Emi

“Feeling the little tremors that ran through her body, he dipped his head and kissed the side of her throat. Her senses responded to the persuasive heat of his mouth, so erotic and tender... the searching fingers that slid over the curve of her breast.
Hearing her muffled whimper, he took her mouth in a consuming kiss. Feebly she turned her face away, her lips tingling from the exquisite friction. "No, Sebastian."
He rubbed his face against her hair and the top of her head. Something about the situation, or his own reaction to it, must have struck a chord of humor, for he let out a soft, sardonic laugh. "You'll have to think of a way to solve this, Evie. Think of something fast... because otherwise..." He paused to nip hungrily at her ear, "... otherwise I'm about to screw you senseless.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Winter

“Is that what you need to hear from me? That I love you? I do, Bree. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the first day I saw you, even if I was too stupid to know what real love was. I’ve never stopped loving you. Even through my screwups. Even through yours.”
― A.M. Wilson, Strayed: Special Edition Paperback

“Looking at her is one thing, but I wonder what it would feel like to touch her. To hold her. To grip my hands around her waist and pull her close. To tell her over and over again just how beautiful she turned out.”
― Shireen Ayache, Card of Truth

“You know what? You're kind of growing on me too."
"Like mold?" I ask.
"No, you smell too good," he says, turning his back to me. "I know your kitchen is well equipped. I hope you have a rice steamer."
"Duh," I say, mentally kicking myself for my unprofessional response. "Of course I do."
I walk over to the cabinet and step up onto my toes, but I can't reach the damn contraption. Charles steps up behind me, reaches over my head, and grabs it before it tumbles on my head. For two brief seconds, his body presses into mine, his hands steadying my waist. I swear he's breathing me in. And I'm doing the same. He grabs the steamer, sets it on the counter. But he only shifts slightly, and there's clearly something wrong with my legs; they won't budge. I think I may be paralyzed.
"Did my mother make you the perfume you're wearing?" he asks, his breath on my neck.
"Uh, yeah, she did."
"The base notes smell delicious on you," he says, his voice husky and hot.
My spine tingles. A drop of perspiration beads on my forehead. I clamp my lips together before I tell him he smells delicious too and that he's invaded my thoughts ever since I first met him on the street.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique