Smut Book Quotes

I moaned then, tilting my head back to give him better access. His hands clamped on my waist, then moved—one going to cup my rear, the other sliding between us. This—this moment, when it was him and me and nothing between our bodies … His tongue scraped the roof of my mouth as he dragged a finger down the center of me, and I gasped, my back arching. “Feyre,” he said against my lips, my name like a prayer more devout than any Ianthe had offered up to the Cauldron on that dark solstice morning. His tongue swept my mouth again, in time to the finger that he slipped inside of me. My hips undulated, demanding more, craving the fullness of him, and his growl reverberated in my chest as he added another finger. I moved on him. Lightning lashed through my veins, and my focus narrowed to his fingers, his mouth, his body on mine. His palm pushed against the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs, and I groaned his name as I shattered

Besides....... who wants a boy? The only boys in our books are the little baby ones the man hero puts inside the heroine.

1984 was the most boring book ever. But now I understand why people read smut

Please,” I gasped out. He just brushed his lips against my jaw, my neck, my mouth. “Tamlin,” I begged. He palmed my breast, his thumb flicking over my nipple. I cried out, and he buried himself in me with a mighty stroke. For a moment, I was nothing, no one. Then we were fused, two hearts beating as one, and I promised myself it always would be that way as he pulled out a few inches, the muscles of his back flexing beneath my hands, and then slammed back into me. Again and again. I broke and broke against him as he moved, as he murmured my name and told me he loved me. And when that lightning once more filled my veins, my head, when I gasped out his name, his own release found him. I gripped him through each shuddering wave, savoring the weight of him, the feel of his skin, his strength. For a while, only the rasp of our breathing filled the room. I frowned as he withdrew at last—but he didn’t go far. He stretched out on his side, head propped on a fist, and traced idle circles on my stomach, along my breasts.

I couldn't hear anything or anyone, there was only the sound of our sex and the smell of books.

there’s nothing wrong with a man who enjoys a good romance book. My dad always said the best way to learn what a woman wants is to pick up some of the smut they love to read so much. Written by a woman, it might as well be a road map to instant pleasure.

Trellis wants his salutary book to be read by all. He realizes that purely a moralizing tract would not reach the public. Therefore he is putting plenty of smut into his book.

I want to be his love slave. An image of me in a black corset wearing a collar with a leash attached to it pops into my head. Maybe stupid Lydia was right to cut the smut from the book club for a while.

The book was not new. Dates were stamped on the front endpaper, in and out dates. A rent book. A lending library of elaborate smut. I rewrapped the book and locked it up behind the seat. A racket like that, out in the open on the boulevard, seemed to mean plenty of protection. I sat there and poisoned myself with cigarette smoke and listened to the rain and thought about it.

You can’t blackball people out of a book club.” “Says who? I was happy reading mindless smut. I’m buying the CliffsNotes.

I've never understood people who return books after they've obviously read them. "Oh no, that dog-eared page was there when I bought it." Like hell it was. How about I punch you in the bloody face and tell you that bruise was there before and then we'll call it even.

snuggling in bed at our sorority house, reading smut books, and avoiding social gatherings”.

but I never turn down the opportunity to take off my bra, throw on my grubbiest sweats, and curl up on my couch with a good smut book or four hours straight of Netflix.

I wanted a good smut book where the female lead was worshipped like a queen and dicked down by multiple men repeatedly. All day. Every day. Constant dicking.

Even if I only wrote erotica, I wouldn’t care what you have to say. I make people happy! Blake and I provide readers with fun and entertainment and an escape from their lives, which is a damn good thing because life is hard and really sucks sometimes. Life isn’t a fairy-tale and not everyone in gets a happily-ever-after, but in our book world they do.

I’m going to take this perfect candy ass and you’re going to take each and every painful slam of my cock as I force myself balls deep inside. And you’re going to be a good lass and scream out for more.

Should I put it in my mouth?” “If you’re feeling brave enough.” “How much of it?” “I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that before. My answer to that question will always be the more the fucking better, Sweetheart.

