Leisa Rayven Quotes

I don't think you understand. I have no moves. I'm move-less.

I've spent years trying to block out how you look. And sound. And feel. And before this show, I'd gotten pretty good at it. But now, here you are, in front of me every day, and it blows my mind that a single touch from you still has the power to ruin me. And whenever it happens, I forget about the choices I've made, and the circus my life's become, and I want you. Consequences be damned.

These days, my preferred method of sexual satisfaction is masturbation. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I'm amazing at tooting my own horn. Without a doubt, I'm the most satisfying sexual partner I've ever had, which is a sad state of affairs.

Holt, there aren't many people in the world who connect like we do, for whatever reason, and saying that we shouldn't feel it isn't going to make it go away. One day you might figure that out, but by then it'll be too late.

We stand there for a few seconds before he thrusts one of the cardboard cups at me and says, "Oh, shit. This is, uh…this is for you."
I take it and hold it up to my nose.
"What is it?"
"It's an I'm-a-dick-achino."
I try to stop the smile that lifts the corners of my mouth. "Huh. Smells like plain old hot chocolate to me."
"Yeah, well, it turns out they were out of dick-achinos. I offered to make some more, but they said I was overqualified."
"They were right.

We've tried being enemies. It sucked. We've tried being friends, and it's not enough. The way I feel about you isn't platonic anymore. It's primal.

He was my first true friend. My first love. First lover. The master of more pleasure than I knew existed, and the architect of more heartache than I thought I could endure …
I want him. Can't want him. Need him. Hate needing him.

I've never stopped loving you. From the day we met, you've been the only one for me. There's never been anyone else.

Hey, guys," I say as we stop in front of them. "Have a good summer?"
"I had an awesome summer," Jack says with his trademark smirk. "I got together with the ex-girlfriend I dumped more than a year ago because I'm a miserable fuck who never stopped pining for her. Oh, wait, that was you, Holt, wasn't it?

He's not a movie star, and I'm not his stage manager. We're the same two desperately connected people who fell down a rabbit hole years earlier and climbed out forever changed.

Just be with me. Please. We don't have much time left. And I have the strongest feeling that having part of you is going to be better than having all of anybody else." I

Bravo for faking it yet again, Ethan. You're a perfect counterfeit copy of someone I thought I loved.

Earlier, I was sitting on a bench on the banks of the Tiber, and there were all these people there
holding hands and kissing. Happy and in love.
They made it seem so easy. Like giving their heart to someone else isn't the scariest thing in the
world.
I still don't understand that.
Don't they know the power they're giving to that other person? The absolute future-forming
dominion?
Don't they understand how much it's going to hurt when it all goes wrong? And let's face it, ninety
percent of those couples won't still be together a year from now. Even six months from now.
And yet, there they are, hugging and lip-locking, completely oblivious to the pain that's coming for
them.
Unconcerned and trusting.

Not just my body. It's more than that. Some parts spark. Others melt. A flux of chemistry and catastrophe, the same compulsive need that keeps bringing us back together.

It's his words that slay me. His sometimes sweet, sometimes sad, always sexy words about love and loss seem to bypass my brain and speak straight to my soul.

Despite all the things I would have changed about our journey, I'd never want a different destination. It's always been you.

Sometimes fate is what you make it, and I'm making my life with you.

It took me a long time to expect more from myself. To see that being vulnerable takes a shitload more strength than being closed off and sullen.

If you think you're immune to my charms, you're fooling yourself."
I pull my hand away and ignore how fiercely it tingles as I place it in my lap. "So, you don't think any woman can resist you?"
"I'm sure plenty of women could. But you? No. You're so starved of romance in your life, you're like an emotional skeleton. I intend to put some meat back on your bones. Make you believe in something other than a bleak apocalypse.

This is what makes us keep coming back, despite everything we've gone through. This is why I had to change, and why, despite how much I hurt you, you can't walk away. The way we sink into each other. The way I can't tell my heartbeat from yours. We have this perfect rhythm, whenever we're together, and that's the essence of us. It's not just about sex. It's about this.

I'm more than happy to fuck off, but if it makes a difference, I wasn't going to talk about dicks. I'm far more interested to hear more about your poor neglected vagina. How's she been? We haven't had a face-to-face in a while.

I know what you're trying to do, and…no. You can't make something that's beautiful but complicated into something simple and ugly out of sheer force of will.

I'm not the gambling type. I've never understood how some people can get addicted to games in which the probability of losing is so high. They're not stupid people. They know the odds aren't in their favor, yet they risk more than they can possibly afford to lose.
Right now, I think I finally get it.
Losing isn't what drives them. It's the glimmer of that one spectacular win.

