual hearts sprung from a luxurious froth of ferny greenery and minuscule lacy white flowers. It was magnificently intimidating and almost indecently sensual. The whole thing was the height of a three-year-old child.”

RosesGenevieve And AlexanderBouquetGenevieve Eversea
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“Susannah, listen to me: Do you want this to be over? Do you want to be safe?" "No, I rather enjoy dodging for my life, and wondering when you'll next be stabbed or crushed on my behalf." He smiled again, pleased with her the way he always was when she was sarcastic. "How can you smile?" she wanted to know, irritated. "You forget, my dear, that danger has been a way of life for me." She pondered this. "Wouldn't you rather just be a naturalist?" she said weakly. He didn't answer; he just looked at her for a long moment. And then he leaned forward and touched his mouth to hers. Her lips were obstinate at first, but then they softened beneath his, and her hand went up to cup his face--- he loved it when she did that---and she parted her lips. For a short, dizzying moment, they feasted tenderly on each other. It was incomparably sweet.”

KissingLove And Affection
Book:Beauty and the Spy
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“And this is the potency a first kiss should have: it should be earned. The moments leading up to it should be as tense as a crossbow drawn back. The reader should want it as badly as the hero and heroine, and feel as satisfied and transported and transformed as the hero and heroine in the wake of it. There are different ways to use kisses in a romance, but that first kiss is so meaningful, a pinnacle, and can be more intimate than sex.”

KissingPartnersIntimacyFirst KissesBuildup
Author:Julie Anne Long
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“Finally his thumbing rewarded him with what he was seeking. Veronese... Veronese... of course! As he'd told Genevieve, he'd seen a Veronese painting when he'd visited Italy. Memorably because he'd found it erotic: Venus and Mars again, and this time Venus was not wearing a shred, and Mars was kneeling, getting ready to, as he'd inappropriately shared with Genevieve, give Venus a pleasuring. "Genevieve loves a particular 'kind' of painter..." Harry began in a lecturing tone. "She likes light and a grace of line, mythological subjects rich in subtext. She believes Botticelli is not rated highly enough as a painter. I happen to agree. I've seen his 'Venus and Mars' and I am quite moved by his use of mythological subjects. Very sensual." Harry looked thunderstruck. Hmm. The duke didn't know why he should feel authentically pleased by the fact that Genevieve had entrusted him with a confidence she hadn't yet confided in Harry. "She hadn't shared that particular insight with you about Botticelli, Osborne? Perhaps it's a new one. One she's had only recently.”

RivalryAlexander MoncrieffeBotticelliArt BookMars And Venus
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“He was buoyant with the triumph of the roses. He'd bestowed pearls upon women he'd courted before, he'd indulgently paid lengthy bills for all manner of folderol presented to him by modistes and run up by mistresses, he'd given jewels to his wife, but never, never had he enjoyed giving a gift as much as he'd had this morning, regardless of its strategic purpose. He'd enjoyed the giving as much as Genevieve clearly had enjoyed the getting, judging from the colors she'd turned and that glow in her eyes. A man could grow almost too accustomed to seeking that response to a gift, the way one grew to love opium (not that 'he' was familiar with that particular vice) or drink. He could spend sleepless nights imagining how to go about getting it again.”

GivingAlexander MoncrieffeGenevieve And Alexander
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“Fear. Alex knew he was a fine one to pontificate about fear. He'd issued the world's most tepid, careful marriage proposal. Because he'd been afraid to tell Genevieve he loved her. Not that it would have made much of a difference. She loved Harry. Harry in his youthful innocence had put his finger right on it. And Moncrieffe pushed the realization away. He took in a sharp breath. Harry took Moncrieffe's silence as a reason to go on. "God help me, it was only because I was afraid of losing her. And I honestly didn't feel I deserved her, for I had nothing to give her. I simply needed to know whether she loved me. I'm not proud of it, but I have never loved anyone more." Moncrieffe could still scarcely get the words out. "I just can't believe you would 'do' such a thing to someone you... loved." Osborne was very, very drunk, but he wasn't stupid. "But I couldn't hurt her, could I, if she didn't love me?" And now Harry's blue eyes fixed on him almost searchingly. Moncrieffe couldn't believe he had almost shown his hand. "You just said you weren't certain whether she did love you. And if she does love you anywhere as much as you claim to love her, imagine the pain you may have caused her with your whole charade." Harry looked up at him and blinked. And as he thought about it, his face slowly went white. After a moment he swallowed. "'Gallant' of you," Moncrieffe drawled, twisting the knife. Moncrieffe knew a surge of hatred for himself for saying it. But he wanted Harry to feel what he'd done to Genevieve.”

