Caught In The Act Quotes

“I thought my fire was out,
and stirred the ashes….
I burnt my fingers.”
― Antonio Machado, Times Alone: Selected Poems

“Whatever you do, don’t make it worse by trying to come up with some flimsy excuse for why you were in the ventilation shaft, Lina told herself.”
― Jaleigh Johnson, The Secrets of Solace

“I was just about to open the door, when it opened up right in front of me. And there stood my parents.
Is there a word for that moment when two parties are so equally shocked to see each other given the circumstances that all they can do is stare at each other, openmouthed?”
― August Westman, Dance Into the Dark

“Barefoot and pregnant. After the ruckus last night, I suppose I wouldn't be all that shocked if you managed it," Elijah muttered as Stunt passed him.

Stunt was officially in hell. It was like getting caught by his parents having sex. Worse...kinky sex.”
― Lyn Gala, Mountain Prey

“Um, well, I’ve been working out with Alex. Today just happened to be right after our workout,” Craig admits finally.
“Really,” I say dripping with sarcasm. “And you failed to mention this earlier? You ran off so abruptly for your tryst. I should’ve suspected something illicit was occurring.”
Alex erupts in laughter looking at Craig. “You didn’t tell her.”
― Isabelle Joshua, The Swallow

“I blurt out my story, how I had hired Nicola to be the maîtress d'hôtel at our restaurant, Grappa, when I was seven months pregnant. How I suspected Jake and Nicola had begun having an affair when Chloe was just hours old; and how one night, when Chloe woke up and Jake still wasn't home at two-thirty in the morning, I bundled her up and strapped her into the portable infant carrier, walked the three blocks to the restaurant, and snuck in the side door.
The door was locked, but the alarm wasn't on, the first odd thing, because Jake always locks up and sets the alarm before leaving the restaurant. Chloe had fallen back to sleep in her infant seat on the way over, so I carefully nestled the carrier into one of the leather banquettes.
I crept through the dining room and into the darkened kitchen, where I could see the office at the far end was aglow with candlelight. As I moved closer I could hear music. "Nessun dorma," from Turandot, Jake's favorite. How fitting. On the marble pastry station I found an open bottle of wine and two empty glasses. It was, to add insult to what was about to be serious injury, a 1999 Tenuta dell'Ornellaia Masseto Toscano- the most expensive wine in our cellar. Three hundred and eighty dollar foreplay.
I picked up the bottle and followed the trail of clothes to the office. Jake's checkered chef's pants and tunic, Nicola's slinky black dress, which I hated her for being able to wear, and a Victoria's Secret lacy, black bra. They were on the leather couch, Nicola on top, her wild, black hair spilling over Jake's chest, humping away like wild dogs. Carried away by their passion, they were oblivious to my approach. I drained the last of the wine from the bottle and hurled it over their backsides where it smashed against the wall, announcing my arrival.
Before Jake could completely extricate himself, I jumped on Nicola's back and grabbed hold of her hair and pulled with all the strength of my hot-blooded Mediterranean ancestors. Nicola screamed, and clawed the air, her flailing hands accidentally swiping Jake squarely on the chin. He squirmed out from under her and tried to tackle me, but I'm not a small woman. Armed with my humiliation and anger, I was a force in motion.
In desperation, Jake butted his head into the middle of my back, wrapped his hands around my waist, and pulled with all his might. He succeeded, pulling so hard that Nicola's hair, which I had resolutely refused to yield, came away in great clumps in my hands. Nicola's screams turned to pathetic whimpers as she reached to cover her burning scalp. She then curled herself into a fetal position, naked and bleeding, and began to keen.”
― Meredith Mileti, Aftertaste: A Novel in Five Courses

“I stare at the woman in question and wonder what happened to the concept of sisterhood. If women stopped doing this kind of thing to other women, there would be a lot less pain in this world. Men, I'll admit, are probably a lost cause, but we could stop cheating on other women with their husbands, boyfriends, fiancés. Jo props herself up on her elbows and gives me a defiant look which, frankly, I'd like to wipe off her face---preferably with a cricket bat. "Who'd have thought that I'd be seeing so much of you," I say. "And so soon."
Marcus's breakfast dish looks rather rattled.
"I can explain," Marcus says as he tries to dismount from the table with some dignity. Difficult to pull off.
"I'm all ears."
"This was the last time," he says earnestly. There are raspberries crushed on his knees. "The last time ever. I was having one last fling before settling down. As soon as you moved in, I was going to be completely and utterly faithful."
Jo doesn't look as if she knows about this particular part of the arrangement and she glares darkly at my fiancé. Perhaps she'll be sneaking into his flat and filling his clothes and his shoes with leftovers and leaving stinking prawns in his soft furnishings. Because, for sure, I won't be troubling myself to do it again.
"You called to tell me you love me while she was here?"
Jo clearly doesn't know about that bit either. Marcus chews his lip.
I stare at Marcus as if I'm seeing him for the first time. He looks ridiculous---yogurt on his knob, smears of berry juice all over his chest and legs, breakfast cereal in his hair. I burst out laughing. Marcus laughs too---nervously.
"Oh, Marcus," I say, clutching at my sides. "I can't believe you've done this again." I double over and belly laugh right the way up from my boots.
"I love you," he says bleakly, and then he continues to laugh along with me, although it sounds forced.
When I finally wrest control of my voice once more, I say softly, "I'm not laughing with you, Marcus. I'm laughing at you."
Slipping my engagement ring from my finger, I put it delicately into the bowl of yogurt that's lying by Jo's feet. Then, picking it up, I tip the bowl upside down on Marcus's head. Yogurt drips slowly down his face. He licks it from his lips. Perhaps he can get Jo to do it for him when I'm gone. "This really is the very last time you do this to me, Marcus.”
― Carole Matthews, The Chocolate Lovers' Club

