Silky Silk Quotes

The silkiness of his voice was a torturous caress that I could have endured for the rest of my life.

A silky rustling sound came from behind him. He turned, and saw Helen standing there in a white dress made of thin, glimmering layers of silk trimmed with lace. The dress clung to her slender form, the skirts pulled back to outline her hips and cascading gently behind her. She pulled back a filmy white veil sewn with lace and seed pearls, and smiled at him. She was unearthly in her beauty, as light and delicate as a wash of rainbow through morning mist. He held a hand over his hammering heart, as if to keep it from leaping out of his chest.

Rosie laughs. She reaches around Silas’s neck—he looks taller, older than normal—and twirls the hair at the nape of his neck around her fingers. His arms circle her waist protectively, one hand half hidden beneath her silk shirt as it rests on the tiny, smooth small of her back. Everything about them is silky and gleaming, all smooth skin and shiny hair and languid voices.

Too much bergamot in this one, too tart; no depth in this one; bring forward the orange blossom. Measuring out drops from several vials, she blended another variation, leaning heavily on her keen intuition. Inhaling, she let her mind wander, visualizing the aromatic impression. She was on the verge of discovery. An ethereal freshness with subtle spiciness, like the voluptuous scent of orange blossoms on a sunny spring morning. The hair on her arms bristled with anticipation. She inhaled again, going farther, detecting the bouquet of jasmine absolute and rose attar, rich and silky, entwined with a spicy note of carnation, adding verve and vitality, robust brilliance. It needs a splash of complexity here, a sprig of basil there, an accent of clove. Images of lovers danced in her mind, a soaring sonata thrilled in her soul. A vision intruded, no, a memory- she was dancing with Jon, resting her head on his shoulder, a salty hint of ocean, breathing in his scent, intoxicated with the musky, virile smell of his skin... Another breath and she dragged her thoughts back, delving deeper into the essence. The mystery of amber to balance the soul; the silky smoothness of sandalwood; the delicious lure of vanilla, like a lover's midnight embrace. An ache grew within her at the core of her being. And in her mind's eye, veiled visions of a moonlit night, a couple dancing barefoot on the beach, swirling silks of scarlet and gold, the sultry caress of a whisper, so vivid she trailed her fingers along the nape of her neck, remembering... Seductive, sensual, the essence of amour.

This will hurt ye more than it does me,” she said as she pulled the thread through his skin. “Nay, lass, you’re but tickling me,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. His thumb rubbed back and forth over her forearm. “What are ye doing?” she demanded. “Hmm?” He blinked, all innocence. She looked pointedly down at his hand. His thumb stopped. “I was just distracting myself a bit from the pain,” he said. “Ye’re fair soft.” “Ye’re accustomed to scratchy wool. That’s just the silk ye feel.” “No, I can imagine ye beneath your clothes,” he said. “I’m thinking your skin puts silk to shame.

I say,she is sinfully attractive when she's angry.You may not claim to have a way with the ladies,but when you want to make one mad,you are indeed an expert." Ranulf clenched his teeth and said nothing, but sent Tyr a flash of warning. Tyr dismissed the look and pressed on,opting for a flank attack. "You know that dress she was wearing? She would wear that color more often, complements that odd color of blue in her eyes." Ranulf sank onto the bench across the table from Tyr and raked his hands through his hair. "Take my advice and avoid looking too long at them.They can confound a man.Make him believe in lies." "You might be right," Tyr agreed and moved to pour himself some more wine. "But when a man can't think straight,is it she who is telling the lies or is it he who is telling them to himself?" "If you are trying to make a point, don't." "No,no point." Tyr sighed and swirled his mug. "Just that she was looking pretty tonight. Did you not think so?" "No." "Well,I did.I especially liked the hair. Normally I do not like stuff being all free like that,gets in the way.I usually prefer a woman's hair to be pulled back and tidy,but hers...well,I just might have to change my mind." Nothing from Ranulf.Not even a twitch.Damn.The man was stubborn. Tyr swallowed the mug's contents for fortification.If he got out of this with his skin still intact,he would be lucky.He had maybe one more shot before Ranulf got up to leave,so it had to hit-and hard. Tyr rocked the bench back and hummed, "Looked like silk,wonder if it feels like silk.I once had a woman with hair-" "Damn you," Ranulf uttered through his teeth. "Be quiet or get out." "What do you care? You may not like her,but I do.And not just in the face.I'm actually looking forward to tomorrow and spending time with the ladt.And after her jumping onto the idea of coming hunting,I think she feels the same." "She does not like you." "I beg to disagree.She thinks I am charming. Said so herself.But then it wasn't I who said she was trying to seduce every man around her.

