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Muscles Quotes

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Muscles Quotes

“Closing the door, she turned back to him, taking in the long, muscled length of him on the bed, staring at her. Waiting for her. Perfection. He was perfect, and she was bare before him, bathed in candlelight. She was instantly embarrassed- somehow more embarrassed than she had been that night in his office, when she'd touched herself under his careful guidance. At least then she'd been wearing a corset. Stockings. Tonight, she wore nothing. She was all flaws, each one highlighted by his perfection. He watched her for a long moment before extending one muscled arm, palm up, an irresistible invitation. She went to him without hesitation, and he rolled to his back, pulling her over his lovely, lean chest, staring up at her intently. She covered her breasts in a wave of nerves and trepidation. "When you look at me like that... it's too much." He did not look away. "How do I look at you?" "I don't know what it is... but I feel as though you can see into me. As though, if you could, you would consume me." "It's want, love. Desire like nothing I've never experienced. I'm fairly shaking with it. Come here." The demand was impossible to resist, carrying with it the promise of pleasure beyond her dreams. She went. When she was close enough to touch, he lifted one hand, stroking his fingers along hers where they hid her breasts from view. "I tremble with need for you, Pippa. Please, love, let me see you." The request was raw and wretched, and she couldn't deny him, slowly moving her hands to settle them on his chest, fingers splayed wide across the crisp auburn hair that dusted his skin. She was distracted by that hair, the play of it over muscle- the way it narrowed to a lovely dark line across his flat stomach. He lay still as she touched him, his muscles firm and perfect. "You're so beautiful," she whispered, fingers stroking down his arms to his wrists. His gaze narrowed on her. "I am happy you approve, my lady." She smiled. "Oh I do, my lord. You are a remarkable specimen." White teeth flashed again as she gained her courage, retracing her touch, over his forearms, marveling in the feel of him, reciting from memory, "flexor digitorium superficialis, flexor capri radialis..." along his upper arms, "biceps brachii, tricipitis brachii..." over his shoulders, loving the way his muscles tensed and flexed beneath her touch, "deltoideus..." and down his chest, "subscapularis... pectoralis major..." She stilled, brushing her fingers over the curve of that muscle, the landscape of him... the valleys of his body. He sucked in a breath as her fingers ran over the flat discs of his nipples, arching up to her touch, and she stilled, reveling in her power. He enjoyed her touch. He wanted it. She repeated the stroke, this time with her thumbs. He hissed his pleasure, one wide hand falling to the inside of her knee, sending a river of heat through her. "Don't stop now, love. This is the most effective seduction I've ever experienced.”

“More often than not, expecting to lose weight without first losing the diet that made the weight loss necessary is like expecting a pig to be spotless after hosing it down while it was still rolling in mud.”

“Specifically, I cherished a romantic impulse towards death, yet at the same time I required a strictly classical body as its vehicle; a peculiar sense of destiny made me believe that the reason why my romantic impulse towards death remained unfulfilled in reality was the immensely simple fact that I lacked the necessary physical qualifications. A powerful, tragic frame and sculpturesque muscles were indispensable in a romantically noble death. Any confrontation between weak, flabby flesh and death seemed to me absurdly inappropriate. Longing at eighteen for an early demise, I felt myself unfitted for it. I lacked, in short, the muscles suitable for a dramatic death. And it deeply offended my romantic pride that it should be this unsuitability that had permitted me to survive the war.”

“So those abdominal exercises are useful beyond wanting to show off your muscles?' He threw her a wry grin. 'You really think this is just for show?' 'I think I've caught you looking at yourself in that mirror at least a dozen times each lesson.' Nesta nodded to the slender mirror across the ring. He chuckled. 'Liar. You use that mirror to watch me when you think I'm not paying attention.”

“Rest back again." He does and then groans when I start massaging the shampoo into his hair. The sound goes straight to my core. I work slowly. Slower than I should, but it feels good to have my hands on him. My fingers glide over the hard curve of his skull, down to the thick cords of his neck. "God," he whispers. "Please don't stop." His muscles are so strong here that it hurts my fingers to dig in, but his noises of pleasure and the way he leans into my touch keep me going. Foam rinses around my hands; water trickles down the tan column of his neck to wander over the hills and valleys of his wide-set shoulders. My lips swell with the need to follow those waterdrops, press against his wet skin. I bite the inside of my cheek. Macon sighs, his lids lowering, and I move closer, my breasts hitting the back of the tub. I push along the rise of his shoulders. They're like silk over granite, slippery wet and warm. He grunts, and I do it again. He leans into my hands, whimpering softly. I take the moment to rise and turn on the taps again. We don't speak as I rinse the shampoo from his hair. It's a strange thing, taking care of him this way. I'm turned on--- more than I thought I could be. It's a low hum in my body, the lush swelling of my breasts, of my sex. It's in the painful tenderness in my nipples and the sensitive edges of my lips. I want to savor him like I do fine dark chocolate, letting each bite melt on my tongue, lingering over the delicious taste of it.”

“You're going to make me look like that?' His low laugh rippled over her body. 'No one can look like this but me, Nes.' Arrogant ass. 'Rhysand and Azriel do,' she said sweetly. 'I've got one or two muscles on them.' 'I don't see it.' He winked. 'Maybe they're in other places.' She couldn't help it. Couldn't stop it. Not the flash of desire, but the smile that overtook her face. She huffed a laugh. Cassian stared like he hadn't seen her before. His shock was enough that Nesta dropped her smile.”

“She stood and tripped over something in the dark, then stumbled and fell on Derek. "Ouch," he moaned. "Are you all right?" she whispered, and realized she was lying on top of him. She liked the way his body felt so familiar and comfortable beneath hers. She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes, suddenly regretting all the mean things she had said to him. "Aren't you going to get up?" he asked. "Sure," she answered, and let her hands smooth down his chest and then his arms. She was surprised by the feel of his rock-hard muscles. "I work out," he murmured unexpectedly. "What?" He snickered. "The way you're feeling my chest and arms-" "I am not." She jumped up, indignant, then knelt beside him. "I was searching for your ropes." "Liar," he whispered. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks and was glad it was dark so he couldn't see. "The ropes are tied around my ankles and wrists," he said, but there was still laughter in his voice.”

“What a startling sight... a healthy, virile male in his prime. Strong and completely muscled, barbaric and yet beautiful. Fortunately he was facing partially away from her, so that her surveillance went unnoticed. He toweled his hair until the thick locks stood on end and worked down to his arms and chest, scrubbing vigorously. His back was powerful, the line of his spine a pronounced groove. The broad slopes of his shoulders flexed as he draped the towel across and began to dry himself with a sawing motion. A plentitude of hair covered his limbs and the upper portion of his chest, and there was far more at his groin than the decorative tuft she had expected.”