Amy, amante, amour, he whispered, as if the words themselves were smuts of ash rising and falling, as though the candle were the story of his life and she the flame. He lay down in his haphazard cot. After a time he found and opened a book he had been reading that he had expected to end well, a romance which he wanted to end well, with the hero and heroine finding love, with peace and joy and redemption and understanding. Love is two bodies with one soul, he read, and turned the page. But there was nothing—the final pages had been ripped away and used as toilet paper or smoked, and there was no hope or joy or understanding. There was no last page. The book of his life just broke off. There was only the mud below him and the filthy sky above. There was to be no peace and no hope. And Dorrigo Evans understood that the love story would go on forever and ever, world without end. He would live in hell, because love is that also.

And when he beheld their dark sails, smutted by the burning tar that had blinded their enemy, he believed them blackened in mourning for the young man, and he threw himself down, and so perished. For no man lives long when his dreams are dead.

I want to punish you, honey. Clearly count each time. If you make it to ten, you'll be rewarded; if you ask me to stop, you'll apologize on your knees.

They kissed greedily like hungry animals given a piece of meat.

My vagina is a treacherous bitch. She can’t be trusted.

Now that you’re all stretched and ready…” he croons. “I’m going to fuck you and make true on my promise. You’re not going to be able to walk by the time I’m done with you.

She’s probably shocked to see me at a party, instead of my typical “snuggling in bed at our sorority house, reading smut books, and avoiding social gatherings”.

I’ve been reading too many smut books lately, and I clearly haven’t gotten out enough.

In my early teens, I heard about Naked Lunch and its mutating typewriters and talking cockroaches. While I would hardly classify its dystopic vision as erotica now, at the time, Naked Lunch was my first foray into consuming smut. It was because of Burroughs that I knew about the particular musk that blooms when a rectum is penetrated, and that death-by-hanging produces spontaneous trouser tents. The first Burroughs I read was Naked Lunch, but I buried myself in a few of his stories, and thus the arc of my recollection is just as non-linear as his narrative.

I’m going to put my cock inside you now, little brute. I’ll let you adjust to it first, but after that, I’m going to fuck the absolute shit out of you like you’re my personal little harlot.

I can make you feel so, so good, sweetheart. Just give in to your desires. I know your sweet little cunt is throbbing so hard right now, it’s almost like it’s calling out for me like a siren’s song.

I want to fuck you like my personal whore. Then I want to pet you like a puppy and hold you warm against my chest. Treat you so soft and sweet, like a princess. You make me crazy, little brute. You make me feral and wild and insane. And I thought I already was all of those things. But it was nothing compared to when I met you.

You should have known better than to test me, baby girl. This is what bad girls get for being dirty little sluts. A hard dick lodged deep in their ass with no lube.

I’m going to fuck you so brutally, I’ll turn you inside out, Lucille. And don’t think I have forgotten about your little asshole. I’m going to destroy that, too.

Look at me, sweetheart,” he growls, every muscle in his arms flexing. “Look at me as my blood drips all over you. Watch me paint every inch of your skin with my life’s essence.

There are many chaotic paths to success in the world of writing.

I still read fairytales... they are just a little dirtier now.

Keep your eyes on me. Let me look at you while I ruin you.

You’re so fucking wet. Goddamnit, sweetheart. Look at you, all exposed and ready for me, with no way to escape.

Okay, give it to me then, but if it contains any smut, I swear I’ll shoot you.

My mind is a mess. I’m sucking off a homicidal lunatic in the middle of the fucking forest.

I feel like a helpless deer running away from a terrible fate. I’m Bambi’s fucking mother, and he is the hunter ready to shoot me just so he can eat me. Devour me.

It’s so easy, though, having you tied and ready like this. Like my own personal fucktoy.” Her mouth opens slightly in a gasp and I see the way the muscles in her thighs tighten. “You like that, huh?” I hum, brushing the skin with my hand close to her pussy, which is dripping with my cum. “You like it when I tell you that you’re for me to take―for me to use? Dirty lass.

That was fucking incredible, Lucy. I would’ve died a happy man if you’d sat on me a little longer with those thick thighs of yours squeezing my face. With your pussy soaking my nose and my mouth.

I’m going to tear this sweet little cunt apart. I’m going to use it over and over again for my own needs,” he growls. “But I’m also going to make it feel good. Make it come on my tongue and my cock. Make it feel so good that you’ll never spend another day without begging for it. It’s what I’ve been dreaming of ever since I saw your picture in your book. My beautiful lass, put on this world just for me.

I read the darkest of the dark. You know, the kind where her alpha hole lover sends her the enemy’s hand in a parcel with half the book smothered in dirty kinky smut. Maybe I’m getting this whole romance thing wrong.

As we stood there, the world around us faded into insignificance, as if it were melting away. It was just the two of us, locked in an embrace, with the distant barks of sea lions below serving as our only witnesses. The taste of him on my tongue was like a potent elixir, intoxicating me and anchoring me to the present moment. His breath, warm and gentle, caressed my skin, and I could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat reverberating against my chest.

It’s like diving into a goddamn swimming pool, sweetheart. That’s how wet you are down here. Your mind can fight me all it wants, but your cunt is desperate for my touch,” I taunt, smugness dripping off me like beads of sweat.

Now, I know the books she reads are the smut ones, and when I watch her make notes in the margins, highlight passages, and tab the pages, I make a mental note to read every last annotation in every book she has so I know all her desires.

You'll be staying in your old room.' As if she had any sort of claim on this place. On anywhere at all. He went on, 'My room's a level above that.' 'Why would I need to know that?' The words snapped out of her. He began walking toward the glass doors that led into the mountain's interior. 'In case you have a bad dream and need someone to read you a story,' he drawled, a half smile dancing on his face. 'Maybe one of those smutty books you like so much.

We did not go about this bride thing right. I do not think women are still used to being stolen as they once were.” “Some adjustment is to be expected.” “It is more than that. She keeps asking for things that I do not have—her Earth clothes and something called a cheeseburger, which I recall from the mini shows as being a giant food that women enjoy eating half naked very slowly.” Kyran thought of Eve’s beautiful legs. He would very much enjoy getting her a cheeseburger

Then you think there is no God?" "No, I think there quite probably is one." "Then why? …" Mustapha Mond checked him. "But he manifests himself in different ways to different men. In premodern times he manifested himself as the being that's described in these books. Now …" "How does he manifest himself now?" asked the Savage. "Well, he manifests himself as an absence; as though he weren't there at all." "That's your fault." "Call it the fault of civilization. God isn't compatible with machinery and scientific medicine and universal happiness. You must make your choice. Our civilization has chosen machinery and medicine and happiness. That's why I have to keep these books locked up in the safe. They're smut. People would be shocked it …" The Savage interrupted him. "But isn't it natural to feel there's a God?" "You might as well ask if it's natural to do up one's trousers with zippers," said the Controller sarcastically. "You remind me of another of those old fellows called Bradley. He defined philosophy as the finding of bad reason for what one believes by instinct. As if one believed anything by instinct! One believes things because one has been conditioned to believe them. Finding bad reasons for what one believes for other bad reasons–that's philosophy. People believe in God because they've been conditioned to. "But all the same," insisted the Savage, "it is natural to believe in God when you're alone–quite alone, in the night, thinking about death …" "But people never are alone now," said Mustapha Mond. "We make them hate solitude; and we arrange their lives so that it's almost impossible for them ever to have it.

Moving my hand from his throat to his hair, I grasp the dark brown strands with an unrelenting tug and move my clit over his mouth, using his face as my seat. I start riding him, grinding my pussy over his lips. He sticks out his tongue for me to use and use it, I do. It feels almost barbaric. I’m fucking his face. But it’s invigorating, and it’s not something he hasn’t done to me before. “Making me say ‘please’,” I mutter, growling. “Making me beg for it. You bloody man. I’ll make you beg for air. I’ll make you beg me to let you breathe. How about that, fucker.

Dear Kitty, Another birthday has gone by, so now I’m fifteen. I received quite a lot of presents. All five parts of Sprenger’s History of Art, a set of underwear, a handkerchief, two bottles of yoghurt, a pot of jam, a spiced gingerbread cake, and a book on botany from Mummy and Daddy, a double bracelet from Margot, a book from the Van Daans, sweet peas from Dussel, sweets and exercise books from Miep and Elli and, the high spot of all, the book Maria Theresa and three slices of full-cream cheese from Kraler. A lovely bunch of peonies from Peter, the poor boy took a lot of trouble to try and find something, but didn’t have any luck. There’s still excellent news of the invasion, in spite of the wretched weather, countless gales, heavy rains, and high seas. Yesterday Churchill, Smuts, Eisenhower, and Arnold visited French villages which have been conquered and liberated. The torpedo boat that Churchill was in shelled the coast. He appears, like so many men, not to know what fear is—makes me envious! It’s difficult for us to judge from our secret redoubt how people outside have reacted to the news. Undoubtedly people are pleased that the idle (?) English have rolled up their sleeves and are doing something at last. Any Dutch people who still look down on the English, scoff at England and her government of old gentlemen, call the English cowards, and yet hate the Germans deserve a good shaking. Perhaps it would put some sense into their woolly brains. I hadn’t had a period for over two months, but it finally started again on Saturday. Still, in spite of all the unpleasantness and bother, I’m glad it hasn’t failed me any longer. Yours, Anne

He’s buried in a book that has a protective cover on it so I can’t see what he’s reading. The only people I know who use protective covers are old ladies at the beach, and you don’t need to see the cover to tell what they’re reading—their cheeks are flush. Grandmas into smut are my favorite kind of grandmas. Hmm, I wonder if my grandma is into smut?

You like me needing you, girl? You like knowing you’re the only woman in the whole fucking world I can imagine ever touching again?

What are you reading?” “A, um, historical romance series. I’m on book two.” “Is um-historical a new genre?” I joke. She looks from me to the book and seems nervous. Then she blushes. “Kendall Ross, what on earth are you—” She covers my mouth with her hand. “I found the first book at Aunt Josie’s.” I push her hand away. “So, it’s smut.

Look at you,” he hums in appreciation. “Goddamnit, baby. You take it like a fucking pornstar. Both of your holes getting fucked at the same time. Christ, I wish you could see yourself. You look otherworldly.

I never turn down the opportunity to take off my bra, throw on my grubbiest sweats, and curl up on my couch with a good smut book or four hours straight of Netflix.

So, take that insufferable ego and shove it somewhere, anywhere, I don’t care! Now let me fix this!' -Ivy

That's right, sweetheart. You're going to take Daddy's dick in every hole, in every way Daddy wants.

Blaze: I’ve never trusted any motherfucker just because they might look fucking innocent. Especially women. Women are nothing but fucking trouble.

Ace, Chapter 2, Erotomaniac. That’s lust. She wants me to suckle those perky tits. I just fucking know it.

Fuck, you’re an exquisite little thing,” he groans in my ear. “Such a bonnie lass.

Ah,” he murmurs. “I see how it is. You don’t want to admit that you have an aching need between your thighs. You don’t want to give in to the things you crave. Is that because you want me to force your pretty dress up and find out for myself what your body is aching for?

Oh, Lucy… I thought we had a moment yesterday. I thought you were finally accepting that you want me. Don’t you remember falling asleep in my arms? How I washed you and made you feel good? How I made you come while your husband watched?

Count with me,” he orders. “And put those fingers back where they belong. But keep yourself contained until after the last spank, because that orgasm is mine. I want to feel you squeeze around my tongue when I thrust it inside that tight cunt. Do you understand me, Lucille?

You’re not allowed to touch yourself. If you want to come, you’re going to have to find another way to do that. I’m not going to help you.” I tip his chin up with my gun, and I smile at him, enjoying the power switch. Let him feel helpless for once.

I lick my lips as I stare at it and Dubh smiles. “Does it make you salivate, Lucy? Do you want it in your mouth?” I glare at him for just a moment before I slap him hard on the cheek again. “Quiet. And put your hands behind your back.” “Holy. Shit,” he mutters under his breath, and he complies. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, and I think it’s to wallow in the sting.

Do you like pain, too?” I ask, tilting my head. He’s still quiet and I smile. “You can answer.” “Only when it’s you who inflicts it,” he says. He very slowly thrusts his pelvis in the air, and I’m not sure if he even realizes he’s doing it.

I slap him again and keep the gun pointed at his face with my other hand. “How does it feel, not being in control? Not being able to touch me? Only being able to look,” I taunt. “Do you want to come?” He nods, his eyes never leaving mine as he stares up at me. It’s empowering. I am the one in control. I am the one who’s calling the shots. This time, he will be the one begging for mercy. “Not good enough. Give me a verbal answer.” I tap the barrel of the gun against his nose tauntingly. “Yes,” he growls. “Have you no manners, Dubh? What do civilized people say when they want something?

I suppose there’s no use in trying to fight against it anymore. My vagina likes you too much.

Dirty lass. Two of your holes filled,” Dubh says with that haunting voice of his. “The sight is fucking blinding, Lucy.

Shit, Lucy. I knew it from the first time I saw your picture and looked at those mismatched eyes of yours―you would suck cock like a little demon in disguise.

Do you even realize what a perfect fucking cunt you have, Lucille? Good God.” Every brush of his fingers against my skin makes my heart beat faster. “Touch yourself,” he orders. “Now.

You want to touch me so bad, don’t you? You want to come. You want to spill your seed all over me.” I move my hand over my breasts, taking my hard nipples between my fingertips and squeezing. Then I move further down, all over my stomach until I reach my clit. “You want to know what it feels like to bury your cock deep inside me, don’t you, Dubh? You’re desperate for it.” His lip curls up as his expression turns feral, and I lose my composure and confidence for just a second before I pick it back up. I tease him with my words, telling him about what he wants but can’t have. I let out a moan when I push a finger inside of myself. “I’m tight, Dubh. I bet you won’t even last a damn minute.

He can’t touch me. Not this time. “Come for me, Dubh. Show me what you have to offer me.” “Fuck, Lucy,” he groans as he keeps thrusting in the air. And finally, spurts of pearly white cum shoot out of the tip, onto the floor. “Goddamn you,” he curses as he spills more onto the ground.

Poor lass,” he growls devilishly from behind me as he digs his nails into my hips, pounding into me with a crazed mania. “There won’t be a day where I won’t fuck you like this from now on out.” I curse and scream, but he doesn’t relent, not even for a second. “But don’t worry. I’ll kiss away the pain each time I’m done with you.

Ah, fuck, Lucy,” he groans. “God. I’m going to fill you up with so much cum that it’ll be dripping from you even in the morning.

Goddamn, mo leannan. You taste like rage and desire, and it’s fucking intoxicating,

Hold onto your ankles. Keep yourself in place.” She opens her mouth to protest, but I shut that down right away. “Do I need to remind you that you have two very sharp knives right beside your head? Want to feel one against your throat instead?

You think this is wrong. That you’re not allowed to like this,” I say as I lean back. “But you don’t have to hide your desires from me, Lucille. I’ll show you every filthy thing that is known to mankind, and I’ll watch your cunt dripping as it weeps for more. And then I’ll do it again and again. Until you push all those thoughts aside and accept your desires. What was it that Daisy Scott said?” I slip one finger inside of her pussy. “She wonders what it would feel like to experience passion. To meet someone who sees her. Who sees the real her. Someone who would never want to change her or try to take away her darkness,” I quote from her novel. “Don’t hide from me, mo chreach bheag.

No. I would rather risk getting devoured―as Dubh threatens in his note―by a homicidal stalker who thinks he’s in love with me than get back into that miserable sham of a marriage.

He grabs the back of my neck and forces me down onto my knees. I yelp when he grabs hold of my hair and brings my head up to look at him. “I’ve made you feel good multiple times now. I’ve made you come and I’ve treated you real nice.” Nice? Fucking nice? “Now it’s time to return the favor.” “If you even dare to stick your disgusting prick inside of my mouth, I swear I will bite it off!” I grit out between clenched teeth. “Sure, you could try that. Then I will just kill your husband myself.