After all, history proved that eventually, everyone leaves me. Why would you be any different?
Now I know that you were.
Are.

try to explain to her she's dead and therefore has no further need for Romeo's impressive erection, but she's finding it difficult to suspend her disbelief.

The thing about developing an addiction is that it happens so quietly, you don't know how much trouble you're in until it's to late. It tiptoes through the rooms of your mind and body, gently inserting hooks and strings into every cell, until you don't know where you end and it beginigs. And untangling that web is nearly impossible.

Scared people either shut down and avoid the thing they fear, or get angry at it and lash out.

I'm sure it's not as bad as you think." From everything I've seen so far, he's incapable of writing trash.
I pick up the notebook and read his paragraph aloud. "Once upon a tie, a bossy queen tortured a sweet, innocent prince by forcing him to dredge up painful memories from his past. The prince tried to do as he was told, but every word felt like his pen was made of razor blades, and he was slicing the bitter truth straight into his heart. In the end, the prince gave up his excruciating self-evaluation and went and made himself a sandwich. The end."
I lower the notebook. "Really?

My smile couldn't be smugger if I bought it from Smuggy McSmugster at the Smug Store in Smugville.

He's looking at me, torn and passionate, and I don't know how I thought I was truly alive before I met him. This is what love feels like. To no longer belong to yourself. To be pulled from what you know into what you feel. No wonder people live and die for this feeling.

What genius decided to call that particular piece of clothing a "wife beater"? It's not a wife beater. It's a vagina arouser. A drool inducer. A panty destroyer. Fricking

​Because it's easier for you to think being alone is a choice rather than admitting you might be unlovable

Strange that he'd be wearing God's symbol when he's in league with the devil.

We just stand there for a while. Breathing each other in. Being. Still not fixed, but far less broken.

Be the change you want to see.

We all need fantasies now and then. Sometimes believing our lives can be different is the only thing that keeps us going.

I can't believe that in the world of wrong we've created together, this can still feel so right.

Doesn't the student council have anything better to do than decorate the shit out of everything? It looks like Jingly the Glitter Fairy jazzed all over the damn place.

are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there's a light from within.

Yes, I love you. But you have no idea how many times I've wished I didn't.

Loving you isn't a choice. It's who I am.

And so Ethan and I orbit each other. Get on with things. Learn the art of pretending. Hone our craft to lie to others as skillfully as we lie to ourselves.

Time is a fickle whore. Whenever you want it to pass slowly, it speeds up, and whenever you're full of nervous impatience, it crawls like a sloth on sedatives.

God…this," he whispers against my lips. "You. You're everything.

Still, he's being nice to me, so I decide to be nice to his ass and allow myself to notice how hot it looks in his jeans.

We're working. Can you put the phone down."
"Can I? Yes. Will I? No."
"Are you that intent on inflicting yourself on the nearest hottie on Tinder? Or are you sliding into the DMs of some of your faithful fans?"
He stays focused on the screen. "Neither. I'm on a new app called Whiner. It locates the most insufferable nag within a four-block radius." He looks at me in mock-surprise. "Holy shit, would you look at that? It's pointing right at you.

France is beautiful. I stood at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower today and looked up at it. There are
very few times in my life I've felt so small. The day I left you was one of them.
I miss you.
Ethan.

So you're his new Juliet, huh? Has he ruined you yet? Run while you still can. Trust me on this. You do not want to be around when that boy self-destructs. He'll just take you with him, and the damage he'll do will fuck you up forever. Just ask my therapist. And my sponsor.

You disrupted my entire world, Even Tate. I'm used to being the one in control. The one people fall in love with. I'm not supposed to fall in love.

I used to think missing someone was a choice, but that was before Liam. Now I realize all you can do is choose to ignore missing someone. The actual longing never goes away. It stays in your body like a toothache, deep in your bones, and every time you forget to deny it, the hum of it builds into a roar that's so loud, it's the only thing you can hear.

God, Liss, I can't live without you anymore, and I'm tired of pretending that I can.

I feel like I'm in a disaster movie, and that belt is the iceberg that's going to sink the good ship Orgasm. It must be destroyed.

Just emotional? There's no such thing. Emotions are nothing without a corresponding physical response. Adrenaline-fueled joy, heart-thumping fear, gut-churning loss.

Are you auditioning for Romeo?" He shakes his head. "No way. I'd have to have my balls removed to play that pussy." "Hey, that's no way to talk about one of the greatest romantic heroes of all time." "He's not a hero, Taylor, he's a limp, fickle dick who confuses lust with love and kills himself over a chick he's just met.

