25
" You cold or something?' he said. She strained against him; she wanted to pass clear through him: 'It's a chill, it's nothing'; and then, pushing a little away: 'Say you love me.'
I said it.'
No, oh no. You haven't. I was listening. And you never do.'
Well, give me time.'
Please.'
He sat up and glanced at a clock across the room. It was after five. Then decisively he pulled off his windbreaker and began to unlace his shoes.
Aren't you going to, Clyde?'
He grinned back at her. 'Yeah, I'm going to.'
I don't mean that; and what's more, I don't like it: you sound as though you were talking to a whore.'
Come off it, honey. You didn't drag me up here to tell you about love.'
You disgust me,' she said.
Listen to her! She's sore!'
A silence followed that circulated like an aggrieved bird. Clyde said, 'You want to hit me, huh? I kind of like you when you're sore: that's the kind of girl you are,' which made Grady light in his arms when he lifted and kissed her. 'You still want me to say it?' Her head slumped on his shoulder. 'Because I will,' he said, fooling his fingers in her hair. 'Take off your clothes--and I'll tell it to you good. "
― Truman Capote , Summer Crossing
27
" Miss Bridgerton,” he said, “the devil himself couldn’t scare you.”
She forced her eyes to meet his. “That’s not a compliment, is it?”
He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across her knuckles. “You’ll have to figure that out for yourself,” he murmured.
To all who observed, he was the soul of propriety, but Hyacinth caught the daring gleam in his eye, and she felt the breath leave her body as tingles of electricity rushed across her skin. Her lips parted, but she had nothing to say, not a single word. There was nothing but air, and even that seemed in short supply.
And then he straightened as if nothing had happened and said, “Do let me know what you decide.”
She just stared at him.
“About the compliment,” he added. “I am sure you will wish to let me know how I feel about you.”
Her mouth fell open.
He smiled. Broadly. “Speechless, even. I’m to be commended.”
“You—”
“No. No,” he said, lifting one hand in the air and pointing toward her as if what he really wanted to do was place his finger on her lips and shush her. “Don’t ruin it. The moment is too rare. "
― Julia Quinn , It's in His Kiss (Bridgertons, #7)
37
" As the sun began to rise, the man reached out to the woman, and they clasped hands. He cradled her, and languidly they lifted themselves up to their feet, their bodies brushing, their eyes lost in each other's. Sensuously, deliberately, they danced, moving as though they were one, their body language smooth as their limbs carefully unfolded. They twirled and rocked, intertwined and separated, nearly leaning onto one another but barely touching, their movements sometimes tender, sometimes almost violent...Moments passed while the dancers held tight to each other, as though their bodies were melting together. The expression on their features as they lifted their faces to the sky was one of unimaginable joy. "
― Hannah Fielding