CowardiceConfessionAlexander MoncrieffeCare For
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“And then, oh God, she realized the Sussex Waltz was beginning which reminded her that... She turned. The other man she'd been unable to refuse earlier was standing before her. He stretched out a hand. She could not for the life of her understand what the Duke of Falconbridge wanted from her. She ascribed his presence and his attention to the week's general theme, which was "torture." He'd perhaps come to Sussex to shop for a wife, since he'd recently shed himself of the candidate he'd selected. It wouldn't be her. 'Regardless' of how determined he might be. And the man personified determination. Regardless of the glimmer of temptation she'd felt to... well, allow herself to be charmed. To surrender to the sheer force of him. The notion that she'd ever thought she could entirely ignore someone of his reputation on her walk today she ascribed to naïveté and heartbreak. He'd skillfully found her unprotected flank again and again. He'd even made her smile when she'd thought to never do it again. And yet she recalled his eyes when she'd said the name "Abigail." She'd panicked; she'd played her trump. And she'd hurt him. This was the impression that lingered. It was as though everything else he'd said and done up until then had been steps in a dance, and he'd only dropped his mask when she tripped him. So he was a clever man, a watchful man, a powerful man, but a man with unexpectedly human vulnerabilities. She wasn't certain she cared. She still didn't think he was a 'nice' man. She took his hand. She was immediately overwhelmingly conscious of its size; it enveloped hers with almost absurd masculine strength.”

Alexander MoncrieffeGenevieve And Alexander
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“She looked down instead. Long enough to notice that the duke wore a signet ring, and that his hand was long and elegant and scrupulously groomed but sported emphatic veins, as though he'd used his hands to do difficult masculine things his entire life. Dark, crisp hair curled on his wrist, and that hair seemed almost embarrassingly intimate, because if she wanted to right now she could touch it. His finger looked very brown against her own white hand, which she normally took such care to keep from the sun. His hand could cover hers completely if he wanted, shelter it, vanquish it, comfort her or render her terrifyingly defenseless. Funny how the spot where the duke's finger touched her was suddenly the locus of the universe for three people. "Your hand is unconscionably soft, Miss Eversea," he murmured. 'Oh.' And then he took his fingers away. Her eyes widened. She couldn't lift her head just yet. The shock of the stealthy compliment spread slowly through her, the way sherry did when bolted quickly.”

HandsAlexander MoncrieffeGenevieve And Alexander
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“And each and every compliment issued by the duke had been just singular enough to kindle her imagination. Calculated to intrigue, to imply that he saw her in detail, that touching her was a pleasure. 'Unconscionably,' he'd said. As though being soft was something she did specifically to torment him. It had almost been an accusation, a dare. She'd received more than her share of compliments her life. But for some reason the duke made her feel very much like a... Like a 'woman.' Purely and simply. It had nothing to do with love. Or with marriage. He was thinking of her in terms of... of sensual pleasure.”

Alexander MoncrieffeGenevieve And AlexanderGenevieve Eversea
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“Genevieve was familiar with one of the duke's properties- Rosemont- as she'd gone to tour it once when he was away at one of his other vast tracts of lands. It was surprisingly modest by duke terms, a redbrick manor in West Sussex presiding over a collection of softly swelling hills, which surrounded a lake populated by enormous, irritable swans and overhung with willows. The garden had been brilliant with its namesake blooms and the fountain in the courtyard featured a lasciviously grinning stone satyr performing an arabesque and spitting water high into the air. She'd found it delightful. Its pocket-sized, whimsical beauty hardly seemed to suit him, but then he normally spent his time in London and likely had all but forgotten he owned it.”

GardenPropertyWhimsicalAlexander MoncrieffeGenevieve EverseaRosemont
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“He was polite; he was cool; he was enigmatic. He was every bit what they expected and wanted the storied Duke of Falconbridge to be, because it amused him to be so. In truth, his eyes were on the stairs. He waited with the patience of a cat near a mouse hole for Genevieve Eversea to arrive. He almost didn't recognize her when she did appear. Her dress was a glossy silk of midnight blue, cut very low, and the "sleeves"- really scraps of net- clung to her pale, flawless shoulders, as though she'd tumbled down through clouds to get here and brought a few sheds of sky with her. Her neck was long. Her collarbone had that smooth pristine temptation of a bank of new-fallen snow. It was interrupted only by a drop of a blue stone on a chain that pointed directly at quite confident cleavage, as if the owner knew full well it was splendid and was accustomed to exposing it. Her sleek dark hair was dressed up high and away from her face, and tiny diamanté sparks were scattered through it. Her face beneath it was revealed in delicate simplicity. A smooth, pale, high forehead, etched cheekbones. Elegant as Wedgwood, set off by that dark, dark hair and those vivid eyes. He stared. He wasn't precisely... nonplussed. Still, this particular vision of Genevieve Eversea required reconciling with the quiet girl in the morning dress, the moor pony with the determined gait. As though they were not quite the same thing, or were perhaps 'variations' of the same thing, like verb tenses. He felt a bit like a boy who needed to erase his morning lessons and begin again.”

Feminine BeautyAlexander MoncrieffeGenevieve And AlexanderVariationsBall GownMidnight BlueGenevieve Eversea
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“Genevieve's fan slipped from her grasp. Perhaps she'd been having a quiet laugh at his expense and it had jostled from her grip. When she bent over to retrieve it, her bodice gapped, affording him a startlingly view of almost 'all' of two deliciously round, pale breasts. It was such a sensual shock the breath went out of him. It was all the more erotic because he knew he was the only one who could see it, and because she didn't know that he could, and because they were both in the midst of a crowd. He was a man. He gulped down the view for the duration of its offering, which was cruelly brief. And then Genevieve was upright again, and regret washed him. Miss Oversham didn't seem to notice his infinitesimal distraction.”

Alexander MoncrieffeGenevieve And AlexanderGenevieve Eversea
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“Ah, now," he soothed in his low, easy voice, the way he would a spooked horse or a woman whose bodice he was about to slip lower. It worked a treat. Her pupils dilated in sudden interest, for it was 'that' kind of voice and she was a woman after all. She'd decided he was attractive and pleasant and she visibly softened. When he bothered to use that tone on women they generally did.”

Alexander Moncrieffe
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“What are you about, Moncrieffe?" Eversea did look decidedly ill. "What am I about...? Well, I'm 'about' to enjoy, or at least drink, a cup of ratafia. Or brandy if I can get it. I'm about to join your father for a brief discussion of an investment opportunity in his study. I'm about to divest your neighbors and guests of their money in five-card loo. But that's later. More importantly, I'm about to dance with your sister." It was the smile Moncrieffe offered here, and the way he said "sister," that had Ian reaching, in a reflex almost as old as time, for a sword he wasn't wearing. He forced his hand to ease. For Moncrieffe had seen it; he casually placed his own hand inside his coat. A pistol was never far from his person.”

ThreateningBrotherly LoveAlexander MoncrieffeIan Eversea
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“He grinned because he'd made her say something ridiculous. The grin was wicked, white and tilted. She panicked, because she thought of sun-shot ponds and sunlight coming down through trees when she looked in his eyes now, and judging from the temperature of her cheeks he was a devil sent up from Hades, not a bloody poem. She might be turning any number of colors, from scarlet to parchment to all those shades of rose in-between, but he regarded her evenly. He was older, bolder. He knew of whores and wars, violence and vendettas. He knew precisely what he wanted, always. He wanted her.”

DevilishAlexander MoncrieffeGenevieve And Alexander
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“You'll kiss me again." His low-voiced, arrogant confidence made her wish she had something clutched in her hand to throw at him. "The advantage of being a member of 'our' species, Miss Eversea..." very deliberate, that, and he waited for her face to go thunderous "... is one that does whatever one wants because they want to and because they 'like' it. And you both 'want' to and you 'liked' it. Not every woman does. Ponder that." She glared at him. "But liking it has more than little to do with 'who' you're kissing. And when you kiss me again it will have naught to do with 'wisdom.' It will be because you will be unable to think of anything 'else' until you do.”

Alexander MoncrieffeGenevieve And AlexanderSeducer
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“The duke was sitting silently in the corner, long legs casually outstretched, arms loosely crossed over him, surveying the room with ironic eyes. They lingered on her; he gave her the faintest of smiles. It was almost impossible to believe that this was the man who had said to her 'I want you naked beneath me.' Apart from the rush of blood to various places in her body when she thought it, she could almost imagine it hadn't happened at all.”

Alexander Moncrieffe
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“Turn. I want to look at you," he ordered. "Why?" "Because you are beautiful and I want you." Dear God. He spoke like he moved: quick, purposeful. His delivery made everything sound true and right and... 'sensible.' Which was dangerous indeed, as the last thing this was meant to be was sensible. He'd undressed with startling alacrity while she was facing her door, and she hardly knew where to look first. She knew he meant it, because she could see in his fierce eyes and the swift rise and fall of his shoulders, and his hard cock, thick and large and curving up toward his belly, how much he wanted her. And he stared, drinking her in, and dear God, her knees went weaker still at the look in his eyes. She wanted to tell him, too, that he was beautiful, but it wasn't quite the right word. It seemed inadequate and perhaps not exactly true. He was overwhelmingly new to her, alien, and astoundingly... 'male'... his skin very fair, his body spare, all hard, lean muscle, his chest furred with dark hair, a trail of it following the seam of his ribs where his cock curved upward against his belly up from its nest of curling hair. His small, hard buttocks were almost comically white and muscular. She saw a few scars scattered over him. He saved her from the onslaught of sensations and impressions and from having to make a statement when he pulled her against his bare body. The feeling of his skin against hers, her hard nipples brushing his, was extraordinary; his skin was hot; he smelled wonderful and strange, of smoke and musk and something she was sure was uniquely his. He didn't want coy. She'd claimed she wasn't. And yet it was counter to her nature to let momentum take her, to surrender. She struggled with it, and he felt the tension in her body. "It's all right," he murmured into her ear, his breath, his voice, erotic, so persuasive, the voice of ultimate safety and ultimate danger. "I have you. 'Shhh,' now, Genevieve.”

Alexander MoncrieffeGenevieve And Alexander
Book:What I Did for a Duke
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“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.”

Sleeping BeautyIn The DarkSexual Desires
Book:Beauty and the Spy
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“And then a masculine voice drawled virtually into her scalp, fluttering her hair and causing gooseflesh to sweep up her arms. "Do you think it's fair that you have seen every inch of me, and I have seen none of you?" Oh no, oh no, oh no. Her heart had recovered. It was now drilling away inside her chest like a woodpecker. The warmth of the man's body behind her was as penetrating as a sunbeam, though not one bit of him actually touched her---she pressed herself closer to the oak tree, to make bloody sure of that. But his scent immobilized her as surely as a net: sun-heated skin and the faintest tang of sweat, and something else, something rich and complicated and fundamental that started a primal buzz of recognition in her blood and made her peculiarly aware of how very female she happened to be. This wasn't the groomed-for-a-ball brew of starch and soap with which she was familiar. This was stripped-to-the-essence male.”

FlirtingSexual TensionScent Of A Man
Book:Beauty and the Spy
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“Kit swiftly lifted Susannah up into his arms as it whipped past; she ducked her head in his chest. Fortunately the adder's retreat was hasty and complete. "It's all right," he said softly. "You're all right. It's gone." Susannah said nothing for a time; just breathed swiftly in and out. She was warm and lithe in his arms; the faintest scent of lavender, and that mysterious sweetness of her own, the scent he'd discovered at the nape of her neck the day he'd caught her spying on him, rose up to him, released by the heat of her skin. "It was a snake." Her voice, a trifle unsteady, was muffled against his shirt. "It was, indeed," he said softly. Her breath had found a gap between the buttons of his shirt; it washed over his skin in a very nearly hypnotic rhythm. In... and out. In... and out. In... and---”

IntimateSensual PleasureRescuing
Book:Beauty and the Spy
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“He reached out and drew his finger lightly from her ankle right up the curve of her calf. When his finger reached the crook of her knee, he stopped. Astonished to see it there. Silently, a little frantically, he considered excuses: An insect was crawling up your stocking, Susannah. I was checking to see if you were injured, Susannah. I was--- "Don't stop." It was her voice. Husky, abstracted. And the words roared like a brushfire over his senses.”

Slow Burn RomanceSensual Pleasure
Book:Beauty and the Spy
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