Sexually Attractive Quotes

“When selecting a one-night stand, a heterosexual woman who is materialistic is a trillion times more likely to choose a sexually unattractive poor man who seems rich over a sexually attractive rich man who seems poor.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana, The Use and Misuse of Children

“I could pay you." He regretted the words as soon as they dropped from his lips.
Daisy's face shuttered, and for a moment he thought she'd throw something at him. Lucky for him, the coffee hadn't arrived.
"I'm not a hooker, Liam."
"Jesus Christ. I don't think you're a hooker."
"And just for your information," she continued. "I don't need to sell myself to get sex. Lots of guys want to have sex with me. For free. I don't even let them pay for my dinner. That's how free it is.”
― Sara Desai, The Dating Plan

“I like to watch sports, not play them. If you remember, I'm lacking in body awareness."
Liam's voice dropped to a sensual purr. "I'm very aware of your sexy body, so that's not a problem."
He thinks I'm sexy. She shoved that delicious little nugget away to savor later.”
― Sara Desai, The Dating Plan

“Moments later, the curtain rattled open and Daisy strode out, a vision of hotness in head-to-toe body-skimming leather. She'd taken out her ponytail and her hair lay loose and wild around her shoulders.
"I'm badass," she whispered, staring at herself in the mirror. "Look at me."
He was looking. And he was wanting---wanting with a ferocity that took his breath away.
"Hamish! Quit gawking at my girl." He had a decision to make. But right now, all he knew was that he had to follow his heart, and his heart was strutting in front of the mirror, wrapped head-to-toe in black leather.”
― Sara Desai, The Dating Plan

“The Scamp’s devil-may-care attitude often means that he or she is sexually desirable to other people”
― Karl Wiggins, Wrong Planet - Searching for your Tribe

“These soba noodles have gone beyond simply attractive into the realm of sexiness. They look as soft and smooth as the skin of a beautiful lady.”
― Yuto Tsukuda, 食戟のソーマ 25 [Shokugeki no Souma 25]

“Liam had just gotten comfortable on the couch when Daisy walked in wearing a tiny pair of worn shorts and a Marvel superheroes T-shirt cut low to reveal the crescents of her breasts.
Liam's mouth went dry and he choked on his pastry. No, she definitely wasn't a little girl anymore, and the things he was thinking were definitely not appropriate for Mr. Patel's worn couch.”
― Sara Desai, The Dating Plan

“Frederick looked great in the parade of old-fashioned suits I'd seen in since we'd met, of course. More than great. But I realized now that his consistently too-formal, out-of-date attire served as a constant reminder to me that Frederick was out of my league in every imaginable way--- and completely off-limits.
Untouchable. And other.
Now, though...
"What do you think?" he asked. "Do I look like I fit in with modern society now?"
With difficulty, I tore my eyes from the broad expanse of his chest now covered in a forest-green Henley that fit him like a glove and met his gaze. He was fidgeting a little as I looked back at him, drumming his fingertips against his upper thigh again, looking at me with a nervous intensity that stole the breath from my lungs.
I let my eyes trail slowly down his body, drinking him in, taking in his new shirt and the dark blue jeans that fit him so well you wouldn't have guessed he'd had no idea what size he was twenty minutes ago. The other jeans he'd tried on lay folded in a pile on the chair beside him; his suit hung neatly on a hanger in the dressing room.
I focused on these other details to distract myself from how Frederick not only looked just as hot in more casual clothes as he did in his stuffy suits, but also how he now looked attainable in a way that was dangerous to me, specifically.
I had to avert my eyes. Looking right at him felt a little too much like looking directly at the sun.
"You look great. You look unbelievable, actually." I heard his sharp intake of breath, only then realizing that that hadn't quite been what he'd asked me. All he'd asked was whether he looked like he fit in. My stomach swooped, my face suddenly feeling like it was on fire. Idiot. "That is... that is to say---"
"You think I look great?" He was looking at me with an expression that felt somewhere between surprise and pleasure. He stepped from the dressing room, stopping when he was only a few inches away from me. I took an involuntary breath, breathing in the scent of lavender soap and new clothes that clung to him.”
― Jenna Levine, My Roommate Is a Vampire

“Just then I looked up to see Chef Pascal standing over our table.
"Excuse me for one moment." He reached over me, and I think Emerald and I both gasped aloud at him. He smelled like bacon and caramelized onions and had a movie-star-perfect face, soft but still chiseled. A little stubble. Dark skin and big eyes with long, thick lashes. And the gold streaks in his eyes? Even better in person, luminous and crackling with light.
Now I felt like Melinda in the living room, asking me what I was. Was he Egyptian? Mexican? Spanish? But of course he wasn't like me at all. He was closer to a model or an actor than anyone like me.
Pascal didn't appear to notice our gawking. He removed the housemade kimchi-ghee hot sauce from our table and replaced it with a new bottle. He gave a soft, barely there smile, then continued to the other tables, leaving almost every girl- and many guys- shivering in his wake.
"Ha!" Emerald said, clearly exhilarated. "That was a rush, huh?"
"Yeah..." Elliott struggled. "That guy... has a lot of tattoos."
I watched Pascal march back into the kitchen. From the pass, where the dining room met the kitchen, I thought I saw him look back at me, too.
Yeah, right, Tia, I thought just as quickly. Like that could ever happen.”
― Jessica Tom, Food Whore

“Peggy was equally enchanted with the older, more sexually experienced Arnold. Long after their honeymoon and first years of marriage, she continued to praise Arnold as 'the best of husbands.”
― Nancy Rubin Stuart, Defiant Brides: The Untold Story of Two Revolutionary-Era Women and the Radical Men They Married

“Where to touch? The worst of the waxy spikes were stuck from waist to groin. She swiped at his hip, managed to knock off a few. She made a wider sweep on his outer thigh, and cleared a few more. Her hand over his zipper. Shook.
Cade was still picking needles off his abdomen. He widened his stance. "Don't be shy." There was challenge in his tone.
He was getting even with her. She'd forced him to replace the bulbs. His request for her to remove the prickles seemed a fair exchange.
Her heart gave an unfamiliar flutter. Her stomach knotted. They presently stood between the tall box of headstones and a privacy hedge. They weren't visible from the road.
She decided to pick off the needles individually instead of making a palm-wide sweep. There'd be less touching. In her hurry, her knuckles bumped his sex. He sucked air. Enlarged. The tab on the zipper slid down an inch. He made the adjustment.
"Good enough." He pushed her hand away.
She sighed her relief.
He twisted, struggled with the prickles on his back, stretching to brush those between his shoulder blades. Frustrated by those he couldn't reach, he snagged the hem on his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. Shook it out. Grace's eyes rounded and her mouth went dry. Her had a magnificent chest.
Broad and bare, his chest tempted her. Her fingers itched to touch him. Even for a second. This was so unlike her. The need to satisfy her curiosity outweighed the consequences. She went with the urge. She traced his flat stomach and six-pack abs. His jeans hung low. Sharp hip bones, man dents, and sexy lick lines. The man was sculpted.
Cade clutched his shirt to his thigh. Stood still. She felt his gaze on her, but couldn't meet his eyes. Not after she flattened her hand over his abdomen, and his heat suffused her palm. His stomach contracted. Her fingers flexed. She scratched him. He groaned.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“All thought flew from my mind when he pulled the shirt from over his head, revealing the elegant sweep of his back, the hard-packed muscles rippling under smooth skin. Arms, chiseled like a god's, reached down and...
"Oh, sweet baby Jesus," I murmured fervently.
He pushed his jeans off and bared an ass that was, frankly, spectacular. Those tight globes flexed as he kicked the jeans away with one long leg.
Turn away. Get out of here.
I shouldn't look. I coveted my privacy, and I was blatantly watching Lucian strip naked. He deserved his privacy too. But I couldn't blink. I couldn't move. He was...glorious. My fingers gripped the railing, holding on tight.
The light of the pool gave his skin an unworldly greenish cast. He rolled his shoulders...unf...and then dove in. The water rippled outward in his wake. I actually shivered with lust as I tracked him along the bottom of the pool, a pale arrow of flesh darting through the turquoise glow.
Silently, he surfaced on the far side of the pool, then neatly turned to do laps. Perfect form. Long strong arms. Clean, steady strokes.
Édith Piaf kept singing as Lucian set a steady but brutal pace. He went at it lap after lap. I grew fairly dizzy with rude thoughts about his stamina. The night was cool, but my flesh was hot. God, that water looked so good. I could practically feel it running over my fevered skin.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“Let me get a good look at you."
A flush started along his neck and crept up to his ear. But he complied, his gait loose hipped and rolling. "This slow enough?"
"I think I need to film it for posterity. I don't think I've ever appreciated a man's legs more."
That got a smile, though it seemed more of a "The woman is ridiculous, but I like it" one. "If you're good"----he set the tray on the side table----"I'll let you ride my thigh later."
That should not have made my sex clench with anticipatory heat so very hard. But it did.
Lucian looked me over. "Although I have to say you didn't do yourself any favors putting on that shirt."
"Was that bad?"
"Very," he said sternly. "You'll be taking it off soon, or no thigh ride for you."
"Yes, Lucian.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“He was once again wearing only a pair of trousers, chest bared, and sight was extremely arousing. All that naked male flesh, all that dark, swirled hair, was unsettling and thrilling. She longed to run her fingers through the matted pile, to rub her nose against it, while she traced over sinew and bone.”
― Cheryl Holt, Total Surrender