“We have company", Estelle said.
The twin, Justin saw when he looked over his shoulder. Standing at the end of the bridge, looking steadily at them.
"Tell me," Watley said. "Is this a very late-night walk or an early- morning pilgrimage to watch the sunrise?"
His room was next to Estelle's. And they had that odd twin connection even though they were not identical...
"Tell me," Justin said. "In what way is the answer to that any of of your business?"
Estelle gave a little huff of what might have been laughter.
"It is not," Watley said amiably. "I just thought it was a more original conversation opener than a comment upon weather."
"Was any conversation opener necessary?" Justin said. "Have you ever heard the one about three being a crowd?"
Rather than look abashed, Watley grinned. "You are going to have to get used to it, old chap", he said. "That is my twin whose hands you have trapped against your chest. Whom you were about to kiss, if I'm not much mistaken. In what is now broad daylight. For every servant and house guest to see.”
― Mary Balogh, Someone Perfect

“It was a strange thing, really, seeing my boyfriend's naked ass thrusting between widespread thighs. Was that what he looked like when he was on top of me? Because I had to say he appeared rather ridiculous, pumping away like an unhinged bunny. Then again, I'd never liked that particular method of his; I'd rarely orgasmed when pounded like a piece of meat. His partner, however, didn't seem to have that problem. Either she was faking it, or she loved it. But her rather enthusiastic squeaks of delight cut short as she caught sight of me, and all the color drained from her face.
Sadly, it took Greg a bit longer to realize she'd frozen beneath him; Greg always was a bit of a selfish lover. When he finally noticed, he was as smooth as ever, observing me from over his sweaty shoulder without making a move to get off the woman.
Silence fell like a hammer. Or maybe an ax. Why not? An ax could sever more than one thing today. Greg swallowed twice, his gaze darting over me, like he couldn't quite believe I was there. In my own home.
His voice was somewhat shaky when he finally spoke. "You're early."
So many things to say. Scream, maybe? Cry? But I was numb. Completely numb. So I said the only thing I could. "Funny, I think I arrived just in time.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“Shameful,' Rhysand purred, and we whirled to find him faintly illuminated by the light that broke in through the doorway. But he stood behind us- father into the passage, rather than toward the door. He hadn't come in through the throne room. With that ability of his, he had probably walked through the walls. 'Just shameful.' He stalked toward us. Tamlin remained holding me. 'Look at what you've done to my pet.'

Panting, neither of us said anything. But the air became a cold kiss upon my skin- upon my exposed breasts.

'Amarantha would be greatly aggrieved if she knew her little warrior was dallying with the human help,' Rhysand went on, crossing his arms. 'I wonder how she'd punish you. Or perhaps she'd stay true to habit and punish Lucien. He still has one eye to lose, after all. Maybe she'll put it in a ring, too.'

Ever so slowly, Tamlin removed my hands from his body and stepped out of my embrace.

'I'm glad to see you're being reasonable,' Rhysand said, and Tamlin bristled. 'Now, be a clever High Lord and buckle your belt and fix your clothes before you go out there.'

Tamlin looked at me, and, to my horror, did as Rhysand instructed. My High Lord never took his eyes off my face as he straightened his tunic and hair, then retrieved and fastened his belt again. The paint on his hands and clothes- paint from me- vanished.

'Enjoy your party,' Rhysand crooned, pointing to the door.

Tamlin's green eyes flickered as they continued to stare into mine. He softly said, 'I love you.' Without another glance at Rhysand, he left.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Rhysand chuckled. 'If you're that desperate for release, you should have asked me.'

'Pig,' I snapped, covering my breasts with the folds of my gown.

With a few easy steps, he crossed the distance between us and pinned my arms to the wall. My bones groaned. I could have sworn shadow-talons dug into the stones beside my head. 'Do you actually intend to put yourself at my mercy, or are you truly that stupid?' His voice was composed of sensuous, bone-breaking ire.

'I'm not your slave.'

'You're a fool, Feyre. Do you have any idea what could have happened had Amarantha found you two in here? Tamlin might refuse to be her lover, but she keeps him at her side out of the hope that she'll break him- dominate him as she loves to do with our kind.' I kept silent. 'You're both fools,' he murmured, his breathing uneven. 'How did you not think that someone would notice you were gone? You should thank the Cauldron Lucien's delightful brothers weren't watching you.'

'What do you care?' I barked, and his grip tightened enough on my wrists that I knew my bones would snap with a little more pressure.

'What do I care?' he breathed, wrath twisting his features. Wings- those membranous, glorious wings- flared from his back, crafted from the shadows behind him. 'What do I care?'

But before he could go on, his head snapped to the door, then back to my face. The wings vanished as quickly as they had appeared, and then his lips were crushing into mine. His tongue pried my mouth open, forcing himself into me, into the space where I could still taste Tamlin. I pushed and thrashed, but he held firm, his tongue sweeping over the roof of my mouth, against my teeth, claiming my mouth, claiming me-

The door was flung wide, and Amarantha's curved figure filled the space. Tamlin- Tamlin was beside her, his eyes slightly wide, shoulders tight as Rhys's lips crushed mine.

Amarantha laughed, and a mask of stone slammed down on Tamlin's face, void of feeling, void of anything vaguely like the Tamlin I'd been tangled up with moments before.

Rhys casually released me with a flick of his tongue over my bottom lip as a crowd of High Fae appeared behind Amarantha and chimed in with her laughter. Rhysand gave them a lazy, self-indulgent grin and bowed. But something sparked in the queen's eyes as she looked at Rhysand. Amarantha's whore, they'd called him.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses