欧宝娱乐

“to love is to have ancient wounds exposed to vicious winds and be caressed instead of burned”
― Emery Allen, Soft Human

“Open the doors of your heart and they will come鈥�
And for every cruel arrow,
Sweet caresses of delirium also
To nourish your soul.”
― Scott Hastie

“How lovely she was in her raiments of silk and levantine purple; the fabric provocatively set off the sheen of her white shoulders, which glistened with the sweat of the world. I was on the verge of giving in to the dangerous enticements of her caresses when I realized that I recognized her from an earlier encounter, back at the dawn of time.”
― G茅rard de Nerval, Selected Writings

“Ne pas succomber aux caresses n'est, h茅las, pas une solution, car ne pas y succomber occupe plus de notre temps qu'y succomber.”
― R茅jean Ducharme, L'aval茅e des aval茅s

“Caresses are a wind blowing from within. (Les caresses sont un vent - Qui souffle du dedans.)”
― Charles de Leusse

“Vane held the reins of his desire in a grip of iron and refused to let his demons loose. Deep, primal instincts urged him on; experience held him back.
She'd never yielded her mouth to any man, never shared her lips willingly. He knew that absolutely, sensed the truth in her untutored response, read it in her lack of guile. But she was rising to him, her passion, her desire, answering his call, sweet as the dew on a crisp spring morning, virginal as snow on an inaccessible peak.
He could reach her- she would be his. But there was no need for any hurry. She was untouched, unused to the demands of a man's hands, a man's lips, much less a man's body; if he pressed too fast, she'd turn skittish and balk. And he'd have to work harder to bring her to his bed.
Angling his head over hers, he kept every caress slow, every plundering stroke deliberate. Passion lay heavy, languid, almost somnolent between them; as he claimed every sweet inch of the softness she offered him, he laced the heady sensation into every caress, and let it sink into her senses.
It would lie there, dormant, until next time he touched her, until he called it forth. He would let it rise by degrees, feed it, nurture it until it became the inescapable compulsion that would, in the end, bring her to him.
He would savor her slowly, savor her slow surrender- all the more sweet because the end was never in doubt.”
― Stephanie Laurens, A Rake's Vow

“You're rather good at this, aren't you?" And she didn't just mean his reading of Gerrard.
Vane's grin converted to a rakish smile. "I'm rather good at lots of things."
His voice had lowered to a rumbling purr. He leaned closer.
Patience tried, very hard, to ignore the vise slowly closing about her chest. She kept her eyes on his, drawing ever nearer, determined that she wouldn't- absolutely would not- allow her gaze to drop to his lips. As her heartbeat deepened, she raised one brow challengingly. "Such as?"
By the time Patience reached that conclusion, she was utterly breathless- and utterly enthralled by the heady feelings slowly spiraling through her. Vane's confident possession of her lips, her mouth, left her giddy- pleasurably so. His hard lips moved on hers, and she softened, not just her lips, but every muscle, every limb. Slow heat washed through her, a tide of simple delight that seemed to have no greater meaning, no deeper import. It was all pleasure, simple pleasure.
With a mental sigh, she lifted her arms and draped them over his shoulders. He shifted closer. Patience thrilled to the slow surge of his tongue against hers. Boldly, she returned the caress, the muscles beneath her hands tensed. Emboldened, she let her lips firm against his, and reveled in his immediate response. Hard transmuted to harder; lips, muscles, all became more definite, more sharply defined.
It was fascinating- she became softer- he became harder.
And behind his hardness came heat- a heat they both shared. It rose like a fever, turning the swirling pleasure hot. Beyond the caress of his lips, he hadn't touched her, yet every nerve in her body was heating, simmering with sensation. The warm tide spread, swelled; the temperature increased.
And she was flushed, restless- wanting.”
― Stephanie Laurens, A Rake's Vow