Pouty Lips Quotes

Charlotte: "It’s too bad they don’t give out diplomas for what you learn at the mall, because I could graduate with honors in that subject. No really. Since I’ve worked there, I’ve become an expert on all things shopping-related. For example, I can tell you right off who to distrust at the mall: 1) Skinny people who work at Cinnabon. I mean, if they’re not eating the stuff they sell, how good can it be? 2) The salesladies at department store makeup counters. No matter what they tell you, buying all that lip gloss will not make you look like the pouty models in the store posters. 3) And most importantly—my best friend’s boyfriend, Bryant, who showed up at the food court with a mysterious blonde draped on his arm.

So you say, with your shiny hair and pouty lips - and those breasts - just wait till you start dropping whelps, they'll be at your ankles one day, big as they are - not the whelps, the breasts. The whelps will be in your hair - no, not the shiny hair on your head, well, yes, that hair, but only as a manner of speech.

You have the poutiest lips I've ever seen." "Pouty?' I snorted. "Like I look bratty?" "Like you look kissable.

He slammed her door shut and spun her so she was facing him. “One more for the road.” She stared at him with a perplexed expression but didn’t back away. “I want another taste,” he said, feeling his heart race. He leaned her against the car and crushed his lips against hers. This time she ran her fingers through his hair, making him moan. He wanted to touch the curves of her body through the thick fabric of her dress, but he forced himself to concentrate all his efforts on her sexy, soft, pouty lips. When he released her, they were both breathless. Her lips were chapped, and those golden eyes were on fire with a carnal sexuality. There was so much electricity between them that, if harnessed, they could power the whole damn city.

God, her lips were perfect and pouty. He wanted to know if she still tasted the same.

He lifted his face and gave his brother a pout. Where did these two learn to do that pouty-lipped thing? It was devious and highly effective.

Now her likeness gazed back at him from the bulletin board—her almond-shaped eyes, her pouty lips, her long straight hair swept over one shoulder of her sleeveless dress. He could almost smell her cinnamon fragrance. Her knit brow and the downward turn of her mouth seemed to say: Leo Valdez, you are so full of it.

Cherry blossom lipstick applied to full, pouty lips to perfection, check. Smoky eyes, check. The hazel color does throw off the smoke effect, but they still look pretty darn good. Black curls flowing down white fleece in a flirty style, check. Kid with the hole in her head, check. Skinny jeans… hole in her head?!

These tits- I want to slide my cock between them and thrust over and over until your silky skin jerks me off and I come all over them. I’ll come so hard and so much that some gets on your face, coating your pouty lips and I’ll watch you lick it off. Lick my cum off your tits because every drop of it belongs in your body somehow. Your mouth, your pussy, your asshole. I want to drain my cock in every one of your holes.

You’re so cute when you’re jealous,” I say. She looks at me, her resolve melting with my words. I take her face in my hands and gently press my lips to hers. She sighs a quiet, defeated sigh into my mouth and relents, parting her lips for me. I run my hands down her arms and to her waist, then pull her out of the chair and on top of me as I lean back onto the bed. I place one hand on the small of her back, pressing her into me, and my other hand I run through her hair, grabbing the back of her head. I kiss her hard as I roll her onto her back, proving to her that she has absolutely nothing to be jealous of. As soon as I’m on top of her, she places her hands on my cheeks and forces my face apart from hers. “So your lips touched someone else’s lips? After our first kiss?” I fall back onto the bed beside her. “Lake, stop it. Stop thinking about it,” I say. “I can’t, Will.” She turns to me and makes that damn pouty face she knows I can’t refuse. “I need to know. In my head all I can picture is you taking some girl out on this perfect date and making her grilled cheese sandwiches and playing “would you rather” with her and sharing seriously intense moments with her, then kissing the hell out of her at the end of the night.” Her description of our first date causes me to laugh. I lean over and press my lips to her ear and whisper, “Is that what I did to you? I kissed the hell out of you?” She pulls her neck away and shoots me a glare, letting me know she isn’t backing down until she gets her way. “Fine,” I say, pulling back. “If I tell you all about it will you promise to let me kiss the hell out of you again?” “Promise,” she says.

Narrow, angular features, pouty lips and hatred-filled pale, washed-out blue irises glared back at him. Caleb flashed the young man a malevolent smirk and readied his blade. “Jude Winslow, I presume.

You talked about some stones you found a while ago,” he says. “Three years.” Mee-Hae quickly turns around to face him, holding her unwashed panties. From this close, they smell prominently feminine to the Monk’s highly evolved nose. Mee-Hae Ra throws them with her faultless aim to a basket twenty feet away; she’ll have to wash them in the river later. “Your a while ago is actually three years,” she says. “You didn’t pay attention then. I wonder what happened? You even brought the rarest tea on the planet!” She throws a piercing gaze at him. Her pouty lips make her look angry. Abandoning her cleaning, she approaches the balcony, holding the tea package. “It looks hand-procured,” she mutters. “By any chance, did you pluck it yourself?” She looks at the Monk and already gets the answer that a modest monk won’t provide.

If I tell you to sit, you’ll sit. If I tell you to jump, you’ll ask how high. If I want you to spin around in circles, then drop to your knees and suck my cock until I paint your pouty lips with my cum, you’ll do it with a smile on your vapid face.

I… I have trouble getting it to go down. Especially in stressful situations,” he mutters, giving me a guilty look. I swear to God, this kid is going to be the death of me. There’s something about his issues that just turns me the fuck on. He’s completely naked in front of me, shivering because he’s worried and it’s goddamn cold in here, just like I told him it would be, and his dick is hardening, his cheeks still fucking pink, lips all soft and pouty. I can’t take it.

He loved the curves on her body, her soft skin and pouty lower lip, her deep soulful eyes. He adored her voice; sometimes sultry, sometimes fiery. Her laugh, her playfulness... he adored it all. But what really turned him on were the curves in her mind, the twists and turns, the fire, the brilliance - and her compassionate heart; the beat of it harmonizing so sweetly and perfectly with the beat of his. The whole package was beyond thrilling... yet her mind, her heart, those were the immortal aphrodisiacs.

Because your night-flower scent is embedded in my skin. Whenever I draw near to you, it settles on my tongue, watering my mouth, making me ache for you. Yearning for one little taste. But it isn’t just your blood I want.” He smiled when her pouty lips dropped open in shock and her eyes dilated with desire. “That is how I know this is your cloak, kitten.

that’s what infuriates me about the woman, even more than her perfectly pouty lips and incessant publicity. She’s wasting her talent. She could be giving us more.

That’s the hottest guy she’s seen in weeks, and now there was no chance of ever getting to know those smoky gray eyes,or his pouty lips.

As he held her by the waist,she leaned forward,her pouty lips parted,her head just slightly tilted,and eveloped his mouth with such passion that I felt I should look away but couldn't.

Her face suddenly changed, going from a flat mask to big eyes and pouty lips. When she spoke again, her voice was in a higher register. “And that’s all we are. Pretty girls without a thought in our heads.” The facade melted, replaced by steel. “That’s the funny thing about those in power. They underestimate everyone beneath them, even knowing their secrets are heard by someone.

I’m thinking about this—about him—way too hard. I shut the sketch pad too forcefully and place it back where I found it. It causes something that was at the very end of the notebook to slip out. A portrait. My heart halts as I scramble to lift it up, expecting—no, sure— that I’ll find Serena’s smiling face on it. The pouty lips, upturned eyes, narrow nose, and pointed chin; they’re all so familiar to me that I think it must be her, because who else’s face would I know so well? It can only be Serena’s, or . . . Mine. Lowe Moreland has drawn my face, and then stuffed it at the bottom of his bottom drawer. I’m not sure when he observed it long enough to pluck this level of detail out of me, the serious, detached air, the tight-lipped expression, the wispy hair curling around the cusp of an ear. Here’s what I do know: there is something sharp about the drawing. Something searing and intense and expansive that’s simply not there in the other sketches. Force, and power, and lots of feelings were involved in the making of this portrait. Lots.

Something deep in my guts, below my heart, has made a shift to the left and settled in a more comfortable place. It’s not the Shift, but it’s a shift. I picture Nia with her gorgeous face and little body and black hair and pouty lips and Aaron’s hands all over her but also with her pot smoking and the pimples on her forehead and making fun of people all the time and the way she’s always so proud of how she’s dressed. And I picture her fading.

Wanna know what I find sexy? Lets see...the pressure of your pouty lips on mine. Caressing, tasting, every inch of your naked body. Making love to you and hearing you scream, begging for more. Making you mine. Still waiting...


He doesn’t like Emma and Rachel making plans together. Not because he thinks they’re being devious, but because he doesn’t like feeling left out. Not to mention that when Emma is making plans without him, they’re usually reckless. The only reason she’d keep a secret from him is if she was doing something he didn’t approve of, or didn’t want him to interfere with. After all, her motto is “Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” Galen despises that motto. “I cleared out the sporting goods store this morning,” Rachel says. “I took what was on the shelf and made them cough up their stock in the back.” Galen tenses up. Emma laughs. “Don’t be jealous, Highness. Rachel still loves you more than she loves me.” “Aww! You guys are fighting over me?” Rachel says, pinching Galen’s cheek. “That’s so adorable.” “I’m not jealous,” he says, trying not to sound pouty. “I just don’t know why we would need life jackets.” “We don’t,” Emma says, wriggling around on his lap so she can face him. Secretly, he’s delighted. “But humans do. And if my job is keeping the humans safe, then I should be prepared, right?” But Galen is too distracted by the close proximity of her mouth to be bothered with the words coming out of it. She must recognize it, because she leans forward as if giving him a chance to make good on his craving. It’s all the invitation he needs. He captures her mouth with his. Life jackets, islands, and airports are forgotten. The only thing that exists is her lips on his, her body pressed into his. Suddenly the creaky office chair is transformed into their own little world. “Uh, I’m just going to get more wine,” Rachel says. He didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable enough to leave. Not good. The last thing we need is privacy and free rein to do as we please. He tries to end it, to pull away, but Emma won’t have it. And it’s difficult for him not to indulge her.

She was the color of sweet milk chocolate; her hair was in dreads pulled up into a disheveled ponytail.  Her eyebrows thick above her russet eyes, a gold nose ring hooped around her nose, her lips full and pouty with a shimmer of gloss.

How are the students? We got a decent batch this year, right?” As if Jake’s question is a trigger, I see her in flashes, as if my consciousness has clicked snapshots of her without my knowledge. Impish, wild, violet-colored eyes. Loud, uninhibited laughter. Smoke threading out of her pouty lips. The savage, dark curls that never seem to stay still. Her purple fur coats—who wears fur coats, anyway? Her voice that digs up the buried words inside me. Merciless words. They make me forget I’m not a poet anymore.

That thing isn’t staying,” I say, pointing to Phish. “I don’t have time to take care of it, Ella. Take it home with you.” She faces me with a sly grin on her pouty lips. The front of her shirt is wet and sticking to her skin. “Don’t I live here now? Isn’t this our fish?” “What?” my sister and Emerson question concurrently. “Here we go,” Nicolette mumbles under her breath. She turns off the television. “You’re moving in?” I ask. Anger melts away, leaving me lighthearted and unable to hold back a smile. “Only if my fish can move in, too.” “I love Phish,” I say

I could dedicate lines, pages, entire journals of poetry to the pouty curve of her lower lip when her expression was relaxed, and how those lips transformed into the most carnal seductress when they ticked up into a half-smile. If she would ever give me the green light to cross the friendzone, she’d have to beat me off her.