If there were a Nation of Stupid People, I would be their queen.

They made it seem so easy. Like giving their heart to someone else isn't the scariest thing in the world. I still don't understand that. Don't they know the power they're giving to that other person? The absolute future-forming dominion? Don't they understand how much it's going to hurt when it all goes wrong?

I love you," he murmurs as he rests his head on my shoulder. "I love you so much. Don't leave me.

Ask me to give up a limb and I swear, I'll find a way to do it. But don't ask me to live without you anymore. I can't. I'm so goddamn in love with you, it hurts.

An opinion isn't right or wrong. It's your interpretation of a subject or a situation. You can't be f......g wrong!
"So, if I look at the sky and have the opinion that the clouds are pink, I'm right?"
"Yes! Because it's an opinion, not a fact, and maybe to you, the clouds are pink because you're nuts. An opinion doesn't need to be true for anyone else in the world but you. Stop trying to f.....g please everyone and just say what you think.

He stops and turns to me. "Do you think people would stare if I threw you over my shoulder? Because I really want to do that. Then I can ogle your ass and just run."
The look in his eye is a little manic. For a second, I think he's going to do it. Then he spies the heavily armed security officer a few feet away.
"Excuse me, sir?" he says, and the guard looks at him. "Would it be acceptable to carry my girlfriend like a sack of potatoes in order to get out of here quicker and make sweet love to her?"
The guard's mouth moves, but he resists smiling. "No, sir, that would not be acceptable."
"Piggyback?"
"Nope."
"Put her on a trolley?"
"No."
"You're no fun."
"So my wife keeps telling me.

I've been nothing but an asshole to you since the first day we met."
"I know."
He rests his forehead against mine as his hands move across my back. "I've pushed you away, time and again. Yet you still want me to kiss you?"
"Yes. A lot."
He grazes his hands over my ribs, and his voice is soft and breathless when he says, "Don't you see how fucked up this is? How bad I'd be for you?"
"I know," I say, unable to stop looking at his mouth, "but do you want it? Do you want…me?"
Just say it. Please.
He swallows again, and whispers, "Fuck, yes.

You think I can even pretend to remain professional with you anymore? You're so strong in so many ways, but right now, you look like a scared little girl. Why is it so difficult to cope with the thought that you like me?

This rain is crazy, huh?"

"Yeah. Hope your ark-building skills are decent, or we could be in trouble."

"We don't need an ark. I have some inflatable pool lounges. They have cup holders."

"Fancy."

"No expense spared to save my woman from the watery apocalypse."

"Nothing says 'I love you' more than quality recreational inflatables."

He makes a noise. "Now I have visions of that inflatable sheep Avery bought for his pool."

"We said we'd never discuss that.

Connor was a blip on our radar. Despite my fantasizing about beating the shit out of him on the regular, he's a nice guy. The only thing he ever did wrong was take a liking to the girl of my dreams. Can't really blame him for that. You are fucking spectacular.

And then there was poor perfect Peter who you dumped because he manscaped."
... "Hey, you didn't have to look at his perfect eyebrows all the time. It was off-putting how arched they were. And he had zero hair below the waist. I mean, come on. I don't mind guys keeping it tidy down there, but he was totally smooth. I tried to get past it but it was like dating a Ken doll.

I take the lighter and resist the urge to hug him. Tristan says I can be a little too touchy-feely. Actually, his term is touchy-fucky but I modify it to make myself feel better.

if I stay with him any longer, he'll unstitch me, and I really can't fall apart now. Bitterness is the only thing holding me together. Without it, I'm shapeless.

Liss, come on. We were never just about one night. You know that." "No, I don't. Because I only got you for that tiny amount of time and now she gets you forever. And there's no way that's fair. It's just not.

We start to sway again. We're not actually dancing, just rocking side to side. Not moving forward or backward. Just moving.
Like most of our time together, we're treading water.
Trying not to drown.

I have no issue with Elissa. She's a fantastic stage manager, and we've worked together before. In fact, a million years ago we used to be good friends. Back when I still thought her brother was born of a human mother and not spawned straight from Satan's asshole.

Men are like vibrators. Just because they're dicks, it doesn't mean you can't use them to have a good time.

Just say yes, Cassie. Don't overthink it."
His mouth is close. Almost too close for me to deny him anything.
"Ethan…"
"No, not 'Ethan.' 'Yes'. Or better yet, 'Yes, please, God, kiss me before we both go insane.' Either works for me. 'Fuck, yes!' with an accompanying fist pump is also acceptable.

I never did figure out how to fuck you, did I? Couldn't just detach and treat it like sex, 'cause it never was. Ever. It was so much more.

The whole weekend turned out to be one giant round of excruciating foreplay, and if he doesn't stop stalling and give me some relief pretty damn pronto, there's going to be a girl-parts rebellion the likes of which he's never seen. I'm wound tighter than Jane Fonda's latest facelift, goddammit.

We all have issues we're trying to overcome, Miss Tate. Everyone wants to feel special, whether we admit it or not. And loving without limits and allowing ourselves to be loved in return is what life's all about. Or at least, what it should be about. Everything else just gets in the way.

Every day, I try to ignore my attraction to you. Every…damn…day. I tell myself I'm over you and can't have these feelings, but it doesn't help. Nothing helps.

Cassie, I felt like a ghost while I was away from you. I was. Now, I want to feel real again.

You're not my client. You never have been. And even if you were, I'd break every fucking rule I've ever held sacred just to be inside you right now.

Romeo has poisoned himself.
Idiot.

To put it simply, he makes me swoon like it's his damn job.
He's the only man who's ever affected me like this, and it's safe to say I hold it against him. It's inconvenient and rude.

For all its amazing strength, our hearts are made of eggshells, and sometimes all it takes is someone you'd almost given up on declaring their love for it to crack wide open

You had a huge impact on Ethan. No doubt, in the story of his life, you've left your mark everywhere.

He puts his hand on the wall next to my head and moves closer. I put my other hand on his chest. Not to stop him. Just to feel more of his body.
He closes his eyes and exhales before looking at me again. "If you're feeling even half of the attraction I'm feeling toward you, then, no, I don't think you could resist. In fact, I think if I kissed you right now, we'd barely make it through that door before tearing each other's clothes off and fucking like there's no tomorrow.

I invented chemistry with you. Everything else is just pretend.

It's a fucking crime that you haven't been kissed properly.

But this kiss? It's ruined me. This is the type of kiss I never knew existed. It's like falling and flying, all in the same moment.

I would climb him like a tree and bang him like a screen door in a hurricane.

but what do I say if someone straight out asks me about us?" There's a babble of voices in the hallway, and he immediately steps away and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Lie." "And if Connor asks?" His eye twitches. "Tell that fucker we're engaged.

This is precious. This is love. This is something I'll never take for granted, because I know how it feels to be without it.

It's not like I didn't have friends in high school. I did. But I was always careful to be the Cassie I thought they expected. Happy, easy-going, nonthreatening. Smart but not intimidating. Pretty but not desired. The one who acted as the go-between when someone liked a boy, but never the one the boy liked.

While keeping his eyes locked onto me, he removes his tie and slowly begins popping open the black-enamel buttons on his dress shirt.
The temperature in the apartment suddenly skyrockets.
It takes effort to swallow as I watch him. "Uh…what's happening."
"I'm taking off my shirt."
"Why?"
"Because we've apparently reached the portion of the evening where we get semi-naked to torture the other person.

The way we sink into each other. The way I can't tell mu heartbeat from yours. We have this perfect rhythm, whenever we're together, and that's the essence of us.

The thing is, if people were books, Ethan would be a bestseller. A sexy, intelligent page-turner you'd find hard to put down, even after it reduced you to a sobbing mess.

Wait," I say, gobsmacked. "You think I'm going to fall in love with you?"
"No." He takes a sip of wine and smiles. "I know it.

Cassie, I want to be with you. Always. If that involves us being naked and making love in a hundred different ways, every day for the rest of our lives, that's fantastic. If it involves us sitting and talking, wearing barbed wire and cast-iron body suits, that's fantastic, too. I just want you. Now. A week from now. A year. A decade. Whenever you're ready. What I want is never going to change. It's you. Just you. Naked or clothed, doesn't matter to me.

All of a sudden, I'm really tired. I feel like I'm always fighting to be with him, while he's fighting to push me away.

Her vagina could offer shiatsu massage and whistle the national anthem - it's still not worth marrying her to get a piece of it.

I'm not saying goodbye," he says as he shoves his hands in his pockets. "Because this isn't over. One day, fate's going to fix this. Bring us back together. I believe that.

This man represents so many things to me. He was my first true friend. My first love. First lover. The master of more pleasure than I knew existed, and the architect of more heartache than I thought I could endure. It

Jesus. I just lost our bet." "Yes, you did." "Fuck." "If you insist." He pushes away and runs his hand through his hair.