Thighs Quotes

Hey, suit guy! The man bellowed.
Chris bit back the urge to yell. He turned, expecting to be confronted by a hand held out for money. What he saw was a pair of enormous eyes, the same color as the spring sky, set in a face with high cheekbones and a delicate chiseled jaw. The man's short, spiked hair was dyed a vibrant purple, making his creamy pale skin glow. Letting his gaze shift downward in a sudden still silence, Chris took in the sleek, sculpted muscles under the snug green t-shirt, the faded jeans molded to slim hips and thighs.
He'd never in his life's seen anyone so beautiful. ~ Ally Blue

His lips touched the back of her neck and moved along her stubborn shoulder. One hand stroked her breasts, and the other moved unerringly between her thighs; he found the most sensitive part of her and moved against her and in her until her half-formed protests turned into soft, stifled moans. The moon moved lower in the sky, tangling itself in her eyes until he closed them with surprisingly gentle kisses. Her body was the ocean and his was the wild wind
turning ripples into foam-capped breakers that soared and curved translucently before they crashed into oblivion against distant shores. ~ Rosemary Rogers

Put tattoos all up and down our thighs, do anything our parents would despise. Take uppers, downers, blues, and reds and yellows, our brains are turning into jello. ~ Joan Baez

Azariel didn't know what to say. Most Frenchmen preferred voluptuous women - whose ample breasts proved how well the next generation would be nurtured, between whose thighs they would take their pleasure. Women, in turn, dressed to appear as plump and fruitful as possible. Some even wore neckbands that, when pulled tight, made their chins look doubled. What kind of man wouldn't want a full-figured wife? ~ Maggie Anton

And aye, beside her stalks her amarous knight!
Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,
And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,
His hindward charms glean an unearthly white,
Ah! thus thro' broken clouds at night's high Noon
Peeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon! ~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge

A youth loathes nothing more than his own callowness. Experience is his object. Experience, however ghastly, for the lad longs before all for the lined face and chiseled squint of the veteran. Even his submissions to terror, the very shit with which he paints his thighs under fire is trophy to him; he points it out to his comrades, laughing in the aftercourse of action as if it were a decoration for valour, for it makes him a salt, a veteran, an old hand. ~ Steven Pressfield

When she comes
She pulls you close
She breathes in short bursts
Her eyes close
Her head tilts back
Her mouth opens slightly
Her thighs turn to steel, and then melt
She is perfect
And you feel like you are everything. ~ Henry Rollins

Nella had the sudden flash of seeing Rio, in his leather leggings, kneeling with thighs spread, his hands behind him, his brawny wrists encircled by wide cuffs with a chain between them.
Rio's gaze locked to hers, his eyes nearly filling with blue, as though he knew what was in her head.
Then she noticed Rees. He'd stilled, his irises also widening. His large hand moved to cup Talan's waist and pull her toward him. The tunic couldn't hide the fact that his cock was stiffening and lengthening.
"Better stop whatever you are imagining," Dr. Laas said to Nella, amusement in her voice. "You have two Shareem males erect and randy in front of you, and you're only wearing a sheet. Who knows what the consequences will be?"
"Can they read my mind?" Nella asked in surprise.
"No," Rees said, his voice rumbling and low. "Your pheromones."
"They pour over us like water, sweetheart," Rio said. "When your body is craving us, we get all hot and bothered. We can't help it." He moved to her. "Later, I'll make you tell me what you were thinking about."
Bad idea. A very bad idea.
Talan seemed the only one able to take the situation in stride. She broke away from Rees and came to Nella. "You poor dear. I imagine you are quite confused. Come and sit." She glanced at Rio. "Couldn't you find her any clothes?"
Rio shrugged. "I like her the way she is. ~ Allyson James

He ran his hands over the insides of Zane's thighs, looking down to watch himself pull almost completely out. He pushed at the backs of Zane's legs, forcing his knees up more toward his chest. Ty was still kneeling when he began to thrust his hips forward, head down and biting his lip as he watched the shaft slide in and out of Zane's tight ass. He loved to watch that. "You ~ Abigail Roux

Because I wanted you." He turned from the window to face me. "More than I ever wanted anything in my life," he added softly.

I continued staring at him, dumbstruck. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn't this. Seeing my openmouthed expression, he continued lightly. "When I asked my da how ye knew which was the right woman, he told me when the time came, I'd have no doubt. And I didn't. When I woke in the dark under that tree on the road to Leoch, with you sitting on my chest, cursing me for bleeding to death, I said to myself, 'Jamie Fraser, for all ye canna see what she looks like, and for all she weighs as much as a good draft horse, this is the woman'"

I started toward him, and he backed away, talking rapidly. "I said to myself, 'She's mended ye twice in as many hours, me lad; life amongst the MacKenzies being what it is, it might be as well to wed a woman as can stanch a wound and set broken bones.' And I said to myself, 'Jamie, lad, if her touch feels so bonny on your collarbone, imagine what it might feel like lower down...'"

He dodged around a chair. "Of course, I thought it might ha' just been the effects of spending four months in a monastery, without benefit of female companionship, but then that ride through the dark together"--he paused to sigh theatrically, neatly evading my grab at his sleeve--"with that lovely broad arse wedged between my thighs"--he ducked a blow aimed at his left ear and sidestepped, getting a low table betw ~ Diana Gabaldon

When I was playing soccer at the age of 14, the first thing we'd do before going out onto the field would be to climb up on one another's thighs and massage the legs; it was a regular thing. None of us had a thought of being gay, absolutely not, and it's the same with most bodybuilders. ~ Arnold Schwarzenegger

I like everything you do to me."
"In that case"- he flipped her onto her back again, spread her thighs- "I think we should explore the concept of oral sex." Her brain hazed over. And stayed hazed. ~ Nalini Singh

It's not the small of her back, her thighs, or her chest or eyes that matter most. It's the parts of her she's afraid to show that you should get to know. ~ J. Raymond

I love your hips and the way they fit perfectly in my hands, your nose gives you character, your thighs... Jesus, I can't even think about them without getting a hard-on, and your eyes make my heart race like a schoolboy with his first crush." - Jax ~ A.J. Bennett

We're both going to hell," Kathleen said as he kissed along the seam of her clenched thighs.
"I've always assumed I would." Devon didn't sound all troubled by the prospect. ~ Lisa Kleypas

I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying, Kiss me harder, and You're a good person, and, You brighten my day. I live my life as straight-forward as possible. Because one day, I might get hit by a bus. Maybe it's weird. Maybe it's scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be - to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands. But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate. And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care. We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans. We never know when the bus is coming. ~ Rachel C. Lewis

I want to make pants out of tuna fish, to accompany my cottage cheese thighs. ~ Jarod Kintz

She squeezed her internal muscles and grinned at his reaction. His fingers bit into her thighs, and his chin tilted up. "Fuck, woman."

"Don't forget how much I like to ride."

He groaned in agony. "Crap. I'm dead."

She leaned down and grasped his chin, locking gazes with him. "I'll go easy on you."

His laugh sounded pained, and she couldn't help but enjoy the amazement in his expression. "Where the hell have you been all my life? ~ Cherrie Lynn

Her entire life she'd struggled to lose the extra weight that enjoyed residing at five foot four Maggie Lawson. PO Box ASS, Zip code THIGHS. Seems it was its permanent address, and she'd come to accept the houseguests. ~ Lisa Eugene

There is no love left in your eyes, there is no love between your thighs. ~ Dave Navarro

The number of human deaths due to hardening of the arteries and other similar diseases suggests that human beings were not meant to eat animals; our bodies are unable to digest the animal fat effectively and it ends up stored in our blood vessels, not to mention our waist lines, buttocks and thighs! ~ Sharon Gannon

I pressed her thigh and death smiled ~ Jim Morrison

Every time I blink, all I can see are my flaws. My body in a fun-house mirror. Hips too wide. Thighs too big. And a head too small for the rest of me. ~ Julie Murphy

He's at ease, his body sculpted to the music, his shoulder searching the other shoulder, his right toe knowing the left knee, the height, the depth, the form, the control, the twist of his wrist, the bend of his elbow, the tilt of his neck, notes digging into arteries, and he is in the air now, forcing the legs up beyond muscular memory, one last press of the thighs, an elongation of form, a loosening of human contour, he goes higher and is skyheld. ~ Colum McCann

Erin, stop slapping people's thighs. ~ Razelle

Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep. ~ John Milton

and your thighs. I can't wait to feel them wrapped around me. ~ Jaci Burton

I was ready in 2008 for the Olympic Games but unfortunately I missed the Kenyan trials with a thigh injury. I watched those Olympics but it was tough to watch. But it was good in the end because a Kenyan, Wilfred Bungei, was the champion. ~ David Rudisha

Whenever I wore a bathing suit, I kept a sarong around my hips that went halfway down my thighs. The tops of my thighs are like baby skin. Where the sarong ended, I can see sun damage: I've got dark spots and places where there is no melanin. The spots are not pretty, so I encourage everyone to protect their skin from the sun. ~ Christie Brinkley

That night, I met some old college friends at Soho House, a private club in the meatpacking district of Manhattan. I hadn't seen them since I'd joined the community, and they hardly recognized me. They spent a half hour discussing how awkward and introverted I used to be. Then their conversation turned to work and movies. I tried to contribute, but I had trouble focusing on the words. They just floated into my ear and accumulated there like wax. I felt like I didn't fit in with them anymore. Fortunately, an Amazonian woman with tree-trunk thighs and a lethal boob-job soon stumbled past the table. She was a foot taller than me and somewhat drunk. "Have ~ Neil Strauss

I fought back the memory of our wedding night. He was a virgin; his hands trembled when he touched me. I had been afraid too
with better reason. And then in the dawn he had held me, naked back against his chest, his thighs warm and strong behind my own, murmuring into the clouds of my hair, Dinna be afraid. There's two of us now. ~ Diana Gabaldon

Floating"

Our canoe idles in the idling current
Of the tree and vine and rush enclosed
Backwater of a torpid midwestern stream;
Revolves slowly, and lodges in the glutted
Waterlilies. We are tired of paddling.
All afternoon we have climbed the weak current,
Up dim meanders, through woods and pastures,
Past muddy fords where the strong smell of cattle
Lay thick across the water; singing the songs
Of perfect, habitual motion; ski songs,

Nightherding songs, songs of the capstan walk,
The levee, and the roll of the voyageurs.
Tired of motion, of the rhythms of motion,
Tired of the sweet play of our interwoven strength,
We lie in each other's arms and let the palps
Of waterlily leaf and petal hold back
All motion in the heat thickened, drowsing air.
Sing to me softly, Westron Wynde, Ah the Syghes,
Mon coeur se recommend à vous, Phoebi Claro;
Sing the wandering erotic melodies
Of men and women gone seven hundred years,
Softly, your mouth close to my cheek.
Let our thighs lie entangled on the cushions,
Let your breasts in their thin cover
Hang pendant against my naked arms and throat;
Let your odorous hair fall across our eyes;
Kiss me with those subtle, melodic lips.
As I undress you, your pupils are black, wet,
Immense, and your skin ivory and humid.
Move softly, move hardly at all, part your thighs,
Take me slowly w ~ Kenneth Rexroth

