I looked at him like a stranger, someone I’d never seen before, and he looked at me like I’d been lost to him for a thousand years and finally found.

Poetry is a naked woman, a naked man, and the distance between them.

Being faithful and monogamous is not natural for human beings. It takes work. Deep down we all know that. We have all been tempted to stray at some point or another. Even when it was only a fleeting thought and we didn't act on it. Every time we acknowledge that someone of the opposite sex is "attractive" or "sexy" we are doing nothing other than pointing out that they would be a suitable mate. Not acting on that natural impulse to want to mate with a viable mating partner requires a conscious decision. It's a constant struggle between what your body wants, and what the civilized part of your brain says you should do, in order to avoid the negative consequences of cheating on your spouse and ruining your long-term relationship. That's why affairs, and extra-marital sex, are often referred to as "a moment of weakness.

Forgive me, madam," he said lightly, amused, "but waiting to make love to you again is straining my nerves." She scoffed but she was quite shaken; he could see it in her expression, in the way she nervously toyed with the buttons on her pelisse."How awfully presumptuous of you to think I'd let you.""You will," he insisted soothingly.She gaped at him."Please continue," he urged. "I'm aching to hear the rest.""You're as arrogant as usual.""You missed it, though.""I absolutely did not," she asserted.He grinned. "You missed my arrogance almost as much as I missed your impudence, little one.""That's absurd.""I love you, Caroline," he softly, quickly replied, catching her off guard with such tenderness. "Move on before I decide I'm finished with this conversation, rip off your clothes, and show you how much.

Love feeds on deception.

At forty-one, he was still the quintessential bad boy—charming, at ease in his skin, and great-looking, with deep blue eyes, slicked-back brown hair, and the kind of full, sensuous mouth that bad boys seemed to have an unfair market on.

Every day for a week, sitting in my idling car, saying goodbye without saying anything at all—the touch of his hand, his forehead pressed to mine, the way he brushed my hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. And still, he hadn’t kissed me. Not once. Nothing but that brief brush of his lips. I was beginning to go a little crazy.

She'd stutter all the reasons why she shouldn't, shaking her head adamantly. But her body..her body would grow hot with excitement. She'd get wet at the thrill of it. So fucking wet that i'd smell her, telling me she's not even wearing panties to smother her spicy scent. When my hand touched hers, still clutched to her chest, she'd flinch but she wouldn't pull away. She'd let me guide it between her swollen breasts and down to her flat belly, brushing the bit of exposed skin where the hem of her shirt rides up. Then I'd let her fingers play with the jewel in her navel, manipulating each digit as if that diamond-studded barbell was her clit. Demonstrating how I would stroke it for her.

The man was rude, crude, and inappropriate. I was taken with him the moment I walked in the door, and I knew the first moment I saw him that it was going to be raw, it was going to be ugly, and I was going to enjoy every damn minute of it.

With Mr. Montgomery, I set out to see what it would be like to write a novel in 30 days. It was hell! I'd do it again in a minute.

I want to take you under the moonlight.

I’m a virgin Mr Cohen,” Carrie said, “I’ve never been with a man before.

He had a hungry look in his eyes and it frightened her.

All this talk about morality, chastity, prudence and the like are very antiquated notions created by some very old belief systems that are notoriously negative towards women.

Every night that he watched over her sleeping form, his urge to protect and take care of her grew. And those weren't the only urges. When she'd throw back the blanket and bare her long legs, it was all he could do not to kneel at her feet, kiss her slim ankles, and slip his hands up her smooth thighs.

We reach the trailer and Shane digs through the pockets of the cargo pants slung over his arm until he finds the key. He pushes open the door and waits for me to pass through. Maybe later I’ll tell myself I should have thought long and hard about what I was going to do, that I should have counted to ten and waited until I regained my sanity before stepping over the threshold, evaluated the pros and cons like a thoughtful, rational adult. But I do no such thing. Shane’s eyes are on mine as I step out of my wet sneakers, drop my damp clothes in a ball on the porch, and walk inside. He follows right behind me, and even through my wet shirt I can feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. The man is a furnace. Every warning about playing with fire zings through my mind, but I dismiss them. I want this. I’m not playing games, and neither is Shane as he grips my shoulders and turns us so my back is to the door and he’s pressed up against me. He lowers his head so our eyes are inches apart and looks at me more closely and thoughtfully than anyone ever has. He’s checking to make sure I’m okay, that my expectations are in line with what today is about. And they are. Just once, we agreed. And that will be enough.

You do bad things to me, Carrie,” he grinned, “Very bad things.

Summer sticks to her skirt sumptuously, in the shiny gray fabric hanging loosely from her curves. Her chestnut eyes, apparently hidden from strangers; her simple but graceful face, unpainted by Madison Avenue; and her straight black hair, parted down the middle without ego, all suggest a minimalist - almost pastoral - beauty that is oddly discordant with her fashionable attire, comfortable indifference to the crowds, and quasi-attentive perusal of the Time magazine unfolded over her hand.

Samantha, you interest me. I’d like to take you out. Why are you fighting me?

There was a time when I could have slept with his friend Briffa, for instance. Around him the air was always fraught with possibilities.

Still, as messed-up as it was, I really liked the feel of her bare arms and the smell of her hair. I got mad at myself right away and told myself I wasn't one of those guys, told myself it was just the hit to the head that was making me think that way.

You never listen to me anymore. Before, if I was talking to you, you would always listen. But now you have no time to even talk to me.'Yeah... Has Keaty told you not to eat the Stew?''Richard!'I frowned 'What?''You are not listening to me!''… Oh. Well I'm sorry. I've got a lot on my mind.''Not me.''Huh?''I am not on your mind.''Uh... of course you are.''I am not' she poked me in the ribs. 'I think you do not love me anymore.'I looked at her in astonishment '… Are you serious?''Very serious' she said petulantly'But... I mean... do we have to talk about this right now?''Yes. It must be now. Etienne is not here, and maybe soon I will never see you agai...''Francoise!' I hissed. 'Keep it down!''Maybe I should keep it down but maybe I should not. In the dope field, when I would not be quiet, you pushed me to the ground and held me tightly'. She giggled. 'It was very exciting'.