Well, well, do we have a new girl?’ I looked up to see three girls standing behind Tak. The one in the middle was tall and slim with bronzed skin and long shiny black hair and she had that air about her that the popular girls at school back home did. I was instantly wary. Those girls had never been nice to me. ‘Don’t be shy, what’s your name?’ the girl on her left said. Curly red hair framed her perfect face and she put her hands on her ample, curvy hips, waiting for me to answer. ‘Pandora,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m Arketa,’ said the slim girl. ‘And this is Filis and Kiko.’ The red-head, Kiko, cocked her head and gave me an over-the-top smile. ‘We’re Aphrodite descendants.’ That explained why they were so attractive, I thought. ‘You know, you’re not pretty enough to hang out with us but you’re better than these losers,’ Filis said. She was shorter than the other two, with rich brown hair and an exotic looking face with full pouty lips.

I’m not interested in you. I will never be interested in you. In fact, I’m fucking allergic,” he says, his jaw clenched. “To you. I’m allergic to your big silver eyes and your pouty pink lips. To your blushing cheeks and your breathy voice. I’m allergic to the way you can’t stop watching me. I told you I’m not interested in Disney movies, didn’t I? I meant it. So I suggest you find someone else to play damsel in distress with. Someone else to solve your teenage problems. Someone your age, someone who’s probably still going through a fucking growth spurt or someone who spends his weekends playing video games and jerking off. From now on, if I catch you looking at me across the hallway or if I find you within ten feet of my office or me without reason, my sister’s best friend or not, I’ll personally make sure you never see the outside of that brick wall and those black metal gates for the rest of the year.” And then before he straightens up, he adds, “And I might be closer to your dad’s age than yours, but I do remember what people call you. And I also know what your name is, Bronwyn.

But wait, stop, it’s not supposed to end this way! You’re the fantasy, you’re what I’m leaving behind. I can’t pack you up and take you with me.” “That was the most self-centered thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Jane blinked. “It was?” “Miss Hayes, have you stopped to consider that you might have this all backward? That in fact you are my fantasy?” The jet engines began to whir, the pressure of the cabin stuck invisible fingers into her ears. Henry gripped his armrest and stared ahead as though trying to steady the machine by force of will. Jane laughed at him and settled into her seat. It was a long flight. There would be time to get more answers, and she thought she could wait. Then in that moment when the plane rushed forward as though for its life, and gravity pushed down, and the plane lifted up, and Jane was breathless inside those two forces, she needed to know now. “Henry, tell me which parts were true.” “All of it. Especially this part where I’m going to die…” His knuckles were literally turning white as he held tighter to the armrests, his eyes staring straight ahead. The light gushing through the window was just right, afternoon coming at them with the perfect slant, the sun grazing the horizon of her window, yellow light spilling in. She saw Henry clearly, noticed a chicken pox scar on his forehead, read in the turn down of his upper lip how he must have looked as a pouty little boy and in the faint lines tracing away from the corners of his eyes the old man he’d one day become. Her imagination expanded. She had seen her life like an intricate puzzle, all the boyfriends like dominoes, knocking the next one and the next, an endless succession of falling down. But maybe that wasn’t it at all. She’d been thinking so much about endings, she’d forgotten to allow for the possibility of a last one, one that might stay standing. Jane pried his right hand off the armrest, placed it on the back of her neck and held it there. She lifted the armrest so nothing was between them and held his face with her other hand. It was a fine face, a jaw that fit in her palm. She could feel the whiskers growing back that he’d shaved that morning. He was looking at her again, though his expression couldn’t shake off the terror, which made Jane laugh. “How can you be so cavalier?” he asked. “Tens of thousands of pounds expected to just float in the air?” She kissed him, and he tasted so yummy, not like food or mouthwash or chapstick, but like a man. He moaned once in surrender, his muscles relaxing. “I knew I really liked you,” he said against her lips. His fingers pulled her closer, his other hand reached for her waist. His kisses became hungry, and she guessed that he hadn’t been kissed, not for real, for a long time. Neither had she, as a matter of fact. Maybe this was the very first time. There was little similarity to the empty, lusty making out she’d played at with Martin. Kissing Henry was more than just plain fun. Later, when they would spend straight hours conversing in the dark, Jane would realize that Henry kissed the way he talked--his entire attention taut, focused, intensely hers. His touch was a conversation, telling her again and again that only she in the whole world really mattered. His lips only drifted from hers to touch her face, her hands, her neck. And when he spoke, he called her Jane. Her stomach dropped as they fled higher into the sky, and they kissed recklessly for hundreds of miles, until Henry was no longer afraid of flying.

