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“One glimpse of a wide, hair-matted chest, the merest hint of a jutting arousal was all she had before he planted his hands very deliberately alongside her body. Fionna smothered a sound of disappointment. Maidenly honest be damned, she'd wanted to see for herself the part of him that- The thought was cut abruptly short when he stretched out above her. Skin against skin. Breasts against chest. Belly to belly. There was not an inch of her body that wasn't engulfed by his. Had he not propped himself up on his elbows, his weight would have been intolerable. He kissed her again, and she sensed his struggle to keep his desire in check. A little playfully- no, perhaps naughtily- she ran her toe up and down the knotted muscles of his calf. Aidan lifted his head. Now he was the one who gave a hoarse laugh. "Do you toy with me, you little witch?" The shift in her leg had also made her breathtakingly aware of the steely erection that lay thick and hard against her belly... as well as the twin fullness that lay below.”

Quote by Samantha James

Book:The Seduction Of An Unknown Lady
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The Seduction Of An Unknown Lady

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Samantha James

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“Fionna had thought he could shock her no more. But what he did next... Pleasantly rough fingertips skimmed the sensitive skin behind her knees, then lifted them high. With the breadth of his shoulders, he braced her wide apart. Wide apart... and open. She gasped, for now she was vulnerable in a way she'd never dreamed might happen. "You said you trusted me," he reminded her, one side of his mouth curling up. "Do you trust me, Fionna?" Fionna let out a ragged breath. Acknowledgement came in the merest rise and fall of her chin. Yet her body jerked when he brushed his lips across the hollow of her belly. Her heart jolted when his mouth traced a shattering path to the inside of one slender thigh. Her every thought gave way when the journey continued. His hands slid beneath her to cradle her buttocks. With the pads of his thumbs, he parted her soft down, exposing hot, furrowed flesh. Her eyes widened, for she had gleamed his intent. Her heart was near to bursting. With the wanton blade of his tongue he touched the center of her core, circling that aching bud of desire and tugging it into his mouth, much the same way as he had sucked her nipples. And in so doing... he proved that he was far more learned than one might ever have imagined. And immensely more talented as well. Time stood still as he tasted her again and again, his mouth divinely tormenting. Tasted her until she was slick from his tongue, slick with desire.”

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Book:The Seduction Of An Unknown Lady
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“It was worth the battle to restrain them to hear her increasingly ragged gasps, to feel the desperation mount within her and know it wasn't him driving, wasn't him orchestrating and controlling her that made her so. As they moved together, her riding him, him thrusting just enough to appease them both, to let passion flow unimpeded on its course, as the familiar landscape of sexual delight flowered around them, as passion wound through them and tightened its snare, he was distantly aware of how different the familiar was. How much more layered with feeling, with meaning. With emotion. The end, when it came, was an implosion of sensation, finer, sharper, reaching more deeply than any such moment before. With a cry, high, triumphant, and primarily female, she shattered in his arms; the contractions of her sheath caught him, drew him on. Release swept him, and he cried her name, held her down, his grip unforgiving as he shuddered beneath her.”

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Book:The Taste of Innocence
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“Through the tempest of their passions, through the wild turbulent ride, Sarah was conscious only of sensation. It buffeted her, overwhelmed her mind, etched itself on her awareness. So that despite the heat and the delirious pleasure of his body moving over hers, despite the powerful thrusts that physically rocked her, despite the impossible clamoring urgency that had her tilting her hips to take him yet more deeply, that had her scoring his back urging him desperately to ride her yet more forcefully, the one element that shone through the raging veil was his hunger for her. It was every bit as deep and powerful and demanding as her hunger for him. No- more. For him, in him, that hunger was so potent, so deeply ingrained that she had no doubt he would give every last gasp to sate it- to consummate it, to give it life, here with her in their bed. It drove him, and controlled him, and drew her into the maelstrom, too, until she was as passionate as he in finding the way to appease it, to sate it, to discover the way into its temple and sacrifice herself at its altar. And at the last, in the final mind-shattering moment when she clung by her fingernails over the sensual void, the veils ripped apart and she saw that hungry power clearly- saw, felt, with her own senses knew what it was. Unquestionably, beyond doubt. Then he thrust one last time and with a cry she shattered; with a sob she lost her grip on reality and fell. Weightless for that moment, that briefest of journeys, falling from heavenly pleasure into satiation's soothing sea.”

