gruff QUOTES

1 " Damn, you're good,' he said and rolled onto his back. The man wasn't much for flowery speech, Alesandra thought with a smile. It didn't matter. She was arrogantly proud of herself because she'd pleased him. Perhaps she should give him a little praise too. She rolled onto her side to face him, put her hand on his chest directly over his pounded heart, and whispered. 'You're good, too. 'Tis the truth, you're the best I've ever had.'
He opened his eyes to look at her. 'I'm the only one you've ever had, remember?' His voice was gruff with affection.
'I remember,' she said.
'No other man is ever going to touch you, Alesandra. You're mine. "

― Julie Garwood , Castles (Crown's Spies #4)

3 " With her hands still fisted in his shirt, she gave a gentle tug until he bent enough that she could kiss him softly. And then not so softly.
“What was that for?” he asked when she pulled free, his voice sexy low and gruff now.
“For being the kind of guy who can admit he has emotions.”
He cupped her face. “We don’t have to tell anyone, right?”
She smiled. “It’ll be our secret.” But then her smile faded because she wasn’t good at secrets.
Or maybe she was too good at them . . . “I’m not helpless,” she said. “I want you to know that.”
“I do know it.” He paused, looking a little irritated again. “Mostly.”
“Good,” she said. “Now that’s settled, you should know, the caveman thing you just pulled . . . it turned me on a little bit.”
He slid her a look. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Looking a little less like he was spoiling for a fight, his hands went to her hips and he pulled her in tighter.
What the hell was she doing? Clearly, she wasn’t equipped to stay strong, and who could? The guy was just too damn potent. Too visceral. Testosterone and pheromones leaked off of him. She dropped her head to his chest. “Ugh. You’re being . . . you.”
“Was that in English?”
“This is all your fault.”
“Nope. Definitely not English.”
“You’re being all hot and sexy, dammit,” she said. She banged her head on his chest a few times. “And I can’t seem to . . . not notice said hotness and sexiness.”
He smiled. “You want me again.”
Again. Still . . . She tossed up her hands. “You wear your stupid sexiness on your sleeve and you don’t even know it. "

― Jill Shalvis , Sweet Little Lies (Heartbreaker Bay, #1)

5 " ...The man who stood before her was taller and stranger than anyone she had ever encountered. His unkempt hair was a long dark brown, partially braided and twisted around twigs, the tips of his pointed ears poking between strands. His bare chest made her flush, but it was completely covered in green inked tattoos. Leather breeches creaked when he shifted. He held his hand out to her, uncurling fingers with long nails. " Aislin," he repeated, his voice gruff and purring, " do not be frightened. I have been waiting so long for you. "

7 " Dread that she would meet some other man and see in him all the joy of life that he lacked.

“I will see you home.” The words came out all wrong, with gruff emphasis on the word will. One look at her, and he lost all chance at serenity. Because he had never in his life cared whether anyone liked him. He’d never thought about it. Until her. "

― Carolyn Jewel , In the Duke's Arms

9 " Look.” He stepped closer, his voice lowered to a gruff murmur, and lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to meet his gaze – which just made her want to stretch up and kiss him. "

― Brynn Kelly , Edge of Truth (The Legionnaires, #2)

11 " The gruff murmur, irregularly broken by the taking out of pipes and the putting in of pipes which had kept on assuring her, though she could not hear what was said (as she sat in the window which opened on the terrace), that the men were happily talking; this sound, which had lasted now half an hour and had taken its place soothingly in the scale of sounds pressing on top of her, such as the tap of balls upon bats, the sharp, sudden bark now and then, " How's that? How's that?" of the children playing cricket, had ceased; so that the monotonous fall of the waves on the beach, which for the most part beat a measured and soothing tattoo to her thoughts and seemed consolingly to repeat over and over again as she sat with the children the words of some old cradle song, murmured by nature, " I am guarding you––I am your support," but at other times suddenly and unexpectedly, especially when her mind raised itself slightly from the task actually in hand, had no such kindly meaning, but like a ghostly roll of drums remorselessly beat the measure of life, made one think of the destruction of the island and its engulfment in the sea, and warned her whose day had slipped past in one quick doing after another that it was all ephemeral as a rainbow––this sound which had been obscured and concealed under the other sounds suddenly thundered hollow in her ears and made her look up with an impulse of terror. "