When it passes us, the driver tips his cap our way, eying us as if he thinks we're up to no good-the kind of no good he might call the cops on. I wave to him and smile, wondering if I look as guilty as I feel. Better make this the quickest lesson in driving history. It's not like she needs to pass the state exam. If she can keep the car straight for ten seconds in a row, I've upheld my end of the deal. I turn off the ignition and look at her. "So, how are you and Toraf doing?" She cocks her head at me. "What does that have to do with driving?" Aside from delaying it? "Nothing," I say, shrugging. "Just wondering." She pulls down the visor and flips open the mirror. Using her index finger, she unsmudges the mascara Rachel put on her. "Not that it's your business, but we're fine. We were always fine." "He didn't seem to think so." She shoots me a look. "He can be oversensitive sometimes. I explained that to him." Oversensitive? No way. She's not getting off that easy. "He's a good kisser," I tell her, bracing myself. She turns in her seat, eyes narrowed to slits. "You might as well forget about that kiss, Emma. He's mine, and if you put your nasty Half-Breed lips on him again-" "Now who's being oversensitive?" I say, grinning. She does love him. "Switch places with me," she snarls. But I'm too happy for Toraf to return the animosity. Once she's in the driver's seat, her attitude changes. She bounces up and down like she's mattress shopping, getting so much air that she'd puncture the top if I hadn't put it down already. She reaches for the keys in the ignition. I grab her hand. "Nope. Buckle up first." It's almost cliché for her to roll her eyes now, but she does. When she's finished dramatizing the act of buckling her seat belt-complete with tugging on it to make sure it won't unclick-she turns to me in pouty expectation. I nod. She wrenches the key and the engine fires up. The distant look in her eyes makes me nervous. Or maybe it's the guilt swirling around in my stomach. Galen might not like this car, but it still feels like sacrilege to put the fate of a BMW in Rayna's novice hands. As she grips the gear stick so hard her knuckles turn white, I thank God this is an automatic. "D is for drive, right?" she says. "Yes. The right pedal is to go. The left pedal is to stop. You have to step on the left one to change into drive." "I know. I saw you do it." She mashes down on the brake, then throws us into drive. But we don't move. "Okay, now you'll want to step on the right pedal, which is the gas-" The tires start spinning-and so do we. Rayna stares at me wide-eyed and mouth ajar, which isn't a good thing since her hands are on the wheel. It occurs to me that she's screaming, but I can't hear her over my own screeching. The dust wall we've created whirls around us, blocking our view of the trees and the road and life as we knew it. "Take your foot off the right one!" I yell. We stop so hard my teeth feel rattled. "Are you trying to get us killed?" she howls, holding her hand to her cheek as if I've slapped her. Her eyes are wild and glassy; she just might cry. "Are you freaking kidding me? You're the one driving!

Dude!" cried Time. "What the fuck, man!" "Sorry," said Cooper. "I thought this was a bathroom." He stuck out a pouty lower lip. "What could possibly have led you to believe this was a bathroom?" the lizard creature hissed. "The door is clearly marked OFFICE!" "I can't read your lizard language," said Cooper.

Adam saw those brown eyes widen, the pouty lips soften, and then they were kissing. Gaston’s mouth was pliable and submissive under his. Adam was enamored by the taste of those lips as he deepened the kiss and their tongues touched. Then without warning, Adam was thrown back. His whole body warmed to the point of sweating, and in his mind’s eye he traveled through the dark forest, into the castle ruins and to that magical mirror. The images swirled faster and faster until the glass cracked. It splintered halfway through the mirror, and then the entire object burst into a thousand glittering pieces. Adam was thrust back into his body and stared up at Gaston’s worried expression. “What the bloody hell was that?” “True love’s kiss…” Adam whispered. Belle hadn’t broken the curse on the mirror, so that’s why it still worked, but Gaston had just freed Adam. He felt the lingering anger and abilities of the beast falling away. His fingers uncurled as if the claws had been ripped out from his fingers. That urge to hunt and rip things apart dissolved. Adam felt … human. The curse was truly broken. Adam could find a real happy ending in Gaston’s arms now that the beast was gone.

Still. “Fuck.” “Good morning, Mr. Brooks,” she greeted as soon as I rounded the corner, the last syllable of my name trailing straight into a giggle. God, that’s painful. Her eyes were bright, lips pouty, and her forearms squeezed into her breasts. Her black hair teased and sprayed, several curls rolled over her shoulders and hung nearly all the way down to her pointy nails. And she eye fucked me relentlessly, pounding me harder with every step I took.

ANGER: Eyebrows squeezed together, brows knitted, eyes squinty, pupils flared, lowered head, nostrils flared, looking upward through a scrunched brow, tight facial muscles, flat lips, flaring nostrils, or an penetrating gaze. CONTEMPT: Squinty eyes, mouth snapped shut, mouth set in a hard line, or lips pressed together, grinding teeth, muscle in jaw twitching, face turns crimson, ears red or hot, or hardened expression. EXCITEMENT: Smile shows teeth, eyes wide, flushed cheeks, eyebrows high, twinkle in eyes, tears in eyes, dimples showing, or raised eyebrows. FEAR: Pale skin, eyebrows are drawn together, trembling mouth, brows furrowed creased forehead, eyes wide and huge, blinking rapidly, mouth opening and closing, or tense, white lips. FRUSTRATION: Slanting eyebrows, jaw tightened, face reddened, chin raised, deep frowning, gnashed teeth, tense eyebrows, squinty eyes, lips pulled back, or mouth twisted to one side. REVULSION: Frowning, gritted teeth, lips drew back in a snarl, lowered head, tense lips, eyebrows drawn together, wrinkled forehead, or pursed lips. SURPRISE: Wide eyes, mouth hanging open, huge smile, flushed face, gaping, raised eyebrows, pupils are huge, and head held back, intense gaze, and eyebrows lifted. SADNESS: Pale face, lower lip quivered, tears shimmered in eyes, frowning of lips, head hangs low, pouty expression, or gaze downcast. HAPPINESS: Smiling big with teeth visible, flushed cheeks, crinkle at corners of the eyes, the corners of mouth turned upward, eyes lit up, tears shone in eyes, face glowing. ***

Maybe I wanted you to be at the wedding. Maybe I didn’t want to be the only guy present without a date. Maybe I never forgot how it felt to kiss those adorable, pouty lips of yours, or the chemistry between us.” He hesitated for a few seconds before adding, “After I had a taste, you had to know I’d be back for more.” Kristin

I want to make this work, Pippa. I knew we met for a reason.” His breath is warm on my face as he whispers, “I can’t not be with you.” I close my eyes and absorb his words. He wants to make this work. I want to make this work. It will. Somehow. “You really like me that much?” I hear him swallow. “I’m not sure like is a strong enough word.” I lift my chin until our lips meet in a sweet, gentle kiss. And then I ruin it when I surrender to another giggle fit. He leans away to look at me, alarmed. “Why is that funny?” “No no no, I’m not laughing at you.” I stroke his wrist with my thumb. “It’s just…I actually brought a guy home from Italy. This is crazy.” He relaxes a little. “What do you mean?” “Remember when I told you about that list of goals Morgan had me write out at the beginning of my trip?” “Yeah.” “Ugh, this is going to seem so stupid to you.” I pause to get the last bit of laughter out, preparing myself for what I’m about to reveal to him. “One of my goals was to fall in love with an Italian.” The dimples pop in his cheeks before he draws out, “Reaaally?” “I was going to fall in love and bring him home with me when summer was over. But I just had to eat gelato before dinner, and there you were, throwing me off course on my first day in the country.” Now he laughs. “So I foiled your master plan, huh?” he asks, and I nod with pouty lips. “Am I that hard to resist?” He straightens, smoothing out the front of his shirt. “Well, you kept popping up everywhere! How was I supposed to fall in love with anyone else?” My hands are shaking so I slide them underneath me. “It was a silly game anyway.” “I don’t--wait.” Color spreads through his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Are you saying you’re in love with me?” Is that what I was saying? Am I in love with him? I’m mute. All I can do is stare at him, soak him up. Darren gets a spacey look on his face as he pats at the surface of the water with his feet, mumbling something that sounds like, “Oh, my parents are gonna love this story.

I actually brought a guy home from Italy. This is crazy.” He relaxes a little. “What do you mean?” “Remember when I told you about that list of goals Morgan had me write out at the beginning of my trip?” “Yeah.” “Ugh, this is going to seem so stupid to you.” I pause to get the last bit of laughter out, preparing myself for what I’m about to reveal to him. “One of my goals was to fall in love with an Italian.” The dimples pop in his cheeks before he draws out, “Reaaally?” “I was going to fall in love and bring him home with me when summer was over. But I just had to eat gelato before dinner, and there you were, throwing me off course on my first day in the country.” Now he laughs. “So I foiled your master plan, huh?” he asks, and I nod with pouty lips. “Am I that hard to resist?” He straightens, smoothing out the front of his shirt.

Remember when I told you about that list of goals Morgan had me write out at the beginning of my trip?” “Yeah.” “Ugh, this is going to seem so stupid to you.” I pause to get the last bit of laughter out, preparing myself for what I’m about to reveal to him. “One of my goals was to fall in love with an Italian.” The dimples pop in his cheeks before he draws out, “Reaaally?” “I was going to fall in love and bring him home with me when summer was over. But I just had to eat gelato before dinner, and there you were, throwing me off course on my first day in the country.” Now he laughs. “So I foiled your master plan, huh?” he asks, and I nod with pouty lips. “Am I that hard to resist?” He straightens, smoothing out the front of his shirt. “Well, you kept popping up everywhere! How was I supposed to fall in love with anyone else?” My hands are shaking so I slide them underneath me. “It was a silly game anyway.” “I don’t--wait.” Color spreads through his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Are you saying you’re in love with me?” Is that what I was saying? Am I in love with him? I’m mute. All I can do is stare at him, soak him up. Darren gets a spacey look on his face as he pats at the surface of the water with his feet, mumbling something that sounds like, “Oh, my parents are gonna love this story.” “What?” He ignores me and looks behind us. “That’s the journal on your chair, right?” he holds out a hand, demanding to see it. “Show me this list.

No names. I didn’t know people. I grabbed whatever characteristics I could: crooked or fluorescent teeth, tattoos, accents, lipsticks, I even recognized some people by their gait. It’s not that my trailers were withholding information. I was just so stupid that I couldn’t learn table numbers and names at the same time….Everyone had been there years. There were senior servers who would never leave. Debutante-Smile, Guy-with-Clark-Kent-Glasses, Guy-with-Long-Hair-and-Bun, Overweight-Gray-Hair-Guy. Even the backwaiters had been there at least three years. There was Mean-Girl, and Russian-Pouty-Lips, and my first trailer, whom I called Sergeant because of the way he ordered me around.

My hand shoots out before I can think twice, and I cup her jaw, my thumb rubbing across her pouty lip, sparks flying through my fingers. “Jesus, pretty girl. You could ruin lives with a smile like that.

I think someone wants more,” she whispers, her finger tracing my already hard dick. “Maybe, but we don’t have any condoms.” “Oh, but there are so many other ways.” “Are there now?” I ask, trying not to come just by looking at those pouty lips promising to suck me dry. “There are, and I’m pretty sure you know a thing or two.

Her half-hearted apology had come off as an invitation, as if she was letting me win this skirmish but wanted to take me on as a challenge she couldn’t resist—like she was testing me, curious to see if I could handle her. The way she’d been mouthing off about the flight cancellation had indeed made me want to either shut her up with a hard kiss or throttle her—maybe both. As I headed back toward my bags, I thought about how good those pouty lips would look wrapped around my cock, her deep blue eyes gazing up at me as she knelt in front of me. Too bad she was such a smartass and full of herself, but damn if she wasn’t gorgeous.

You think I’d bring just anyone along with me? There are some soldiers I wouldn’t trust to handle this mission. But you, Yellow Bell, you can handle it. I know you won’t take shit and you won’t lie down and give up. You’re just as much a fighter as any of my soldiers.” Well. You really should get better soldiers then.” A chuckle rolls out of me, and I kiss her on her pouty lips. “Fucking delicious.

Zoe Harper, taunting me again like she did during the plane ride. There’s just something about her that drives me insane, even when I know we can’t do anything in front of others. I wanted to push everyone out of the plane so I could drag her to the bathroom and steal a little taste of those pouty lips or—just one minuscule moment with her, that’s all I ask for. I glance at her again, and I’m salivating. One taste—just a nibble.

Dirty Thrills has a crazy cool blues-rock sound with wailing guitar riffs and melt-your-panties vocals. The guitarist looks like Colin Farrell, with sad, love-me-till-it-hurts brown eyes, pouty lips, and a mustache that could tickle a girl in all the right places.

You really want to make me feel good?” Green’s eyelids were lowered as he spoke to him. “Yes.” Green took Ruxs’ hand off his hip and plunged his middle finger into his mouth, sucking it like it was a popsicle. His eyes widened. “Jesus.” Green used Ruxs’ middle finger to fuck his mouth. After a few more licks he pulled his wet digit from between those pouty lips and placed Ruxs’ hand over his ass. Keeping his lustful eyes on him, Green took Ruxs’ middle finger and pressed it in between his ass cheeks and rubbed it over the taught skin around his hole. As soon as Ruxs touched him, Green’s eyes shuttered at the feeling. “That’s it. Right there. Just rub me. Tease me, like you’re gonna push it in.” Green’s voice was hoarse as he gave Ruxs his instructions. He complied when Green nudged his legs apart and settled in between his hard thighs. He was up on one elbow, staring down at him, while he got a firm grip on his dark, purple cock, Green began to jack himself slowly. His hips just barely moving. “Touch me baby,” Green moaned against his cheek. Ruxs was so turned on, his own cock hard and leaking again, that he’d already forgot about his job. Shit. He pressed the pad of his finger over Green’s hole, making him arch and hiss against his face. He loved Green’s reaction. He nudged his cheek against Green’s face, nipping at the morning stubble. With newfound determination, Ruxs oh-so-gently circled Green’s entrance, rubbing his slick finger against the rim. “Mmhmm.

Brittany has been wary this whole week. She’s waiting for me to play a joke on her, to get her back for tossing my keys into the woods. After school, as I’m at my locker picking books to take home, she storms up to me wearing her sexy pom uniform. “Meet me in the wrestling gym,” she orders. Now I can do two things: meet her like she told me to or leave the school. I take my books and enter the small gym. Brittany is standing, holding out her keychain without keys dangling from it. “Where have my keys magically disappeared to?” she asks. “I’m going to be late for the game if you don’t tell me. Ms. Small will kick me off the squad if I’m not at the game.” “I tossed them somewhere. You know, you should really get a purse that has a zipper. You never know when someone will reach in and grab somethin’.” “Glad to know you’re a klepto. Wanna give me a hint as to where you’ve hidden them?” I lean against the wall of the wrestling gym, thinking about what people would think if they caught us in here together. “It’s in a place that’s wet. Really, really wet,” I say, giving her a clue. “The pool?” I nod. “Creative, huh?” She tries to push me into the wall. “Oh, I’m going to kill you. You better go get them.” If I didn’t know her better, I’d think she was flirting with me. I think she likes this game we have going on. “Mamacita, you should know me better than that. You’re all on your own, like I was when you left me in the library parking lot.” She cocks her head, gives me sad eyes, and pouts. I shouldn’t concentrate on her pouty lips, it’s dangerous. But I can’t help it. “Show me where they are, Alex. Please.” I let her sweat it out a minute before I give in. By now most of the school is deserted. Half of the students are on their way to the football game. The other half is glad they’re not on their way to the football game. We walk to the pool. The lights are off, but sunlight is still shining through the windows. Brittany’s keys are where I threw ‘em--in the middle of the deep end. I point to the shiny pieces of silver under the water. “There they are. Have at it.” Brittany stands with her hands on her short skirt, contemplating how she’s going to get them. She struts over to the long stick hanging on the wall that’s used to pull drowning people from the water. “Piece of cake,” she tells me. But as she sticks the pole into the water, she finds out it’s not a piece of cake. I suppress a laugh as I stand at the edge of the pool and watch her attempt the impossible. “You can always strip and go in naked. I’ll watch to make sure nobody comes in.” She walks up to me, the pole gripped firmly in her fingers. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” “Uh, yeah,” I say, stating the obvious. “I have to warn you, though. If you have granny undies on, you’ll blow my fantasy.” “For your information, they’re pink satin. As long as we’re sharing personal info, are you a boxers or briefs guy?” “Neither. My boys go free, if you know what I mean.” Okay, I don’t let my boys go free. She’ll just have to figure that out herself. “Gross, Alex.” “Don’t knock it till you try it,” I tell her, then walk toward the door. “You’re leaving?” “Uh…yeah.” “Aren’t you going to help me get the keys?” “Uh…nope.” If I stay, I’ll be tempted to ask her to ditch the football game to be with me. I’m definitely not ready to hear the answer to that question. Toying with her I can handle. Showing my true colors like I did the other day made me take my guard down. I’m not about to do that again. I push the door open after taking one last glance at Brittany, wondering if leaving her right now makes me an idiot, a jerk, a coward, or all of the above.

