Naughty Good Night Quotes

Mrs. Darling first heard of Peter when she was tidying up her children's minds. It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day. If you could keep awake (but of course you can't) you would see your own mother doing this and you would find it very interesting to watch. It's quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on Earth you picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek, as if it were a nice kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. When you wake in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out the prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on.

He had dirty-blond good looks to match a dirty-good smile. Yes, dirty. There was just enough twinkle in his smiling brown eyes to suggest there might be all manner of naughty-guy impulses rattling around that cute body of his.

weren't we all the same as children?" eiko asked. "all of us, destined to become beautiful brides in fluffy white dresses!" she giggled to herself. "where did we go wrong?" isn't that what keeps life interesting?" i replied. "and who knows? next year you could be somebody's wife. no one knows what will happen." sometimes i think it would be wonderful just to stay the way i am forever, just kick back and space out during the afternoon thinking about all the exciting things that the night will bring, all the naughty things i might take part in." she snickered again. well," i said, "aren't you the happy one." she squinted her tiny nose and laughed. dawn was breaking as we said good-bye. i saw her off by watching her small body disappear into the background, her high heels clapping along, echoing in the early morning city. my drunkenness, the sunrise, the bright sky, and a friend who was leaving. if i had died in my fall i would have missed that morning - that splendid sunrise over tokyo.

It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day. If you could keep awake (but of course you can't) you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. It is quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as a kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. When you wake in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind; and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out your prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on.

Mrs. Darling first heard of Peter when she was tidying up her children's minds. It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day... When you wake in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind and on the tp, beautifully aired, are spread out your prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on.

Never took you for someone so naughty." "Looks can be deceiving." "Ah, such a fucking smart mouth." "Face it, you love my smart mouth." "Hmm..." "What?" "Just thinking about all the things I want to do to that smart mouth." Her breath hitches in her throat. "You---" "Tell me what I'm thinking right now. If you guess right, maybe we'll make it happen." Eden's face fills with heat, her heart pounding in her chest. Her brain is about to melt. There are so many possibilities, so many scenarios. But one look from him, and she's a goner. Her tongue is a twisted knot. The fire pooling in the pit of her stomach has her unraveling at the seams. Alexander might have just broken her. Alexander can sense her struggle and chuckles, tenderly kissing her cheek. "What are you being so shy for? You started it, sweetheart. Come on, venture a guess." "What if I guess wrong?" "I doubt you will." He presses his forehead to hers, the tips of their noses bumping up against one another. "Say it," he whispers against her lips. "Say it." "I think..." Eden takes a deep but shaky breath. "I think you want to fuck me." "Among other things." She looks deep into his eyes and reads him like a book. "I think you want to fuck me hard. And then soft. All night, and then all morning. On my back. On my knees. You want to taste me. You want me to taste you." "I think you want me to make you beg," he says, still soft and only loud enough for her alone to hear. "You want to be taken against a wall. In my bed. On the fucking floor. You want me to make you tremble. You want to be fucked so good, your voice gives out. You want to feel sore in the morning. Isn't that right, Eden?" "Yes," she gasps, the word bubbling past her lips without a second thought.

Mrs. Darling first heard of Peter when she was tidying up her children’s minds. It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and out things straight for the next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day. If you could keep awake (but of course you can’t) you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. It is quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, wondering where on earth you had picked this up, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as kitten, and hurriedly storing this out of sight. When you wake in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind, and on top, beautifully aired, are spread out your prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on.

But the very fact that she took such a foolish trifle so seriously moved me, and, in order to calm her, I took refuge in a playful tone. ‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ I said teasingly, ‘nothing of any consequence. A naughty child upset some tea over me.’ Her eyes were still troubled. But she gratefully jumped at the opportunity of turning the whole thing into a joke. ‘And did you give the naughty child a good whacking?’ ‘No,’ I replied, keeping the ball rolling. ‘It wasn’t necessary. The child has been good again for a long time now.’ ‘And you’re really not angry with her any more?’ ‘Not a bit. You should have heard how prettily she asked to be forgiven.’ ‘You won’t bear her any grudge?’ ‘No, it’s all forgiven and forgotten. But she must go on being a good girl and do as she’s told.’ ‘And what is the child to do?’ ‘To be always patient, always friendly, and always merry. Not to sit in the sun too long, to go out for lots of drives and obey the doctor’s orders to the letter. And now the child must go to sleep and not talk or worry her head any more. Good night.