He gripped the sides of her body carefully, keeping her in place as he parted her with his tongue and stroked the sides of the soft furrow. Entranced by the vulnerable shaper of her, he lapped at the edges of softly unfurled lips and tickled them lightly. The delicate flesh was unbelievably hot, almost steaming. He blew a stream of cooling air over it, and relished the sound of her moan. Gently he licked up through the center, a long glide through silk and salty female dampness. She squirmed, her thighs spreading as he explored her with flicks and soft jabs. The slower he went, the more agitated she became. He paused to rest the flat of his tongue on the little pearl of her clitoris to feel its frantic throbbing, and she jerked and struggled to a half-sitting position. Pausing, Keir lifted his head. "What is it, muirninn?" Red-faced, gasping, she tried to pull him over her. "Make love to me." "'Tis what I'm doing," he said, and dove back down. "No- Keir- I meant now, right now-" She quivered as he chuckled into the dark patch of curls. "What are you laughing at?" she asked. "At you, my wee impatient bully." She looked torn between indignation and begging. "But I'm ready," she said plaintively. Keir tried to enter her with two fingers, but the tight, tender muscle resisted. "You're no' ready," he mocked gently. "Weesht now, and lie back. 'Tis one time you won't be having your way." He nuzzled between her thighs and sank his tongue deep into the heat and honey of her. She jerked at the feel of it, but he made a soothing sound and took more of the intimate flavor he needed, had to have, would never stop wanting. Moving back up to the little bud where all sensation centered, he sucked at it lightly until she was gasping and shaking all over. He tried to work two fingers inside her again, and this time they were accepted, her depths clenching and relaxing repeatedly. As he stroked her with his tongue, he found a rhythm that sent a hard quiver through her. He kept the pace steady and unhurried, making her work for it, making her writhe and arch and beg, and it was even better than he'd imagined, having her so wild beneath him, hearing her sweet little wanton noises. There was a suspended moment as it all caught up to her... she arched as taut as a drawn bow... caught her breath... and began to shudder endlessly. A deep and primal satisfaction filled him at the sounds of her pleasure, and the sweet pulsing around his fingers. He drew out the feeling, patiently licking every twitch and tremor until at last she subsided and went limp beneath him. Even then, he couldn't stop. It felt too good. He kept lapping gently, loving the salty, silky wetness of her. Her weak voice floated down to him... "Oh, God... I don't think... Keir, I can't..." He nibbled and teased, breathing hotly against the tender core. "Put your legs over my shoulders," he whispered. In a moment, she obeyed. He could feel the trembling in her thighs. A satisfied smile flicked across his mouth, and he pressed her hips upward to a new angle. Soon he'd have her begging again, he thought, and lowered his head with a soft growl of enjoyment.

stood and looked at them—a band of ruddy, high-boned Scots in a silky brown Indian sea. Jock’s mother was the pinkest of all, like a flamingo in bright silk. She

The flutter in my chest increased until it felt like a nest of a dozen birds had taken flight while Vonetta went into the living room. I quickly dressed, donning the silky slip that barely reached my thighs and then stepped into the loosely draped gown of silk and chiffon. Gathered at the waist and form-fitting through the bust, it reminded me of the gown I’d worn the night of the Rite. The skirt of the dress was sheer to the thigh, forming two gauzy panels, and delicate golden thread was woven throughout the entire dress, stitched to form delicate vines. The neckline was looser than the rest of the bodice and the straps were fitted so they lay just off the shoulders. There was no hiding the scars in this kind of dress, but I…I was done hiding them anyway.