Don’t you dare muffle those sounds, lass. They are meant for my ears, and I’ll be damned if I let you deprive me of hearing them.” His rough hand gathers my wrists together before he forces them against the wall above my head. “What’s even better than hearing them, though… is swallowing them.

I am going to fuck this soaked little cunt with my fingers now. And I won’t stop until I’ve abused the poor thing so bad, your cum will run down your thighs. And then I’m going to lick it up until you’ve satiated my thirst. And I. Am. Thirsty.

That’s it,” he grunts against me, the sound muffled. “Take what you want from me. Take your pleasure from my tongue, mo chreach bheag.

I want you to run and hide. And when I find you, I’m going to shove my cock into your pretty mouth and make you swallow every last goddamn drop of my cum.

Run, mo chreach. I’ll give you ten seconds.

Fuck. I knew you would like my cock. I fucking knew it, sweetheart. You’re taking me so well.” She takes me even deeper then, and I can feel the tip touch the back of her throat. “Christ,” I grit out. “So fucking deep. Just imagine how it would feel inside your tight little cunt.

Not really, but I never turn down the opportunity to take off my bra, throw on my grubbiest sweats, and curl up on my couch with a good smut book or four hours straight of Netflix.

I wanted a good smut book where the female lead was worshipped like a queen and dicked down by multiple men repeatedly. All day. Every day. Constant dicking. Also, the lead men needed to be super sweet and supportive.

I read for fun. They may be filthy smut books, but those still count.

Self-consciously, Kara wiped at her mouth, hoping she hadn’t managed to actually salivate at the fantasy of Cade filling her mouth with his cock. The damn smut must be driving her mad.

What did they want from it? Lechery, smut, confirmation of their worst suspicions. But perhaps some of them wanted, despite themselves, to be seduced. Perhaps they were looking for passion; perhaps they delved into this book as into a mysterious parcel - a gift box at the bottom of which, hidden in layers of rustling tissue paper, lay something they'd always longed for but couldn't ever grasp.

He thought how easy it would be to write an entire book on Johannesburg violence. The strike leader Pickaxe Mary, after whom Mary Fitzgerald Square was named, who attacked her enemies with a pickaxe handle. The trenches dug into the streets of Fordsburg during the 1922 miners’ strike. The cannons of the government aimed at the poor whites of Vrededorp. The murdered woman in the 1960s whose head was found in the Zoo Lake and whose torso was discovered in a suitcase in Wemmer Pan. Jan Smuts, who wanted to bomb striking workers with aeroplanes. The countless schoolchildren shot during the 1976 uprising. The fifty-three supporters who were shot down in the street outside Shell House, the ANC headquarters. The huge bomb that went off shortly before the first democratic election and made a whole row of shops kneel down on the pavements of Bree Street. The commuters, in the early 1990s, killed by pangas or who jumped to their deaths from moving trains to escape their Portuguese-speaking attackers. The murderess Daisy de Melker, whose third husband survived only because she was caught in time. The violent home invasions, rapes and hijackings he read about in the newspapers every day.

Read me something.” My eyes widened. “You want me to read you this?” “Read it, then do that cute little analyzing thing you do after every paragraph in school.” Warmth exploded through my chest. Sakura thought it was… cute? “I don’t know if you want me to read you this book,” I said, chuckling. “This is a romance book that I—” “A romance book?!” Sakura giggled, placing her hand against her heart. “Mr. Avery—the most prolific, well-spoken reader at Redwood—likes smut?! I have never heard of such a thing!

I'd be the first. The last.

As if anyone could hold a candle to Jack. It would be like trying to keep one lit in the middle of a tornado

I want to read one of the books they talk about on TikTok. You know, the ones that are basically porn?” Zane smirks as he types at his phone. “Read smut. Got it. What else?

I may as well read the book and get some fictional man action even though I have zero intention of getting any real man action this year. Plus, it’s probably got some top shelf smut in it. Jordan is the queen of smut. Book recommendations from her guarantee a good time.

How are they all taller than six feet? I’ve been reading too many smut books lately, and I clearly haven’t gotten out enough.

I’m going to take off, too. I have a date with a riveting book of smut and my vibr—” She wheezes a little, catching herself. “Vibrant imagination.