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“Renaissance artists, inspired by Greek mythological themes, created frighteningly realistic portrayals of decapitated women with snakes for hair. The elegantly crafted sculpture by Benvenuto Cellini of a youthful Perseus holding Medusa's head aloft while he stands on her decapitated body was erected in the center of Florence in the mid-16th century. This popular theme was emblematic of the Inquisitional murders of women taking place in many areas of Europe during that time, considered necessary to protect civil society from the dangers of uncontrolled female powers. Later, during the 18th-19th centuries, Romantic artists, poets, and Decadents recast Medusa as a beautiful victim, not a monster. In their view, She represented the ecstatic discord between pain and pleasure, beauty and horror, and divinely forbidden sexuality.”

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“In ancient times, the Gorgon Medusa lived on the far side of Oceanus in the land of Night. She was an awesome dragonlike creature with bronze claws, great golden wings, and fierce eyes that turned her beholder to stone. At one time she had been a beautiful young woman who filled the world with joy, not death, but in a moment of foolish pride she had compared herself to Athena. Such arrogance enraged the noble goddess, and in revenge she turned Medusa's lush hair into a tangle of vile, hissing snakes. From that moment on, Medusa's stare brought the stillness of death to anyone who dared look into her eyes. Meanwhile Polydectes, King of Seriphos, wanted to destroy Perseus, so he sent him off to bring back Medusa's head, knowing that her gaze would kill the young hero. But Athena heard the king's command. Still angry with Medusa, she gave Perseus her bronze shield to defend himself when he attacked the Gorgon. Holding the shield as a mirror, Perseus saw only Medusa's reflection, and her deadly stare did not harm him. He cut off her head and put it into a cloth bag, then flew away with the aid of a pair of winged sandals given to him by Hermes. As Perseus soared over the African desert, blood seeped through the bag and fell to the hot sands below. As each drop hit the scorching ground, it turned to steam, and the rising vapors transformed into three dangerously beautiful nymphs.”

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“A tilting sea and thundering winds tossed the carved chest and filled Danaë with terror; she cried and placed her arm lovingly around Perseus saying: 'My child, I suffer and yet your heart is calm; you sleep profoundly in the blue dark of night and shine in our gloomy bronze-ribbed boat. Don't think of the heaving saltwave that seeps in through airholes and drenches your hair, nor of the clamoring gale; but lying in our seaviolet blanket keep your lovely body close to mine. If you knew the horror of our plight, your gentle ears would hear my words. But sleep, my son, and let the ocean sleep and our great troubles end. I ask you, father Zeus, rescue us from our fate; and should my words seem too severe, I beg you please remember where we are, and forgive my prayer.”

Willis BarnstonePerseusSimonidesDanaë
Author:Simonides
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“Dortchen ducked through a gap in the trees, following a winding path to a small grove of old linden trees, their branches hanging with heavy creamy-white flowers. A hedge of briar roses, with delicate pink-white flowers blooming among the thorns, shielded them from the eyes of anyone walking past. The garden was alive with birdsong. A blackbird looked at her with a cheeky eye, then hopped away to search for worms. The scent of the linden blossoms was intoxicating.”

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“The linden tree. It stood unchanged since the first time Papa Horatio had seen it, all those years ago— unchanged, Alaine thought, for perhaps centuries. Always green, always blooming, even in the middle of winter. Now, at the cresting of summer, it almost blended into the deep green of the forest, except for the perfect circle of velvet green surrounding it. That, and the scent. Ebbing like a tide on the gentle breeze that stirred the linden’s leaves, the perfume mingled the ordinary golden florals of linden blooms with strange notes of vanilla and cedar and incense.”

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Book:The Fairy Bargains of Prospect Hill
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