She was walking toward the beauty shop when Shay came out the door moving fast. The first thing Jill noticed was Shay’s hair and how it appeared really big. As Shay drew closer, Jill realized she looked like she was wearing a mask with big blue streaks over the eyes and giant red pouty lips. “What happened to you?” Jill asked in shock. “I’m not sure,” Shay said, looking just as stunned. “One minute, I was reading a magazine, and the next, two women that looked like Dolly Parton descended on me like vultures. They started putting stuff on my face, then they did all kinds of things to my hair.” Anne walked out of the shop next; her Napoleon hat ’do rode higher than ever. Ella followed with her little red hair ball reinflated. “Doesn’t Shay just look beautiful?” Ella chirped. She looked like a hooker who’d just survived a wind tunnel, but Jill nodded and tried to smile.

Clear blue eyes settled on me.  My body moved of its own accord.  My fingers played with the ends of his hair, absently noting that it was longer and softer than any man should have, and then my hands moved to stroke the stubble on a chiseled chin, up to a pouty bottom lip.  I grazed that lip with two fingers, and the end of his tongue poked out and licked my skin. Electricity flowed from the tips of my fingers down to the soles of my feet. 

Without trying to, he’d memorized her face so much during their outings, that it was easy to picture her green eyes sparkling back at him defiantly or those pouty lips giving him an unexpected dazzling smile. It was so fucking annoying to have her face readily available in his mind, that he wondered if there was some kind of miracle drug he could take to wipe his memory clean.

Nero is proof of the perversity of the universe. Never has such a dangerous object been disguised in such an appealing wrapper. He’s like a berry so vivid and juicy that it makes your mouth water just looking at it. But one taste will poison you. He’s liquid sex in a James Dean frame. Everything about him, from his fog-gray eyes to his pouty lips to his arrogant swagger is calculated to make your heart freeze up in your chest, and then jolt back to life if he so much as glances at you.

Fuck my life, I want her.” The way her lips look puffy and pouty. Like she’s not getting her way after just finishing sucking on a cherry popsicle. The way I want to see how she’d take me. If she whines or moans when she feels good. If she’ll submit if I ask. The way it would feel to tuck my cock between her tits and then paint them when I’m ready. Make her lick me clean. Fuck it. I can hate myself later.

Czar sized her up. He took in her pouty lips, her low eyes, and her labored breathing. Licking his lips, he advanced toward her, never breaking eye contact. “I’m hooked like a muthafucka and I’m not coming up off that shit.

Bloody hell. He didn’t even like the woman. She was too bossy, too opinionated, too quick to jump to conclusions. She wasn’t even beautiful—at least not compared to quite a few of the ladies flitting about London for the season, her sister most especially included. Kate’s face was a touch too long, her chin a hair too pointed, her eyes a shade too big. Everything about her was too something. Even her mouth, which vexed him to no end with its endless stream of insults and opinions, was too full. It was a rare event when she actually had it closed and was treating him to a moment of blessed silence, but if he happened to look at her in that split second (for surely she could not be silent for much longer than that) all he saw were her lips, full and pouty, and—provided that she kept them shut and didn’t actually speak—eminently kissable.

One look at her this morning with her big, trusting jade-colored eyes, pouty pink lips, and messy golden hair and I was gone for. I didn’t just want to provide for her—a home, a safe place, a loving environment. No, me being the sick bastard I am, had other ideas. Safe in my bed, beneath me, with my dick deep inside her.

The day before I'm supposed to be meeting Caroline for a drink, I develop all the text-book symptons of a crush: nervous stomach, long periods spent daydreaming, an inability to remember what she looks like. I can bring back the dress and the boots, and I can see a fringe, but her face is a blank, and I fill it in with some anonymous rent-a-cracker details - pouty red lips, even though it wax her well-scrubbed english clever-girl look that attracted me to her in the first place; almond-shaped eyes, even though she was wearing sunglasses most of the time; pale, perfect skin, even though I know there'll be an initial twinge of disappointment - this is what all that internal fuss is about? - and then I'll find something to get excited about again: the fact that she's turned up at all, a sexy voice, intelligence, wit, something. And between the second and the third meeting a whole new set of myths will be born. This time, something different happens, though. It's the daydreaming that does it. I'm doing the usual thing - imagining in tiny detail the entire course of the relationship, from first kiss, to bed, to moving in together, to getting married (in the past I have even organized the track listing of the party tapes), to how pretty she'll look when she's pregnant, to names of children - until suddenly I realize that there's nothing left to actually, like, happen. I've done it all, lived through the whole relationship in my head. I've watched the film on fast-forward; I know the whole plot, the ending, all the good bits. Now I've got to rewind and watch it all over again in real time, and where's the fun in that? And fucking... when it's all going to fucking stop? I'm going to jump from rock to rock for the rest of my life until there aren't any rocks left? I'm going to run each time I get itchy feet? Because I get them about once a quarter, along with the utilities bills... I've been thinking with my guts since I was fourteen years old, and frankly speaking, between you and me, I have come to the conclusion that my guts have shit for brains.

What’s the big deal? You’re here every day doing shit. At least you can do something useful with your time.” I glare, stone faced. Poke. “You entitled bitch,” she snarls. I chuckle, fighting the urge to groan. I’m turned on by the pink hue of her skin because of her anger. She’s hot. I’m sick to be turned on by this. I focus on her coral, pouty lips as I hold up my hands and rise from the sofa. “I’m sorry, firecracker, that came out wrong. What I meant to say is you’re here every afternoon, so I just figured instead of helping your mom, you could help me.

He was disgracefully handsome, the flight attendant decided, with the kind of face you saw in old black-and-white Hollywood movies. And, oh, that British accent! Even better. Nadia loved British accents. He was so courteous, such a gentleman, that she wondered if he might somehow be connected to the royal family. Just thinking about it made her pizda tingle. "Then perhaps I can fetch you a blanket." "A glass of wine, if you have it." "Of course, sir. Red or white?" "Always red." Rafe watched the shapely bottom swing pertly away toward the galley. With blue baby-doll eyes and wide pouty lips, she was an adolescent wet dream of a sexy stewardess, long-legged and busty, extravagantly curvy in all the right places under the snug red Aeroflot uniform.