“He was disgracefully handsome, the flight attendant decided, with the kind of face you saw in old black-and-white Hollywood movies. And, oh, that British accent! Even better. Nadia loved British accents. He was so courteous, such a gentleman, that she wondered if he might somehow be connected to the royal family. Just thinking about it made her pizda tingle. "Then perhaps I can fetch you a blanket."
"A glass of wine, if you have it."
"Of course, sir. Red or white?"
"Always red."
Safe watched the shapely bottom swing pertly away toward the galley. With blue baby-doll eyes and wide pouty lips, she was an adolescent wet dream of a sexy stewardess, long-legged and busty, extravagantly curvy in all the right places under the snug red Aeroflot uniform.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“He was disgracefully handsome, the flight attendant decided, with the kind of face you saw in old black-and-white Hollywood movies. And, oh, that British accent! Even better. Nadia loved British accents. He was so courteous, such a gentleman, that she wondered if he might somehow be connected to the royal family. Just thinking about it made her pizda tingle. "Then perhaps I can fetch you a blanket."
"A glass of wine, if you have it."
"Of course, sir. Red or white?"
"Always red."
Rafe watched the shapely bottom swing pertly away toward the galley. With blue baby-doll eyes and wide pouty lips, she was an adolescent wet dream of a sexy stewardess, long-legged and busty, extravagantly curvy in all the right places under the snug red Aeroflot uniform.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“I couldn't repress the sigh of relief at being back here. It was bright and tidy and smelled like oranges. Ellie stood at the sink wearing an old-fashioned sundress, navy blue with red roses, with a deep V that showed her upper back. Brown beauty spots dotted her creamy skin.
What would they taste like?
The grumpy voice I'd had in my head since Brian called lost the attitude and instead started to list reasons why kissing Ellie's neck would be amazing. The dip of her waist would be perfect to rest my hands in. She'd smell like Earl Grey and clean sheets, and taste like salt and citrus. She'd turn in my hold, rest her arms on my shoulders, and her soft blue eyes would flutter closed like they had when she'd tasted that blood orange at the farmers' market.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“She made her easy way down the outside steps. "Are you trying to catch flies?" she asked, a laugh in her voice. "You must have seen a woman all made up before."
I closed my mouth. I felt like I'd never seen her before. Silky violet fabric hugged her body like it never wanted to let her go, dipping in at her waist and sweeping out at her hip. It ended just above her knees and made her curvy legs look like they went on forever before they got to her gold flats. When her raspberry-pink mouth curled in a warm smile, she glowed, and it was like a light bulb suddenly lit up in my head. I wasn't horny and restless because I hadn't gotten any in almost ten months.
It was because I wanted her. Only her.
I wanted to bite her lush lower lip, suck the sweet curve where her shoulder met her neck. I wanted to bury my face where her neckline curved down. I wanted to bury my face in a lot of other places, too.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn