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Quote by Michel de Montaigne

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The Complete Essays

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Michel de Montaigne
Michel de Montaigne

Michel de Montaigne was a French Renaissance philosopher, essayist, and writer. He is considered one of the most significant figures in the history of the essay. Montaigne's work, particularly his book 'Essays', has been influential in the development of modern prose. more

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“The wet, fleshy lips of his slightly open mouth were the origins of another unexpected reaction of mine to which I also gave in. I suddenly felt the emotional desire of kissing that mouth. And that was something that some time ago I would have sworn to be immune from. Instead quite the contrary, I have always felt nauseated whenever I'd fall in with one of those johns—so numerous in this trade—who tried to kiss me on the mouth at one time or another of our time together enjoying our act of raw sexuality and even the thought had always made me feel utterly revolted. And yet that sense of disgust that was invariably joined to the mere idea of kissing another male was not present now in the thoughts I kept turning in my mind about kissing him, and tasting the flavor of his sensuous lips. I also felt like nibbling the curve of his bony jaw and going down over his thick, muscular neck, to leave a trace of me in every pore of his terse skin, in a trail of lust and pleasure.”

KissingLustHomosexual Desire
Book:Memoirs of Jeff X
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“Spend an afternoon with me," he urged. "Tomorrow." "No, Mr. Rutledge. I'm-" "Harry." "Harry, I can't-" "An hour?" he whispered. He bent to her again and she turned her face away in confusion. He sought her neck instead, his lips brushing the vulnerable flesh with half-open kisses. No one had ever done such a thing, even Michael. Who would have thought it would feel so delicious? Dazed, Poppy let her head fall back, her body accepting the steady support of his arms. He searched her throat with devastating care, touching his tongue to her pulse. His hand cradled her nape, the pad of his thumb tracing the satiny edge of her hairline. As her balance faltered, she reached around his neck. He was so gentle, teasing color to the surface of her skin, chasing little shivers with his mouth. Blindly she followed, wanting the taste of him. As she angled her head toward his, her lips grazed the close-shaven surface of his jaw. His breath caught. "You should never cry over a man," he said against her cheek. His voice was soft, dark, like smoked honey. "No one is worth your tears." Before she could answer, he caught her mouth in a full, open kiss. Poppy went weak, melting against him as he kissed her slowly. The tip of his tongue entered, playing gently, and the feel of it was so strange and intimate and tantalizing that a wild tremor ran through her. His mouth lifted at once. "I'm sorry. Did I frighten you?" Poppy couldn't seem to think of an answer. It wasn't that he had frightened her, more that he had given her a glimpse of a vast erotic territory she had never encountered before. Even in her inexperience, she comprehended that this man had the power to turn her inside out with pleasure. And that was not something she had ever considered or bargained for.”

KissingPoppy And HarryHarry Rutledge
Book:Tempt Me at Twilight
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“He pulled her up against him, his hands not the slightest bit gentle, and his body was hard and strong against her softness. "Let me give you a little demonstration of what I'm sparing you," he whispered against her mouth. She'd been kissed before. She'd fought Frederick Varienne's assaults, and her uncle's too fond salutes, and she had always thought she didn't like kissing. She was wrong. He put one hand behind her neck, his long fingers holding her head still, while his other arm encircled her waist. He lowered his mouth to hers, leisurely, brushing his lips against hers, back and forth, slowly, oh, so slowly. She wanted to push him away, she wanted to draw him closer, so instead she simply let her hands rest at her sides. As long as she didn't respond, didn't participate, there could surely be no harm in it. Besides, she didn't have much choice in the matter. If Killoran decided to kiss her, for whatever dark reasons, then kiss her he would. His thumb was stroking the side of her face. He was pressing his hand against the small of her back, so that her hips were thrust up against his, and she let her eyelids flutter closed as he just touched the surface of her lips, his brandy-flavored breath warming her. The sensation was disturbing and enchanting, and she wanted more of it.”

KissingEmma And James
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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