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Quote by Lynsay Sands

“She stared after him, her eyes widening when his plaid suddenly dropped to pool around his feet. He then tugged his shirt off over his head, bent to grab up the heavy plaid and strode into the water carrying both. Claray knew she should turn away, but couldn't seem to manage that as her eyes slid over his wide, muscular back and then down to the round curves of his derriere. They stopped there briefly before moving on to his strong thighs, and shapely calves. Claray had never thought she would call a man beautiful, but Conall was, and she found herself fascinated by the play of muscles in his back, buttocks and legs as he moved.”

Quote by Lynsay Sands

Book:Highland Wolf
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Highland Wolf

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Author

Lynsay Sands
Lynsay Sands

Lynsay Sands is a renowned author known for her works that blend fantasy and romance elements. The exact dates of her birth and death are unknown. more

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“He had apparently finished cleaning his clothes and set them on the boulder while she fussed with her plaid. Now he was done bathing too and was coming out of the river, his front as fully on display as his behind had been as he'd gone in. Claray's eyes ran over his chest and arms, taking in his wide shoulders and bulging pecs, then cascaded down over his rippling stomach to---Gasping, she whirled abruptly away and covered her eyes as if she could erase what she'd just seen. Good heavens, that was really... a terribly undignified appendage, she thought with a shake of the head.”

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“Never had she found any man so utterly thrilling, especially like this; Rohan was more hungrily lustful for her and less civilized every moment. She urged him on, loving the fiery, untamed force of him, the hard, unyielding potency of the warrior. Losing herself in her want of him, she slipped her fingers inside the V of his loose white shirt, yearning for the chance to finally touch the gorgeous body she had so long craved. She ran her palms over him, exploring. His muscled shoulders seemed carved of stone, but his smooth skin had the luxurious feel of kid leather. She moaned softly at the marvel of his heaving, sculpted chest. He groaned in answer. "You're driving me mad. I want you now," he panted against her lips. "Yes." Greedily, she peeled his shirt off him. But when he paused to lift it off over his head, she stared in dazed awe at his chisels abdomen. Oh,my. Delights never ceased. "Come here," he whispered in a low, raw, husky tone. The order excited her terribly. At the moment, she did not at all mind him telling her what to do.”

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“He slipped his fingers inside her dress, touched her skin very gently and exhaled a soft shaky sigh, almost of relief. He combed his fingers over her shoulder blades, down either side of her spine, the rough pads of his fingertips and the exquisite lightness of his touch turning every cell of her skin to glowing cinders, her legs to liquid. Susannah closed her eyes, wanting only to feel, wanting to heighten the pure exquisite pleasure of his hands on her skin. And then his mouth was warm against her ear. "Susannah," he breathed there, her own name as sensual as his fingers. It traveled along the fuse of her nerve endings and lit a furnace inside her. Her lungs labored to breathe. She flattened her hands against his chest, savoring, at last, at last, the warm strong beauty of it. His skin was satiny over the rigid plane of his muscle, and again, this softness juxtaposed with strength... this was Kit. "I like that," he murmured against her throat, where his mouth had traveled from her ear. He opened his lips against the soft skin there, put a hot kiss there. "Touch me anywhere you please." "If you insist," she said. She was trying for insouciance, but the words were a squeak. And he laughed, bloody man. She indulged all of her weeks of stored longings and dragged one finger around the contours of his muscled chest, tracing a broad figure eight, then drew it down between his ribs, down the pale line of hair that led to the bulge of his trousers, stopping short of it, and was rewarded when he sucked in his breath. She opened her hands then and clasped them around his slim waist, let them wander down to cup his firm buttocks through his trousers. He mumbled some unintelligibly pleasured sound.”

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“He made an immediate impression, biker tough. The men admired him. A sexual rush made women blush. He was a turn-on. There was a wildness to Jake that unsettled the ladies. A roughness that dared them to domesticate him. Other guys were equally tall, broad shouldered, and muscled. It was Jake's face that set him apart. Angular and strong boned. Alpha and masculine. His sharp gaze undressed and penetrated a woman's deepest thoughts. His cheekbones slashed to a single dimple, unshaved jaw. Wicked grin. His mouth promised midnight arousal and morning satisfaction.”

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“She watched him with hungry eyes as he undressed, drinking in the salt-and-pepper hair of his chest and forearms, the deep V of muscle that led down to those powerful thighs. There was nothing Hollywood, nothing prim and polished about the man who stood half-naked before her now. He was built like a rugby player, tall and thick. Ellis scooped her up into a high kneeling position, and kissed her. It was decadent, kissing like this. And surprisingly rare.”

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“If she lived, doubtless we must have been sometimes in search of each other, at the very same moment, through the mighty labyrinths of London; perhaps, even within a few feet of each other - a barrier no wider in a London street, often amounting in the end to a separation for eternity!”

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“She didn’t remember that Enrico hadn’t called back until she woke up in the middle of the night, shooting out of a dream. She squinted in the dark, trying to recall where she’d been--- and then it came back to her. She’d been standing on the cartoon ground in Mexico, rocky and dry and flat, watching a single peach blossom blow across its surface. Birdie chased it, but it was too fast. It blew away from her.”

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“Fascia knows where you are in the world; it's loaded with position sensors that contribute to your sense of balance and feeds those bearings directly to that fear-conditioning corner of your brain, the amygdala. Any movement grooved into the fascia feels soothing, gratifying, efficient; try to unlearn it, as any batting coach or ballet teacher will tell you, and you're in for a struggle. New movements, no matter how necessary or logical, just feel wrong.”

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