He made her feel out of kilter, wholly off-balance. The other night in his arms, it had felt so good to lean on him, if only for a while. To forget the load she had borne for so long now.
And she could see it, God help her, she could, an erotic vision that ran through her mind, filled her world; her hands running over his shoulders- dark and burnished as his face. His form, long and muscular and naked, all fluid masculinity as he raised himself above her.
Heat seemed to gather at the place between her thighs. Her breasts were swelling, as if her nipples sought to stab through every layer of stiff, starched cloth. She knew that if she looked down- there would be no hiding the sight of her nipples standing pebbled and hard beneath her gown. She wanted to clamp her hands over them; better still, she wanted him to clamp those strong, masculine hands over them both and... ~ Samantha James

Lying asleep between the strokes of night
I saw my love lean over my sad bed,
Pale as the duskiest lily's leaf or head,
Smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite,
Too wan for blushing and too warm for white,
But perfect-coloured without white or red.
And her lips opened amorously, and said
I wist not what, saving one word
Delight.
And all her face was honey to my mouth,
And all her body pasture to my eyes;
The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire,
The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south,
The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs
And glittering eyelids of my soul's desire. ~ Algernon Charles Swinburne

I told you,lifemate, you're always taking off my clothes."
"Then stop wearing the damn things," he responded gruffly,his hands at her tiny waist, his mouth finding her flat stomach. "Someday my child will be growing right here," he said softly, kissing her belly. His hands pinned her thighs so that he could explore easily without interruption. "A beautiful little girl with your looks and my disposition."
Savannah laughed softly, her arms cradling his head lovingly. "That should be quite a combination. What's wrong with my disposition?" She was writhing under the onslaught of his hands and mouth,arcing her body more fully into his ministrations.
"You are a wicked woman," he whispered. "I would have to kill any man who treated my daughter the way I am treating you."
She cried out,her body rippling with pleasure. "I happen to love the way you treat me,lifemate," she answered softly and cried out again when he merged their bodies, their minds, their hearts and souls.
The future might be uncertain, with the society dogging the footsteps of their people,but their combined strength was more than enough to see them through. And together they could face any enemy to ensure the continuation of their race. ~ Christine Feehan

I was wondering where the real party was."
I jumped, sending my pencil in a sharp line across the page. Alex was standing two feet away, one booted foot on my step, hands thrust into the pockets of what looked too much like Emo pants: black and tight.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to surprise you."
"You didn't surprise me," I gasped, left hand plastered to my chest. "You scared the crap out of me. Who raised you? Wolves?"
He actually grinned. "You've met my parents. What do you think?"
I wasn't going to touch that one. I just shrugged.
"Why aren't you inside?" he asked after a few seconds.
"It was too hot," I lied, closing my sketchbook as casually as I could. "Oppressive.Why aren't you?"
"It was too...God, I don't know. Oppressive's a good word. Some fresh air seemed like a good idea."
I looked past him, relieved not to see anyone else there. "All by yourself? That's...bold."
His brows wen up. For a second, I thought he was going to turn around and leave. Instead,he took his hands out of his pockets and pointed at my step. "Big words for a small person. Can I sit down?"
I swallowed. "Sure."
He did, ending up with his elbows resting on his thighs and his right knee not quite touching mine.
The silence went on just long enough to make in uncomfortable. But I wasn't going to help him with his small talk. I'm not very good at it in the best of circumstances. Sitting almost thigh to thigh with a guy who turned m ~ Melissa Jensen

I always had really long swimmer's arms. The last to totally go is always my thighs and butt, but my old body is there somewhere. ~ Kirstie Alley

My father slapped my thighs with a variety of meats until I began to cry and sulked in the corner. I later became a musician ~ Thom Yorke

Five thousand dollars? For a kiss?"

"That's what I said."

"With tongue?"

"It's not really a kiss without it.
Just say yes, pet. You obviously need the money."

I gasp before I can stop myself. I didn't think five words from a stranger could hurt so much. What a dick.

"For fuck's sake, Nicholas," Simon says.

But he just looks at me, waiting, those arrogant green eyes alight with anticipation. So I give him what he's waiting for.

"Hands under the table," I order.

He smiles wider, puts his flask in his pocket, and does what he's told.

"Close your eyes."

"I like a woman who's not afraid to take charge."

"No more talking." He's said more than enough.

I lean in, keeping my eyes open the whole time, memorizing every angle of that face, feeling his warm breath against my cheek. This close, I can see the shadow of stubble on his chin and for just a second, I let myself wonder what it would feel like scratching against my stomach, my thighs - everywhere.

Then in one move, I pick up his plate - and smash the apple pie in his stupid, handsome face.

"Kiss this, asshole. ~ Emma Chase

You sure this isn't going to hurt you?' she asked.
Landry settled comfortably between her thighs, the head of his very thick cock teasing the opening of her pussy. He lifted a brow, obviously amused at the question.
"I'm pretty sure pain is going to be the last thing on my mind," he said. "In case you didn't know, most people tend to think of sex as kind of pleasurable. ~ Paige Tyler

...I had also parsed that there was something powerful about blindness, thinness, flatness, and gaps between thighs. And that power was the context against which all others defined themselves... beauty isn't actually what you look like; beauty is the preference that reproduce the existing social order. ~ Tressie McMillan Cottom

You are the actor. Your body brings in something, call it presence, and it happens by degrees. Arms, chest, haunches and thighs, calves and feet. The body, firing synapses, in between and in the gray matter. On and off. The billions of cells, the body mechanisms, the busy regulating, the adjusting, the retinas contracting and expanding, body secreting, beating, moving, breathing and pulsing. Your being registers here. Swallow. Inhale. Open mouth to press air out to touch the flesh in the throat to make sound.

You are the actor. A thing of flesh and feeling. Perfect because you aren't. ~ Richard Maxwell

Early in the boob-emerging years, I had no boobs, and I was touchy about it. Remember in middle school algebra class, you'd type 55378008 on your calculator, turn it upside down, and hand it to the flat-chested girl across the aisle? I was that girl, you bi-yotch. I would have died twice if any of the boys had mentioned my booblets.
Last year, I thought my boobs had progressed quite nicely. And I progressed from the one-piece into a tankini. But I wasn't quite ready for any more exposure. I didn't want the boys to treat me like a girl.
Now I did. So today I'd worn a cute little bikini. Over that, I still wore Adam's cutoff jeans. Amazingly, they looked sexy, riding low on my hips, when I traded the football T-shirt for a pink tank that ended above my belly button and hugged my figure. I even had a little cleavage. I was so proud. Sean was going to love it.
Mrs. Vader stared at my chest, perplexed. Finally she said, "Oh, I get it. You're trying to look hot."
"Thank you!" Mission accomplished.
"Here's a hint. Close your legs."
I snapped my thighs together on the stool. People always scolded me for sitting like a boy. Then I slid off the stool and stomped to the door in a huff. "Where do you want me?"
She'd turned back to the computer. "You've got gas."
Oh, goody. I headed out the office door, toward the front dock to man the gas pumps. This meant at some point during the day, one of the boys would look around the marina office and ask, " ~ Jennifer Echols

Pressed up against him, I can feel the thud of his heart against mine, his ribcase expanding and contracting rapidly against my chest, the warm whisper of his breath tickling the side of my neck, the brush of his leg against my thigh. Resting my arms on his shoulders, I pull back a little to get a look at his face. But he isn't smiling any more. ~ Tabitha Suzuma

If you're anything like me,
You bite your nails,
And laugh when you're nervous.
You promise people the world,
because that's what they want from you.
You like giving them what they want...
But darling, you need to stop,

If you're anything like me,
You knock on wood every time you make plans.
You cross your fingers, hold your breath,
Wish on lucky numbers and eyelashes
Your superstitions were the lone survivors of the shipwreck.
Rest In Peace, to your naive bravado...
If life gets too good now,
Darling, it scares you.

If you're anything like me,
You never wanted to lock your door,
Your secret garden gate or your diary drawer
Didn't want to face the you you don't know anymore
For fear she was much better before...
But Darling, now you have to.

If you're anything like me,
There's a justice system in your head
For names you'll never speak again,
And you make your ruthless rulings.
Each new enemy turns to steel
They become the bars that confine you,
In your own little golden prison cell...
But Darling, there is where you meet yourself.

If you're anything like me
You've grown to hate your pride
To love your thighs
And no amount of friends at 25
Will fill the empty seats
At the lunch tables of your past
The teams that picked you last...
But Darling, you keep trying.

If yo ~ Taylor Swift

Can you sign something?" Nicole demanded. "This paper? This napkin? My chest? My inner thighs or my wildest dreams? Whatever you want. ~ T.J. Klune

The ocean tosses up a thousand arms to embrace the storm that falls across her like a drunken sailor. His thunder slaps her thighs, his lighting piercing her waters.
They pound me between the hips and I begin to panic, knowing their passion will destroy me. ~ Terry Moore

There's only one spot I want to be. Between her thighs and in her heart. ~ Eve Langlais

His head is busy moving between my parted thighs. He makes low purr-like sounds between my legs and is so surprisingly ravenous I can feel his teeth. His nails bit into my thighs as he devours me like he's the one deriving pleasure from the act, and I'm so turned on by the way he laps me up, that I come. ~ Katy Evans

Yes,love."He leaned down,his hands splayed on her ankles,up he raked to her knees,her inner thighs until he had her legs spread so wide her cunt wept for him."You in me and me in you.For hours,forever."

~Alexander Roman ~ Laura Wright

The hallway beyond was filled with males of the house, the Brothers and other fighters and Manny sitting on the floor with their backs to the bare walls, their legs stretched out, propped up, crossed at the knees or crossed at the ankles.
Apparently there had been quite a bit of drinking going on, bottles of vodka and whiskey littered around them, glasses in hands or on thighs.
"This is NOT as pathetic as it looks," her Butch pointed out.
"Liar," V muttered, "It so fucking is. I think I'm going to start knitting for reals. ~ J.R. Ward

I doona understand them," Ryder said as he stopped beside Laith. "Doona get me wrong. I love the feel of a woman's thighs around me, but to be bound to a single woman for eternity?" Ryder shuddered. "It's no' for me. Human or Fae. ~ Donna Grant

He's morbidly obese. He's unusually bloated. There are needle marks on his abdomen and thighs that indicate he's an insulin-dependent diabetic. His diet was fast food and Skittles.

Collier looked skeptical. "So Harding conveniently slipped into a diabetic coma during the middle of a death match? ~ Karin Slaughter

In the drawing room [of the Queen's palace] hung a Venus and Cupid by Michaelangelo, in which, instead of a bit of drapery, the painter has placed Cupid's foot between Venus's thighs. Queen Caroline asked General Guise, an old connoisseur, if it was not a very fine piece? He replied Madam, the painter was a fool, for he has placed the foot where the hand should be. ~ Horace Walpole

Svengal lay groaning on the turf. His thighs were sheer agony. His buttocks ached. His calf muscles were on fire. Now, afterhe had tumbled off the small pony he was riding and thudded heavily to the turf on the point of his shoulder, the shoulder would hurt too. He concentrated on trying to find one part of his body that wasn't a giant source of pain and failed miserably. He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the face of the elderly pony that he had been riding peered down at him.
Now what made you do a strange thing like that? The creature seemed to be asking. ~ John Flanagan

Do I make you nervous?"
His gaze travels from my eyes to my breasts and down to where my dress meets my thighs. "In that dress you do. ~ Simone Elkeles

The mated males are biased. They want more females here for their own females. Many of the single males will likely have an issue, since it is tradition."
"Well if the single males want more females here, that's the only way to do it. They're only hurting themselves."
His fingers flexed slightly against hers. "Why do you think females would come here, anyway?"
"Why wouldn't they? I knew nothing about this sector and even after my tour I still don't know much about it. Maybe if there was an attraction here - other than the males - it would bring more females."
He straightened and pushed up so that his hands caged her against the headboard. "This facility puts out the best warriors and we do some of the most intense and covert off-world missions. We will not have attractions here like a… carnival."
She blinked, realizing he'd misunderstood her. Unable to stop herself, a giggle escaped.
She cupped the side of his face. Midnight black stubble already covered his jaw. She shivered, remembering the feel of it against her inner thighs not too long ago. "I didn't mean that kind of attraction. I mean, give the females an incentive, like luxury housing or the chance to run a business here. There are so many business opportunities here for women. So far I've only seen one clothing shop and one bakery run by females."
He was silent a long moment as he watched her. "I think I might be biased too."
"How so?"
"Because I want to change ~ Savannah Stuart

Now, grip the bull tight with your thighs." She dutifully tensed her thighs. "Not tense. Grip. Real hard with your whole thigh." His voice dropped, his lips pressing in closer to her ear as he murmured, "I know you know how to do that."
A surge of heat shot from her core. Didn't he know she was having a hard enough time sitting on the damn thing as it was without sexual innuendo messing with her equilibrium? She shot him a don't-make-me-get-off-this-thing look but gripped.
Hard.
"Atta girl," he whispered.
Joss gritted her teeth. "Don't push your luck, cowboy. ~ Amy Andrews

Because there's a silent, shrugging, stoical acceptance of all the things in the world we can never be part of: shorts, swimming pools, strappy dresses, country walks, roller-skating, ra-ra skirts, vest tops, high heels, rope climbing, sitting on a high stool, walking past building sites, flirting, being kissed, feeling confident. And ever losing weight, ever. The idea of suggesting we don't have to be fat –that things could change –is the most distant and alien prospect of all. We're fat now and we'll be fat forever and we must never, ever mention it, and that is the end of it. It's like Harry Potter's Sorting Hat. We were pulled from the hat marked 'Fat' and that is what we must now remain, until we die. Fat is our race. Our species. Our mode. As a result, there is very little of the outside world –and very little of the year –we can enjoy. Summer is sweaty under self-conscious layers. On stormy days, wind flattens skirts against thighs, and alarms both us and, we think, onlookers and passers-by. Winter is the only time we feel truly comfortable: covered head to toe in jumpers, coats, boots and hat. I develop a crush on Father Christmas. If I married him, not only would I be expected to stay fat, but I'd look thin standing next to him, in comparison. Perspective would be my friend. We all dream of moving to Norway, or Alaska, where we could wear massive padded coats all the time, and never reveal an inch of flesh. When it rains, we're happiest of all. Then we can just stay ~ Caitlin Moran

Jessica's smile makes Ron slide his hand over the console, let it work down between her blue-jeaned thighs. ~ Blake Crouch

It was the Easter Hat Parade, and the St. Angela's mothers were out in force, dressed up in honor of Easter and the first truly autumnal day of the new season. Soft, pretty scarves looped necks, skinny jeans encased skinny and not-so-skinny thighs, spike-heeled boots tapped across the playground. It had been a humid summer, and the crispness of the breeze and the anticipation of a four-day, chocolate-filled weekend had put everyone in good moods. The mothers, sitting in a big double-rowed circle of blue fold-up chairs around the quadrangle, were frisky and high-spirited. The older children who weren't taking part in the Easter ~ Liane Moriarty

My thighs ached from the force of his grip. My back ~ Tillie Cole

Rachel waved her hand in dismissal. "Yeah, well, I assume that he was upset, and she was there, he fell, and she caught him – right between her thighs. ~ Monica Alexander

Perhaps I should have been a Negro. I suspect I would have been a rather large and terrifying one, continually pressing my ample thigh against the withered thighs of old white ladies in public conveyances a great deal and eliciting more than one shriek of panic. Then, too, if I were a Negro, I would not be pressured by my mother to find a good job, for no good jobs would be available. My mother herself, a worn old Negress, would be too broken by years of underpaid labor as a domestic to go out bowling at night. She and I could live most pleasantly in some moldy shack in the slums in a state of ambitionless peace, realizing contentedly that we were unwanted, that striving was meaningless. ~ John Kennedy Toole

He guided her hands lower, over her own soft belly, her hips, the tops of her thighs. The oils they spread there left a sheen upon her flesh. A sheen that glistened as firelight and shadows caroused about the space.

His grasped her wrists and he urged her hands to her back once again.

"Clasp them," he said and she did. ~ Arla Dahl

He cocks an eyebrow. "Penny for your thoughts, Miss Hen?" He appears focused on his task, but there's a sly glint in his eye. I flush. Oh, I was just imagining your hands traveling up my thighs and your teeth nibbling my breast. ~ F.L. Fowler

There was scarcely a woman alive, it seemed, who could resist the urge to haul men down onto beds, car seats, kitchen floors, dining-room tables, park grass, parlor sofas, or packing crates, entwine warm thighs around them, and pant in ecstasy. ~ Russell Baker

You're killing me," he told her, panting, his palms sliding down over her ribs to explore the rest of her
shape - her waist, her hips, her thighs. "Killing me by inches." He lifted his body from hers enough to
yank up her skirt. "But it's a damn fine way for a man to die. ~ Laura Lee Guhrke

Does it hurt here?" he asked, his fingers slipping over the swollen entrance of her sex.
"A little." She leaned back against his arm, her head lolling on the polished wooden rim of the huge porcelain bathtub.
Nick kneaded lightly with his fingertips, as if he could heal her with his touch. "I tried to be gentle."
"You were," she managed to say, her thighs floating apart.
Nick's thick lashes lowered as he stared at the shimmering blur of her body beneath the water. His handsome features were carved with such severity that his face could have been molded from bronze. The edge of his rolled-up sleeve dragged in the water, the velvet turning hot and sodden.
"I won't ever hurt you again," he said. "That's a promise. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Rice
Greyness masks the giving sun,
Cool air snakes between my thighs,
Dragonflies alight in heeded flight,
As monsoon floods the paddy's eyes.
I step barefoot on the spongy mud
Which tugs back upon my sole
My journey etched in reddish clay
Mapped out from source to goal.
Winds murmur of a change of plan
And unveil the playful sun.
I put new footprints in my footprints
And begin again where I've begun. ~ Beryl Dov

A girl stood before him in midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face. ~ James Joyce

I would say probably my least favorite costume ever was in 'Van Helsing.' That was a huge pain because it had thigh-high boots with 30 buckles on them that had to be done up individually. ~ Kate Beckinsale

My thighs were huge; they were like rock! Growing up, I was really athletic, and I had a very athletic body. ~ Gigi Hadid

I also wish to be ... noble. Profoundly noble. I wish to devote myself to a cause. I want to be part of something. I want to swing into action, like a one-woman army. An arm-me ... But I don't want to be noble and committed like most women in history were
which invariably seems to involve being burned at the stake, dying of sadness, or being bricked up in a tower by an earl. I don't want to sacrifice myself for something. I don't want to die for something. I don't even want to walk in the rain up a hill in a skirt that's sticking to my thighs for something. I want to live for something, instead
as men do. I want to have fun. The most fun ever. ~ Caitlin Moran

He smiled at her. "Now, are you going to thank me properly?"

"I said 'thank you.' That's considered in some cultures as thanking you properly."

"I was hoping for a little more than that."

She studied him for a long moment before she nodded.

"All right." She scooted down a bit on the bed, pulled her gown up high on her thighs, and relaxed back into the mattress. "If you could make it quick before the food gets here, that would be great."

Gwenvael felt a small twitch beneath his eye. He often got something similar right on his eyelid but only when he had to deal with his father. Apparently a new one had developed that belonged only to Lady Dagmar. "That's not what I meant."

"I hope you're not expecting me to get on my knees because I don't think the healer - "

"No!" Good gods, this woman! "That's not what I meant, either."

"That's always what men mean when they ask to be thanked properly."

"Your world frightens me. I want us to be clear on that." He leaned over and grabbed her waist, lifting her until her back again rested on the propped-up pillows.

"I'm unclear as to what you want, then."

"A kiss," he said, pulling her dress back down to her ankles. "A simple kiss. ~ G.A. Aiken

i will wade out until my thighs are steeped in burning flowers. i will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air ~ E. E. Cummings

I wonder if he still hates me," Silas says as the cat edges out from the couch, pale green eyes like little limes in the dark. As if to answer Silas's question, Screwtape takes a flying leap onto his lap and begins to purr wildly.
"I'm not falling for this anymore," Silas says firmly. He moves to push Screwtape away, but as soon as his palms are within a few inches of Screwtape's wild fur, the cat extends his claws into Silas's thighs. Silas winces and muffles a yelp.
"Need some help?" I say, trying to hide my laughter.
"That'd be great," he answered tensely. I hurry over and scoop Screwtape into my arms. The cat instantly melts against me and rubs his face against mine, the scent of catnip on his breath. I crinkle my nose.
"Thanks." Silas sighs in relief. "I can hunt wolves, but it's a cat I can't handle. Not terrible manly of me, is it?"
"I won't tell anyone," I answer with a soft smile that he returns. ~ Jackson Pearce

What are you doing?" she asked, even as she parted her thighs.
"You're a smart woman. You figure it out."
He kissed his way up to her knee, then moved between her legs and nibbled higher. Up and up and up until he pressed an openmouthed kiss just at that hollow by her hip.
"That's not right," he teased, even as he licked her tummy. "I was looking for something else."
Anticipation had reached such a fevered pitch that Phoebe wasn't sure she could talk--even to give directions. She could only send loud telepathic messages instructing Zane on the right place to press that tongue of his. Fortunately, the man was pretty darned good at mind reading.
He slipped from her tummy to the promised land in three seconds flat. This time, she didn't have warning, but that was okay. She didn't mind the surprise of his gentle caress pleasuring the most intimate parts of her.
She parted her legs even more and raised her hips in a silent invitation. He moved slowly, discovering, tasting, whispering how good this all was for him.
She wanted to tell him he should try it from her perspective, but she couldn't form words. ~ Susan Mallery

You don't have to have a thigh gap to be beautiful ~ Demi Lovato

The opposite of passion
is not virtue
but routine.

- Daphne with her Thighs in Bark ~ Eavan Boland

A 2010 study by Barnaby Dixson and colleagues used an eye-tracking device to detect where a man's gaze first falls when looking at an image of a woman's body. In less than a fifth of a second, almost half the men tested looked at the woman's breasts first, while one in three looked at her waist and one in seven looked at the pubic area or thighs. Just one in sixteen men looked at the woman's face first. ~ Robert Martin

Once they were both naked and pressed together again, with Christian's mouth on one of Max's nipples and Max's hands on Christian's inner thighs, Christian was struck by how intense it was, how urgent and powerful and deep this wanting went. All his life he was raised to believe - wanted to believe - that desire was a superficial thing, something you worked through and, if you were disciplined and moral, ultimately put aside in favour of deeper, more important pursuits. ~ Heidi Belleau

Raphael pulled out a paperback and handed it to me. The cover, done back in the time when computer-aided imagine manipulation had risen to the level of art, featured an impossibly handsome man, leaning forward, one foot in a huge black boot resting on the carcass of some monstrous sea creature. His hair flowed down to his shoulders in a mane of white gold, in stark contrast to his tanned skin and the rakish black patch hiding his left eye. His white, translucent shirt hung open, revealing abs of steel and a massive, perfectly carved chest graced by erect nipples. His muscled thighs strained the fabric of his pants, which were unbuttoned and sat loosely on his narrow hips, a touch of a strategically positioned shadow hinting at the world's biggest boner.
The cover proclaimed in loud golden letters: The Privateer's Virgin Mistress, by Lorna Sterling.
"Novel number four for Andrea's collection?" I guessed.
Raphael nodded and took the book from my hands. "I've got the other one Andrea wanted, too. Can you explain something to me?"
Oh boy. "I can try."
He tapped the book on his leather-covered knee. "The pirate actually holds this chick's brother for ransom, so she'll sleep with him. These men, they aren't real men. They're pseudo-bad guys just waiting for the love of a 'good' woman."
"You actually read the books?"
He gave me a chiding glance. "Of course I read the books. It's all pirates and the women they steal, apparently so they can enjoy lo ~ Ilona Andrews

Say it."
"Don't do this to me ... " I whispered painfully. "We can't do this again."
"You're a horrible liar," Eli growled as he pressed his fingers into my thighs. He watched me, his gaze all-consuming, and said, "Your eyes are as dark as a castle moat by midnight, mi cielo. Lower your drawbridge and let me cross; let me in."
"Eli, I-"
"Forget him. For the next hour and a half, you're going to do everything that makes you wonder in this world. And then I'm going to love you again. ~ Nadege Richards

Sometimes, she wondered if what she craved even existed. A man who was strong inside and out. A man who knew the world wasn't fair, and knew he had to take responsibility for his part in it. A man who knew there was more to sex than simply the act and that there was more to a woman than breasts and thighs and what lay beyond. A man who accepted the fact that a woman might need adventure as well. That was what she craved. A man she could trust enough not just to give in to her desires with, but to accept her need to live. A man who, even if he wasn't there forever, was at least there long enough to care about fulfilling not just the physical desires, but the adventurous ones as well. ~ Lora Leigh

Furi feverishly jerked his own cock. His hand moving so fast on his length, it was a blur. Syn wished he could see his lover's face, see him in the throes of passion. His head was too heavy to lift and Furi's face was buried in his damp pubic hair, his red, swollen mouth still hovering near Syn's sensitive dick, panting hot breaths on him as he howled his own release into the red-lit room, coating Syn's thigh with wet heat. Furi dropped between his thighs and rested his head on his groin, his chest rapidly rising and falling as his orgasm left him weak as well. Syn absently ran his hand through Furi's long tresses, while they both came back down to earth. Syn ~ A.E. Via

Young girls are obsessed with having a thigh gap. I blame the impossible body standards set by Spongebob. ~ Stephen Colbert

Say I was going to make love to you right now." He movied to stand eye to eye with her.

"I would would gently take your shoulders and guide you backwards until your back was pressed into the wall behind you. I might run my hands as light as possible up and down these gorgeous arms and the entire time I'd have my mouth against yours in a soft, sensual kiss."

"I'd wrap your long, sexy legs around my waist and slowly, gently, slide my cock into you."

"But if I was going to fuck you." He gripped her thighs tightly and pushed his hips into her. "Maybe my hands would be rougher and there'd be nothing slow and gentle about my cock, but there'd be no shortage of passion. Every thrust, every touch would convey how fucking sexy I find you."

~Slade ~ C.D. Hussey

I wanna slide my hands up those thighs, Sloane. I wanna tear your clothes from your body and make you tremble. I want to dig my fingers and my teeth into your skin and make you scream my name. You want that, too, huh?" he says. ~ Callie Hart

I think it makes you wet, knowing I'd move mountains to get a chance between your thighs. ~ Anonymous

Don't stop now, darling."
She didn't, her finger wandering over the soft skin of her rounded stomach, into the curls that hid that magnificent place between her thighs. He watched, encouraging her with whispered guidance as she explored for herself, as she tested her own knowledge, her own skill, until he thought that he might die if he was not inside her. ~ Sarah MacLean

Fine. He had let her indulge in her hobby, while he'd indulged in his, and right now his was clenching her soft thighs against his pumping hips. He gave one last push and came. He wasn't sure Alice did, but she was better than Emory at faking it. ~ Sandra Brown

I don't have time for sweet tonight." He slides his thick cock between my thighs. "I'm going to fuck ye hard and fast and stuff ye full of my come before I have to leave. ~ A. Zavarelli

In the past I was a vicious hunter. I would stalk my prey with pinpoint accuracy. Ever since Monica came into my life I've abstained from the game. It almost feels strange to stand here and look to the crowd knowing I could pick one and f*ck them into oblivion. I won't though. I may love her, but that isn't the reason. If I were to pick someone for the sake of revenge sex then I'm giving control to Monica and Dalton for betraying me. I'm strong enough to wait. A good hunter is always patient and never stalks in anger.'
'I always crack it until Tobias stops flinching at the sound. It's never the same amount of times. I don't want it to become obvious so I always do it a few more times to create a sense of surprise.
I coil up the leather and with the flick of my wrist I set a perfect line against Monica's back. She yelps in pain and surprise, and Tobias joins her. He thought he'd get the first blow.
I breathe through the pounding in my cock. It beats in time with my rapidly beating heart.
I flick my wrist again taking Monica across the shoulder. I see Tobias tense as she screams. Mustn't allow the slaves to think they are taking even turns. The blow's shock is what makes my cock burn for release. I palm my balls as they tighten, threatening to shoot my release up the stock of my dick. I inhale through my nose and breathe out my mouth until I regain my control.
I flick my wrist again and hit Monica across her thighs. She screams bloody murder at the ceil ~ Erica Chilson

The fairy- again, Wendy assumed- was an angry tinkling ball of light with the prettiest girl imaginable inside. Diminutive but... solid, with a scandalous lack of decorous dress. All she wore was a ragged green shift which barely covered her hips and thighs and breasts and was gathered dangerously over only one shoulder. This was both shocking and delightful; it made the tiny creature resemble statues of ancient nymphs and nereids Wendy had seen. Her hair was even done up in classical style, a goddess-like bun of hair so golden it glowed. Tiny pointed ears curved their way through the few dangling tresses. Her eyes were enormous and not even remotely human: they were far apart and glaring.
The crowning glory was, of course, a pair of delicate iridescent wings sprouting from her back. Their shape was somewhere between butterfly and dragonfly. They were clear as glass and thin as onion skin. ~ Liz Braswell

I was nineteen. You had your lips on my neck and whispers in my ear. You drove me crazy. But I mistook crazy for absolute happiness. ~ Dominic Riccitello

What were you doing spying on me?" she asked bluntly as she flounced down on a bench to inspect her charred skirts.
The lean, hard muscles of his thighs flexed beneath the tight-fitting breeches as he half sat, half leaned on a high stool nearby.
"I grew bored with viewing the ladies who meander about the markets, and I came to see if the sights were better here at the mayor's cottage."
The corners of his lips twitched with amusement, and his eyes gleamed into hers as he added, "I am happy to report, they are!"
Erienne got to her feet in a huff. "Have you nothing better to do than go about ogling the women?"
"I suppose I could find something else to occupy me," he replied easily, "but I can't think of anything that's nearly as enjoyable, except, of course, being in a lady's company."

-Erienne & Christopher ~ Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

He held me much closer than Carl had. His grip was firm and possessive. It left no doubt in anyone's mind who I belonged to and that alone sent a thrill through me that I knew was wrong. He imprisoned me in the unwavering chains of his gaze, leaving me powerless to break away while he scrutinized my soul. I wondered what he was looking for.
"You came."
The hand on my waist slid over the swell in my spine where it connected to the rise of my backside. His palm flattened against the spot and I was drawn even closer, eliminating what modicum of space there had been between us. My soft frame was cradled seamlessly into the unyielding length of his in all the places that counted, thighs, pelvis, stomach … breasts. I couldn't even breathe without feeling the skim of my hardened nipples against his chest. I couldn't move without feeling his cock reaching for me through miles of fabric to prod into my midsection.
He was long and hard and I grew wet from that knowledge alone.
"Gabriel…"
"I couldn't leave without having this dance with you."
My fingers tightened around his shoulder. "Why?"
His quiet exhalation whispered over the curve of my cheeks, smelling of mint and despair. "Because the further away I got from you, the more it felt like if I kept driving, I would lose you for good and that scared me like nothing else. ~ Airicka Phoenix

For a women to wear the clothes that a man had bought her was to feel his touch with every waking moment. For a man to hear the whisper of cloth as walked, was to feel her response to him, the throb of her pulse as it intensified, the silky heat between her thighs as waited for him to unwrap her. ~ Liz Fielding

Mmm, God, I love that." He settled her thighs on either side of his hips until she rested on the thickness of his fully impaled cock. "Don't need to come. Just want inside." He brushed his lips across her mouth, cheek, and temple, and let her head come to rest against his shoulder. "Try to get some sleep. Morning comes early. ~ Cameron Dane