CHORES Together, make a list of chores he can do to help around the house: Make his bed, walk the dog, empty wastebaskets, take out trash, pull weeds, rake, shovel, sweep, vacuum, fold laundry, empty the dishwasher, set and clear the table. Let him know you need and appreciate him. Make a routine and stick to it. If the child is forgetful, make a chart and post it on the refrigerator. When he finishes a chore, let him stick a star on the chart. Reward him with a special privilege or outing when he accumulates several stars. Break chores down into small steps. Let her clear the table one plate at a time. (She doesn’t have to clear all the dishes.) BATHING Let the child help regulate the water temperature. Provide an assortment of bath toys, soaps, and scrubbers. Scrub the child with firm, downward strokes. Provide a large bath sheet for a tight wrap-up. SLEEPING Give your child notice: “Half an hour until bedtime!” or “You can draw for five more minutes.” Stick to a bedtime routine. Include stories and songs, a look at a sticker collection, a chat about today’s events or tomorrow’s plans, a back rub and snug tuck-in. Children with tactile defensiveness are very particular about clothing, so provide comfortable pajamas. Some like them loose, some like them tight; some like them silky, some don’t like them at all. Nobody likes them bumpy, scratchy, lacy, or with elasticized cuffs. Use percale or silk sheets for a smooth and bumpless bed. Let your child sleep with extra pillows and blankets, in a sleeping bag or bed tent, or on a waterbed. Life at home can improve with a sensory diet and attention to your child’s special needs, and life at school can improve as well.

I really am trying to understand your way of life, Mikhail, but I don’t think my heart can take it yet.” She tried to be truthful. “I know nothing of your laws or your customs. I don’t even know exactly what you are, what I am. I think of myself as human. We’re not even married in the eyes of God or man.” This time Mikhail threw back his head and laughed loudly, heartily. “You think the pale ceremony of humans is a deeper binding than that of a true Carpathian ritual? You do have much to learn of our ways.” Her small white teeth scraped at her lower lip. “Has it occurred to you that I might not feel bound by Carpathian laws and rituals? You have so little regard for things I consider sacred.” “Raven!” He was shocked, and it showed. “Is that what you think? I have no regard for your beliefs? That is not so.” She ducked her head so that her silky fair fell around her face, hiding her expression. “We know so little about one another. I know nothing about who I’ve become. How can I fulfill your needs, or you mine, if I don’t even know what or who I am?” He was silent, his dark, fathomless eyes studying her sad face, the sorrow in her eyes. “Perhaps there is some truth in your words, little one.” His hands followed the contours of her body, shaped her narrow rib cage, her small waist, moved up to frame her face. “I look at you and know what a miracle you are. The feel of your skin, soft and inviting, the way you move, like water flowing, the brush of your hair like silk, the feel of your body surrounding mine, completing me, giving me the strength I need to continue a task that seems so hopeless, but so necessary. I look at the way you are made, so beautiful, your body so perfect, made for mine.

You haven’t answered my question.” She shrank from him until her head pressed against the wood-planked wall. “You know I can’t.” “Then I’ll have to find out for myself.” His arms slid around her, one hand traveling beneath the hem of her riding jacket to the small of her back. His fingertips drew across the ribbed surface of her riding corset, shorter and lighter than the usual ones. Exploring beneath the waist of her trousers, he encountered thin, silky fabric where he would have expected linen or cotton. Fascinated, he used one hand to unfasten the row of buttons at the front of her trousers, while the other eased into the back. “Are these drawers? What are they made of?” She began to push at him, but remembering his injury, she stopped. Her hands were suspended in midair as Devon pulled her hips against his. Feeling how hard he was, Kathleen drew in a quick breath. “Someone will see,” she hissed. He was far too occupied with her drawers to care. “Silk,” he said, his hand wandering deeper inside the trousers.