I know that when I close my eyes, I see your beautiful lips. How your top lip meets your bottom lip and forms a tiny, pouty 'oh'. I want to kiss them.

He was disgracefully handsome, the flight attendant decided, with the kind of face you saw in old black-and-white Hollywood movies. And, oh, that British accent! Even better. Nadia loved British accents. He was so courteous, such a gentleman, that she wondered if he might somehow be connected to the royal family. Just thinking about it made her pizda tingle. "Then perhaps I can fetch you a blanket." "A glass of wine, if you have it." "Of course, sir. Red or white?" "Always red." Safe watched the shapely bottom swing pertly away toward the galley. With blue baby-doll eyes and wide pouty lips, she was an adolescent wet dream of a sexy stewardess, long-legged and busty, extravagantly curvy in all the right places under the snug red Aeroflot uniform.

Images of white, semi clad women in colour would be very conspicuous in an otherwise unintelligible newspaper to Nanaki. It was somewhat incongruous to see little pictures, sourced from foreign news agencies, of white women in bikinis, sun tanning on a beach in Zakynthos or a procession of revellers in Sao Paulo complete with exotic costume regalia: trailing pheasant feathers for tails, operatic masks tantalisingly revealing pouty red lips, breasts protruding out of sequinned two pieces, women’s toned derrieres jutting out of glitzy g-strings vibrating animalistically to the samba, shapely legs fitting snugly into gold stilettos. Others showed women walking down the ramp in skimpy lingerie at a Missoni fashion show in Milan. At times these sights would intrigue Nanaki. For her, Urdu was unintelligible, just black marks on paper. Who reads this newspaper? And who are these pictures for? Whose reality is this?

I don’t know how it had happened, but Baba’s Norwegian genes had made my Chinese features uncomfortably excessive. My brows arched too high, my nostrils flared too wide, and my lips were pouty and fuller than they needed to be. Even my eyes looked less like Ma’s classic almonds and more like a startled cat.

Easing her back, Er’it looked down upon the starry-eyed female. Both of them panting, eager for far more. Far from lucid she stared up at him in wonder, the Omega’s purrs scratchy from his harsh treatment of her delicate throat. “You’re going to ruin me,” Er’it murmured, thumb tracing the pouty redness of her lower lip.

Her pouty lips are turned down. They always are. There’s a sadness that’s always followed Addison. It’s only a matter of whether or not she’s trying to hide it, but it’s always there.

You have the most fascinating mouth I have ever seen. What's so fascinating? It's a mouth just like any other. I think it is your pouty lower lip. Now I know you're crazy. I never pout and neither does my lip.

You’re a virgin?” “Yes.” “Good.” I lean in and kiss her pouty lips. “I love the idea of this pussy being mine and only mine.

Fuck my life, I want her.” The way her lips look puffy and pouty. Like she’s not getting her way after just finishing sucking on a cherry popsicle. The way I want to see how she’d take me. If she whines or moans when she feels good. The way it would feel to tuck my cock between her tits and then paint them when I’m ready. Make her lick me clean. Fuck it. I can hate myself later. I unbuckle my belt, flip open the button of my jeans, and let them drop. Once I kick off my boots, I step out of my pants. Then I’m spitting on my hand and gripping my cock. She’s not dainty or fragile.

how badly I want to suck on that pouty lip you’re sticking out right now.

That's twice you've played your little lord-of-the-manor card." I grin, having fun. "What was the promise? Oh, right. The third time I do so, you make a jerk-off gesture?" Delilah sets a hip against the back of North's chair as she faces me. I don't like the proximity of her butt to his head. At all. But she's smirking at me with those pouty lips. "Let me save you the trouble." With her free hand, she makes a loose fist and pumps it. The gesture is expected, but not the bolt of heat that punches through my gut and goes straight to my cock. Fuck. I can practically feel her hand on my swollen flesh, the tug she'd give me. Biting back an internal groan, I give her a lazy smile. "Looks like you've had some practice with that, Tot." Practice some more. I'm here all week, willing victim. She doesn't blink. "I'm multitalented, Con Man." "I just bet you are." My dick is rapidly rising, getting heavy in my pants. Hell. Calm yourself, Saint. The request is easier said than done. She's locked eyes with me, unwilling to back down. And she has no idea what she's stirring up. It isn't anger I'm feeling. I'm in so much trouble.

Whatever the case, apparently I do not possess a lick of sense when it comes to this girl--- this woman. She is all woman now. Her baby softness has melted away, leaving lush curves and elegant lines. Delilah Baker is a ripe peach, with pouty red "fuck me" lips. "Don't go there, man," I groan in the dark. But I am there and can't escape. Seeing her walk into my office was a kick to the chest and a hard tug to the balls. She was all jiggle and sway in the best of ways--- curvy hips, bouncing breasts, glossy hair floating around her shoulders. And those red lips, like an exclamation point on the "go to hell, Macon" statement she made with each look my way. I have zero doubt Delilah wanted to nut me the entire time we talked.

His voice pours over me like hot syrup. "Doesn't matter what I say, does it? I could tell you that watching you suck on that juicy bit of mango was one of the erotic highlights of my life. That I want to lick the pink, pouty curve of your lower lip to see if it's sticky sweet." Gently, he touches the swell of my lip, and I feel it deep within my sex. "Such a pouty fucking mouth," he whispers. "Always frowning at me with that plump lower lip." I. Cannot. Breathe. I am flush with fever-bright heat. And it is all Macon's fault.

I’m fantasising about those pouty lips wrapped around my dick as I fuck you with my tongue.