I’ve gotta go,” I say, scowling at my phone. “Now?” Ryder asks, tipping my chin up with one hand so that our eyes meet. “Unfortunately. It’s my mom. Lucy and Morgan are covering for me, but I’ve got to get back. I’m supposed to be at the drugstore.” “What are we going to tell them? Our moms, I mean?” I shake my head. “We can’t tell them anything. At least, not yet. Can you imagine the pressure they’d put on us if they knew? I mean, they already drive us nuts and they think we hate each other.” “You’re right. So…we keep it a secret?” “Not exactly. I’ve got to tell Lucy and Morgan. Just…not our parents, okay? Besides, think how fun it will be, sneaking around.” His eyes light with mischief. “Good point.” “Don’t go getting any naughty ideas,” I tease. “C’mon, walk me to my car.” He takes my hand and falls into step beside me, glancing down at me with a wicked grin. “What?” I ask. “Hey, you’re the one who brought up ‘naughty,’ not me.” I poke him playfully in the ribs. “I’ve got an idea,” he says. “Let’s pretend we’ve got to do a school project together. You know, say that we’ve been paired up against our will. We can make a big fuss about it--complain about having to spend so much time together.” “While we secretly do lots of naughty things?” I offer. He nods. “Exactly.” I shiver, imagining the possibilities. Suddenly, I’m looking forward to those Sunday dinners at Magnolia Landing. And to Christmas and the inevitable Cafferty-Marsden winter vacation. In fact, the rest of the school year looms ahead like a lengthy stretch of opportunities, no longer filled with uncertainty and doubt, but with the knowledge that I’m on the right path now…the perfect path. And like Nan suggested, I’m going to grab it. Embrace it. Hold on to it tightly--just like I’m holding on to this boy beside me. We reach my car way too quickly. I’m not ready to go, to leave him, to begin this necessary charade. I lean against my car’s door with a sigh, drawing Ryder toward me. His entire body is pressed against mine, firing every cell inside me at once. My knees go weak as he kisses me softly, his lips lingering on mine, despite the urgency. “Good night,” I whisper. “Good night,” he whispers back, his breath warm against my cheek. Oh man. It just about kills me to slip inside the car and turn the key in the ignition. I’m grinning to myself as I drive away, watching as Ryder becomes a speck in my rearview mirror before melting into the night.

I read a poem today that reminded me of you.” He gave her another sideways glance, as if confessing something naughty. “Would you like to hear it?” Her knees quivered beneath her skirts. Perhaps he did feel something for her. Perhaps he is now going to declare himself! “Yes, I would.” “Your chaperone is watching us from the parapets. It would be better for me to recite it more privately.” With gentle force, he guided her behind a tall hedge. Lydia’s belly fluttered as Deveril took both her hands. His hair gleamed like an angel’s wing. Would he tell her he couldn’t let her go, that they didn’t have to go to London? That instead they could remain here…together? “She walks in beauty, like the night,” he whispered. “Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.” Vincent’s eyes were like a turbulent sea in a moonlit storm. He gazed at her as though she was something precious. Lydia sighed as his long fingers removed a pin from her hair. “One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,” Her breath caught as he twirled a lock of her hair. “Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.” His hand crept up to caress her cheek, his intent gaze never wavering. “And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow,” His lips curved in a sensual smile as he concluded. “But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!” For an eternity, they stared as if peering into each other’s souls. His fingers slid past her cheek and threaded once more through her hair, sending the remaining pins scattering into the grass. “Lydia,” he whispered. Then his lips were on hers, warm, silken, teasing.

Listen up, nerd,” he said, glancing over his shoulder while I wrapped myself against his back. “Man, you feel good like that.” “Your huge brain is working at a wavelength I don’t understand. Repeat what you just said in a dumb way so I’ll understand what my being a nerd has to do with you liking this,” I said, wiggling my hips against him before raking his back with my breasts. After giving me a groan followed by a naughty grin, Cooper sighed. “I can’t even remember what the hell we were talking about,” he said, wrapping my arms tighter around him. “Oh, yeah, you being a nerd. So don’t worry about getting carded. The Kirk in Whiskey Kirk’s is my pop and he doesn’t care if you get wasted. He doesn’t believe in laws.” “I’m not drinking.” “Farah, you need to relax and enjoy life.” “I come from a long line of drunks and addicts, so I’m not relaxing and enjoying life if it means I become like my loser relatives.” Cooper glanced back at me and smiled. “Did you take a shower before I showed up because you’re hella feisty?” “Do they have good food at this bar?” I asked, ignoring his question. “Burgers, hot wings, only the best bar food in Kentucky. You just keep holding on while I see if I can concentrate with your tits pushed up against me like that.” “I had them pushed up the other night and you concentrated fine.” “That’s because you were wearing your uniform and I forgot you had tits. No forgetting today.” “If you ever want to be friends with them, you really need to stop calling them tits. They don’t like that.” “Yes, mam,” he said, laughing as he pushed off and drove away from the apartment.

But maybe she’d have herself a little adventure in there somewhere. Maybe on her cruise, on one of her trips. Not with this kind of man, of course. He was too mature, for one thing. One look convinced her—he knew everything about men and women, while she knew very little. He looked a little dangerous and very, very physical. Scary. He had that warrior appearance, complete with tattoos. The sight of him bare-chested had rattled her, but the big horse beneath her had given her plenty of confidence. His shoulders were so large, strong and muscular, and he had a barbed-wire armband tattooed on his rippling left biceps. His belly was flat and hard with a trail of chest hair that disappeared into his jeans. The stubble along his jaw made his grin a little taunting and definitely naughty; it had made her shiver. And he had an aura of carelessness. He would take a bite of her, then pitch her out, forgetting her before morning. But while Shelby had looked him over, everything inside her had grown warm. Something about him, a forbidden quality, was absolutely delicious. Even the damn dirt looked good on him. Despite her common sense, she wondered, wouldn’t that be interesting? And her very next thought was, no, no, no, not him! My adventure will come in a polo shirt, cheeks as smooth as a baby’s butt, styled hair, no tattoos and hopefully an advanced degree. Not some scary Black Hawk pilot who has a Ph.D. in one-night stands! *

I need some time for the rest. I just don’t take something like marriage lightly. If I do it, I’ll mean it, and I won’t change my mind. But I think you’d do it right now for all the wrong reasons.” “Does this have anything to do with the guy you didn’t let stay last night?” he asked. “My boyfriend?” she asked, smiling. She knew it was naughty to taunt him like that; she wasn’t thinking of T.J. as a boyfriend at the moment. “It would be nice of me to tell him if things change in my personal life. But until I have matters settled…” “No, Franci, tell him matters are settled. You won’t be dating him!” “And the woman who keeps calling you?” “What woman?” he asked. “Your phone keeps picking up text messages and voice mails. That has to be a woman.” He took a deep breath. This didn’t seem like a good time to lie, just as he was trying to close a deal. “I dated this girl a few times back at Beale and I told her I wasn’t getting into a steady thing. When I went on leave, I told her we had to cool it because it wasn’t working for me, but she’s deaf. I thought when I left town for a couple of months she’d let it go, but she’s hounding me. I’m going to call her, Franci, and tell her I’m off the market. That I’m getting married. She won’t call anymore. Now, come on.” “Poor thing,” Franci said. “She might be as sick in love with you as I was.” “As you were?” he asked, a little frightened of the answer. “And I said I’m not marrying you.” “Okay, let me get this right—I suggested marriage and you said no?” “How about that? What a shocker, huh?” “Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? I thought that’s what I should do!” “Okay, you still don’t get it. We don’t want to because you’re doing what you should. Listen carefully, Sean. I want you to be absolutely sure you want to commit to a life with me and Rosie, because you don’t have to marry me to have time with your daughter. She’s your daughter—I won’t get in the way of that. Though I have to admit, the way you suggested marriage really just knocked me off my feet.” He would never admit it to anyone, but her refusal gave him an instant feeling of relief. He wasn’t ready to take it all on. But it would sure make things tidier if they could just do it the way it probably should be done. He slid close to her and, before she could protest, pulled her right up against him. “You wanna get knocked off your feet, sweetheart? Because we both know we do that to each other.” He put a big hand around the back of her neck and ran his thumb from her earlobe to the hollow of her throat. Then he kissed that spot. “I want you with me, Franci. Tonight, and from now on.” “Sean,” she said gravely, “when you rejected me four years ago, there were times I wondered if I’d lost my mind and my heart. The things we said to each other—I don’t want to risk a marriage like that. After we split and I moved to Santa Rosa, sometimes I grieved so badly I worried that I was hurting the baby with endless crying, sleepless nights, loss of appetite. I just can’t face something like that again.” He ran a knuckle across her soft cheek. “Baby, I didn’t reject you. I wanted to be with you—I just had a hang-up with marriage.” “Well, now the shoe’s on the other foot. Suck it up.” Life

Every night after dinner Harry took off for the local watering hole. He would spend the whole evening there and arrive home drunk around midnight. He usually had trouble getting his key to fit the keyhole and couldn’t get the door open. His wife would go to the door and let him in, and then proceed to yell and scream at him for his behavior and constant drunkenness. One day, the distraught wife was talking to a friend about her husband’s nocturnal activities. The friend listened sympathetically and said, “Why don’t you treat him a little differently when he comes home? Instead of berating him, why don’t you welcome him home with some loving words and a kiss? Then, he might change his ways.” The wife, willing to try anything, agreed that this might be a good idea. That night, Harry took off again after dinner. And at about midnight, he arrived home in his usual condition. His wife heard him at the door, quickly opened it, and let Harry in. Instead of berating him as she had always done, she took his arm and led him into the living room. She sat him down in an easy chair, put his feet up on the footstool, and took his shoes off. Then, she sat on his lap and cuddled him a little. After a while, she whispered, “Honey, it’s pretty late. I think we should go upstairs to bed now.” “Hell, I guess we might as well,” Harry replied. “I’ll get in trouble when I get home anyway!

Three mice are sitting in a bar late at night, in a pretty rough neighborhood, trying to impress one another about how tough they are. The first mouse slams back a shot of scotch, pounds the shot glass to the bar, turns to the other mice, and says, “When I see a mousetrap, I get on it, lie on my back, and set it off with my foot. When the bar comes down, I catch it in my teeth and then bench-press it a hundred times.” The second mouse orders up two shots of tequila. He grabs one in each paw, slams back the shots, and pounds the glasses to the bar. He turns to the other mice and says, “Yeah, well when I see rat poison, I collect as much of it as I can and take it home. In the morning, I grind it up into a powder and put it in my coffee so I get a good buzz going for the rest of the day.” At that point the first two mice turn to the third, wondering how he can possibly top this. The third mouse lets out a long sigh and says, “I don’t have time for this bullshit. I gotta go home and fuck the cat.

The madam opens the brothel door to find a dignified, well-dressed, good-looking man in his late forties. “May I help you?” she asks. “I want to see Valerie,” the man replies. “Sir, Valerie is one of our most expensive ladies. Perhaps you would prefer someone else?” “No. I must see Valerie.” So Valerie is summoned and she tells the man that she charges a thousand dollars a visit. Without hesitation, the man pulls out ten one-hundred dollar bills and hands them to her, and they go upstairs. After an hour, the man leaves. The next night, the man appears again, demanding to see Valerie. Valerie is surprised. She tells him that no client has ever come back two nights in a row, because of her high price. She warns him that there are no discounts—the price will still be a thousand dollars. Again the man calmly pays the fee and they go upstairs. After an hour, he leaves. The next night, there he is again, and again he pays Valerie and they go upstairs. Valerie’s curiosity is getting the better of her. “No one has ever been with me three nights in a row. Where are you from?” she asks. “South Carolina.” “Really? I have family in South Carolina.” “I know. Your father died, and I am your sister’s attorney. She asked me to give you your three thousand dollar inheritance.

I read a poem today that reminded me of you.” He gave her another sideways glance, as if confessing something naughty. “Would you like to hear it?” Her knees quivered beneath her skirts. Perhaps he did feel something for her. Perhaps he is now going to declare himself! “Yes, I would.” “Your chaperone is watching us from the parapets. It would be better for me to recite it more privately.” With gentle force, he guided her behind a tall hedge. Lydia’s belly fluttered as Deveril took both her hands. His hair gleamed like an angel’s wing. Would he tell her he couldn’t let her go, that they didn’t have to go to London? That instead they could remain here…together? “She walks in beauty, like the night,” he whispered. “Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.” Vincent’s eyes were like a turbulent sea in a moonlit storm. He gazed at her as though she was something precious. Lydia sighed as his long fingers removed a pin from her hair. “One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,” Her breath caught as he twirled a lock of her hair. “Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.” His hand crept up to caress her cheek, his intent gaze never wavering. “And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow,” His lips curved in a sensual smile as he concluded. “But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!” For an eternity, they stared as if peering into each other’s souls. His fingers slid past her cheek and threaded once more through her hair, sending the remaining pins scattering into the grass. “Lydia,” he whispered. Then his lips were on hers, warm, silken, teasing. Her limbs melted. Intoxicating heat unfurled low in her body. Lydia reached up to pull him closer, to demand more. Vincent pulled back before she could grasp him. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “And that is your most important lesson in courtship, Lydia. Never allow a man to get you off alone, especially if he desires to recite poetry, and particularly Lord Byron’s verses.” A strangled gasp caught in her throat at his duplicity. It had all been part of the game! “You…you…” He held up a hand. “Now slap me with your fan in retaliation for taking such liberties.” Reeling in outrage, she fumbled in the pockets of her cloak for the ineffectual weapon. Vincent shrugged, undaunted at her ire. “That is why you should keep your fan at the ready.” Seizing the bundle of cloth-covered sticks, she smacked him soundly on the arm, much harder than Miss Hobson had instructed. “You are lucky I did not have my gun,” she hissed. How could he? To

Only good girls get orgasms, Q. Naughty sluts get punishment. Do you want orgasms, or do you want me to tie you to my bed and whip you until you can’t breathe?