Dry Humping Quotes

“Dry-humping, I believe it's called.”
― Michael Muhammad Knight, Taqwacores: A Novel

“His lips brush mine, and then I'm the one surging forward, meeting his mouth. Or maybe we move together. All I know is that we're kissing as if it's sweetly painful, like we've waited so long it's almost too much to bear. And it's so good. So very good, the feel of his mouth flowing over mine, learning the shape of me as I learn the shape of him.
He makes a noise deep in his throat, a protracted groan, a needy request for more. Liquid heat pours over me, my mouth opening to his. He tilts his head, his tongue sliding in for the first taste, and I slowly break apart beneath him, my mind going hazy, my body on fire. God, I need more. I need everything.
There's no more hesitation. No more careful touches of tongue to tongue, lips softly questing. Just base hunger. Macon kisses me as if he's parched, his jaw wide, tongue thrusting deep, so deep. I arch against him, held down by his chest, his fingers grasping my hair. That small bite of pain drives me frantic, kicks my lust up.
We become hot breaths, nips, licks, small wordless sounds. He's surging against me, hard cock moving over my sex, grinding into the tender swell of my clit. And I wrap my leg around his hips, wanting more. The action shifts our positions, and the thick crown of his cock notches against my opening. It feels so damn good I moan into his mouth, my hips pushing up on him.
He shudders, suckling the plump crest of my bottom lip, and rocks into me--- only the barrier of his sweats and my bikini keeping him from entering. But it's enough. Enough that I feel that fat head pushing and nudging there but leaving me unfilled, empty.
My muscles clench sweetly, wanting relief, needing more. I slide the flat of my tongue against his, whimpering, undulating against him. He groans long and pained, his whole body moving with his stunted thrusts. We're going at it like sweaty teens, dry fucking each other in the sand. And I don't care. I want his clothes off. I want mine gone.”
― Kristen Callihan, Dear Enemy

“This is what I love. Learning a woman, playing her like an instrument.
“Do it,” I urge, my words a dirty counterpoint to her accelerating exhalations. “Come hard for me, sweet girl.”
There is nothing better than this— her entire frame seizing, her insides clenching up, and her teeth sinking into my thumb. Rae is so gorgeous in these few seconds that she looks suspended out of place and time, caught inside something that is as much like pain as pleasure. It’s magnetic the way she’s lost, and there’s nothing left in her warm, soft frame but bliss. I could watch her for hours. Her utterly unselfconscious grimace, slowly ebbing until there’s nothing but peace on her face.
“Good,” I grunt, my voice in tatters. “That’s it. There you go.” I hug her through her entire climax, soaking it up, feeling it vibrate through me, my dick aching with a need that I could ignore for hours if this is what I get in return. All this syrupy pleasure. Epic and raw and mine. Mine.”
― Adriana Anders, Dom-Com

“This isn't just Grant the Grump anymore. He's not just a sexy guy I share an office with. A Dom I play with. He's this man. A little wild, a little nostalgic. Good at reading people. He has friends who love him and a heart of gold that he would never, ever admit to.
I'm shivering slightly from the cold, from his kiss. He urges me closer, and we're pressed so tightly together, and this closeness doesn't just feel sexy; it feels necessary.
This. Here. It's what we're meant to do. Aside from what we did in the kitchen at work, I haven't experienced this kind of dry-humping since I was a teenager. And let me tell you, it is underrated. His hands on my ass, guiding me, his erection turning me on, and his mouth making me lose my ever-loving mind. That's how it is when I come.
Out in the wild. With no one around but an owl, hooting from the woods.”
― Adriana Anders, Dom-Com