Smutty Book Quotes

Those smutty books sell because women wish their husbands had half the balls the men in those books do.

Cam starts laughing, "Oh, I love it when she reads." He turns to Lucy who's face is starting to contort and turn to a bright shade of red, "She reads these smutty books, like full on dirty shit, full of sex and like... bdsm shit." "I'm not joking boys, they're like full on pornographic. Talking about silky shafts and veiny dicks and shit," Logan is now on the ground holding his side from the pain of laughing too hard. "Sometimes she'll be reading, then all of sudden she'll put her book down and look at me like she wants to eat me, literally eat me!" he yells, laughing harder, still swatting away her hands that are trying to shut him up, "I mean I don't mind it, not at all. It's hot as fuck. And she wants to try everything she reads in these books. Like... everything. She learns everything from these books... so I don't give a shit when, of how much she reads, I get rewards.

Sloane is probably holed up in her house with a smutty book and her demonic cat.

Because I love how your eyes fill with light when you read your sneaky smutty books,” I reply honestly before I can stop myself. “And when you’re happy, I’m happy.

I love you," he repeated, quieter this time, as if he only wanted me to hear. "I love your smutty books, and your weird documentaries, and your obsession with orange, processed snacks." I choked on something between a laugh and a sob. "I love the way you dress, and the way you light up when you talk about the universe, and the way you saw through every wall I tried to put between me and the rest of the world and knew who I was even when I didn't." He shook his head, licking his lips before he continued. "I love how you believe in me, and how you burn to prove everyone wrong when they size you up too quickly. I love that you challenge me." I leaned into his palm, bottom lip quivering before I bit down to hold it still. "I love everything about you- big and small, silly and serious. And I'm sorry I was an idiot and tried to end our story before it even had the chance to begin.

I'm sure we could have so much fun, but only if you learn to be good to me.

Some smutty book. It had great reviews online, but eh. I’m like over a hundred pages in and I kind of just want them to fuck now.

They are going to come in here all hopped up on their latest smutty book, cackling like a coven of witches. And then they’re going to want to know everything about you.

Is this the result of her reading smutty books? Because o-fucking-kay, I’ll buy her the whole damn romance section and turn a room into a library for her.

Check the top 1000 books on Amazon. Most of them have a shirtless guy on the cover, because they're smutty "romance novels" (read: porn for women) about a girl being swept off her feet by one (or more) billionaire alpha-males. There are literally tens of thousands of books out there about shirtless billionaire alpha-male vampires who can't wait to mate with you. Lucky you! And women eat that shit up! Men, not so much. Men prefer to watch actual porn.

This—with the sounds of my boyfriend making me food in the kitchen, a smutty book on my Kindle, and a cat purring at my side—is everything I ever could’ve wanted. It’s the kind of peace and contentment I never thought I’d have, the quiet, perfect moments I used to dream about when I was alone. It’s the feeling of being right where I’m meant to be.

Never try to keep it professional, keep it smutty, write with bodily fluids on sandpaper, and damn the men with clipboards in white suits, the literary bean-counters, the prose police.

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.

The fact that nine-tenths of all the smutty literature, artistic tripe and theatrical banalities, had to be charged to the account of people who formed scarcely one per cent. of the nation - that fact could not be gainsaid. It was there, and had to be admitted.

President Theodore Roosevelt had created the bureau in 1908, hoping to fill the void in federal law enforcement. (Because of lingering opposition to a national police force, Roosevelt’s attorney general had acted without legislative approval, leading one congressman to label the new organization a “bureaucratic bastard.”) When White entered the bureau, it still had only a few hundred agents and only a smattering of field offices. Its jurisdiction over crimes was limited, and agents handled a hodgepodge of cases: they investigated antitrust and banking violations; the interstate shipment of stolen cars, contraceptives, prizefighting films, and smutty books; escapes by federal prisoners; and crimes committed on Indian reservations.

We all know that sex is the most interesting topic in the world. We love to talk about sex. There's no juicier gossip than who is sleeping with whom. And we love to read about sex. Check the top 1000 books on Amazon. Most of them have a shirtless guy on the cover, because they're smutty "romance novels" (read: porn for women) about a girl being swept off her feet by one (or more) billionaire alphamales. There are literally tens of thousands of books out there about shirtless billionaire alpha-male vampires who can't wait to mate with you. Lucky you! And women eat that shit up! Men, not so much. We men prefer to watch actual porn. And there's a perfectly good explanation for that.

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.

What the fucking fuck? Is this the result of her reading smutty books? Because o-fucking-kay, I’ll buy her the whole damn romance section and turn a room into a library for her.

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

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.

Dedication This book is dedicated to readers who enjoy insta-love in smutty books as much as I do.

He kissed her deeply then, pouring all his heart into their interweaving lips and souls. This kiss held love, not lust; promise, not hope; relief, not fear.

Hell, a couple of minutes ago, I was calling him cute, and this man was still holding my smutty stories over my head, promising to blackmail the fuck out of me. First, it had been my body-betraying syndrome that I had caught from the romance books I had written and read. Now, it was some sort of Stockholm syndrome. Jesus Christ.

Is Gage doing research? The only thing I’ve ever seen him read is Les’ smutty books.

Besides, I want you naked and in my bath when I get back… and I’m sure you’ll keep yourself busy reading one of your horny books.” There’s a spluttering noise that comes out of me, and I damn near fall off my stool. Absolutely no way did this man just say those words. But Colt’s hazel eyes glow with boyish mischief. “Oh, don’t think I don’t know what you’ve got on that innocent-looking little device of yours.” “What do you know about the types of books I read?” I’m incredulous, but have absolutely no right to be. He’s correct. My Kindle is brimming with the most deliciously smutty books imaginable. “Oh, I’m sorry… reading serious literature over there every night, are you, angel?

I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up and take our cocks like a good girl.” A puff of air leaves my lungs, and I slowly turn my head to look at him. It's like he just stepped out of one of my smutty books and holy fuck, is it hot.

She'd found a smutty novel she'd already read and loved in one of the trunks Elain had packed, and had laid it on the desk. She'd said to the air, 'I found this for you. It's a present.' The book had vanished into nothing. But in the morning, she'd found a bouquet of autumnal flowers upon her desk, the glass vase bursting with asters and chrysanthemums of every colour.

Cassian’s voice dropped an octave. “Is that what those smutty books teach you? That it’s only at night?

You have the prettiest little pussy I have ever seen.” My hips involuntarily thrust upward at that and he chuckles tauntingly. “Widen those legs for me.

I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. I want to taste you on my fucking tongue. And fuck, sweetheart… I want to be inside you. I want to pound into you until you’re a sobbing little mess.

Maybe one of those smutty books you like so much.

What is this?" It appeared to be written in Ljoslander. "A novel," he said. He pulled out another book, which I barley caught. " On the smutty side, I'm afraid - not to your tasted at all.

Doesn't count when you use your hands to do most of the work.' Nesta schooled her face into utter disdain, even as a hiss rose inside her. 'I bet that isn't what you've been telling yourself at night.' Azriel's shoulders shook with silent laughter as Cassian set down his fork, his eyes gleaming with challenge. Cassian's voice dropped an octave. 'Is that what those smutty books teach you? That it's only at night?' It took a heartbeat for the words to settle. And she couldn't stop it, the heat that sprang to her face, her glance at his powerful hands. Even with Azriel now biting his lip to keep from laughing, she couldn't stop herself. Cassian said with a wicked smile, 'It could be anytime- dawn's first light, or when I'm bathing, or even after a long, hard day of practice.' She didn't miss the slight emphasis he put on long, hard. Nesta couldn't stop her toes from curling in her boots. But she said with a silent smile, striding for the doorway, refusing to let one bit of the discomfort in her sore legs show, 'Sounds like you have a lot of time on your hands, Cassian.

The House had dinner waiting on her desk, along with a book. Apparently, it had noted her request for a book the other day and deemed The Great War too dull. The title of this one was suitably smutty. 'I didn't know you had dirty taste,' Nesta said wryly. The House only responded by running a bath. 'Dinner, bath, and a book,' Nesta said aloud, shaking her head in something close to awe. 'It's perfect. Thank you.' The House said nothing, but when she stepped into her bathroom, she found that it wasn't an ordinary bath. The House had added an assortment of oils that smelled of rosemary and lavender. She breathed in the heady, beautiful scent and sighed. 'I think you might be my only friend,' Nesta said, then groaned her way into the tub's welcoming warmth. The House was apparently so pleased by her words that as soon as she lay back, a tray appeared across the width of the tub. Laden with a massive piece of chocolate cake.

Power beyond words lurked in the beast’s gaze, a magnetic force that ensnared my vision. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the creature. Its serpentine tongue crept out, moist and glistening. Circling and circling and circling. I rolled my hips in tune, and an ungloved thumb caressed the sensitive nub. My mouth stretched into a silent scream, covered by a writhing tentacle.

My curiosity aroused, I flipped to another page. 蛸と海女: Tako to Ama, trans. ‘The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife.’ Head thrown back, eyes closed, a nude woman lay sprawled ashore. Her brows creased in anguish and ecstasy. As she was pleasured by a large octopus. No, octopi. I trailed a finger along the suctioned underside of the creature’s appendage to her breast where a smaller octopus latched onto. The painting might’ve been unmoving, but it held an animated quality. The woman writhing on the shore; the fluid movements of the sea creatures as the trio derived mutual pleasure from their strange encounter. Their visceral desire seeped through the page, and I was but a voyeur.

Talking about smutty books with this book boyfriend come to life? Fuck me running, my shitty night had taken a sudden turn for the better.

Is that what those smutty books teach you? That it’s only at night?

There’s something about getting lost in a movie, allowing it to pull you from surroundings, letting you enter their world. I imagine this is what Red is like when she’s reading her smutty books all the time.

No more smutty books. Wait, that’d make work even more boring. No more for at least a day. Half of one… A couple minutes.

Quinn called them my “smutty books” because nearly all of them had a shirtless man on the cover and contained lots of yummy on-page sex. Smutty or not, I fucking loved them. My own life sorely lacked romance, so reading about gay dudes falling in love helped me escape my own sad reality for a while.

You’re kind of a strange girl, Fern Taylor,” Ambrose said softly, his eyes on hers, his right eye sightless, his left eye trying to see beneath the surface. “I’ve seen those books you read. The ones with the girls on the front with their boobs falling out and the guys with the torn shirts. You read smutty romance novels and quote scripture. I’m not quite sure I have you figured out.” “Scripture comforts me, and romance novels give me hope.” “Oh, yeah? Hope for what?” “Hope that I’ll be doing more than quoting scripture with Ambrose Young in the very near future.” Fern blushed furiously and looked at her hands. Ambrose didn’t know what to say. After a tense silence, Fern put the car into drive and eased it back onto the wet road.

You want to know what she does?” Gage sits up on the couch, animated. “She’s a superhero. She flies around with her megabat wings and saves the city.” Alessa rolls her eyes. “Shut up, and stop reading my smutty books.

Cassian shoveled more eggs into his mouth and said around them, “Doesn’t count when you use your hands to do most of the work.” Nesta schooled her face into utter disdain, even as a hiss rose inside her. “I bet that isn’t what you’ve been telling yourself at night.” Azriel’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as Cassian set down his fork, his eyes gleaming with challenge. Cassian’s voice dropped an octave. “Is that what those smutty books teach you? That it’s only at night?

Oh my god!” she cries. “It’s Nora Stephens fan fiction!” “Can it really be called fan fiction if the author clearly isn’t a fan?” I say. “Has she sent you more? Does it get smutty? Lots of fan fiction gets smutty.” “Again,” I say, “not fan fiction.

I hope it gets smutty,” she says. “Libby, if you had your way, every book would end with an earth-shattering orgasm.

Part of my newly found confidence stems from—listen to this—reading smutty books. That’s right.

DEDICATION: For anyone who’d prefer to curl up inside with a smutty book rather than put on “real” pants and leave the house.

You don’t possibly think that I can’t disarm you,” Meir said as he dramatically widened his eyes. “No, but I’ll make you bleed enough for me to die peacefully.

I punched the damn prince in his face. I wished I had broken a nose. He was not expecting the grace I’d slammed on his pretty face. I knew it by the way he growled and covered his nose with his hand. “Fuck! That hurts, Thea.

I haven't even done anything yet, and you shiver." - Meir Leos

He was in a mood to play. I would show him how.

What’s your favorite rumor?” I whispered. “All of them.” Meir breathed in my hair. “For starters, people say that I wear collared shirts to hide the marks you leave on me.

I’m not hesitant. I was just waiting for you to sanction your debauchery.

You want a kiss? I'll give you more.

and Twyla was now facing the unfortunate truth that she would never have sex with another human being that couldn’t be outdone by a smutty book and a good vibrator.

At this point, I would murder someone for a hot bath and a smutty book.

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.

I realise at some point during hour three that part of my job is to be a witness for memories. Viviana needs to touch each object, to speak its significance, and only once this is done can she release it.

Oh, don’t think I don’t know what you’ve got on that innocent-looking little device of yours.” “What do you know about the types of books I read?” I’m incredulous, but have absolutely no right to be. He’s correct. My Kindle is brimming with the most deliciously smutty books imaginable.

To know love and to lose it is a fate worse than death,

and a smutty orc romance book by my new favorite author, Zoe Ashwood, face down on the bed beside me.

You can be my Republic of Ireland, since lookin’ at you my penis is Dublin.” He leers at me with a smile that I suspect is supposed to be charming. “I want you to taste my lucky charms.

He continues. "I’m pleased to meet you. Are you friends of my fiancée from London? We must have you at the castle for tea." “Oh, we’re not friends," I say. "I used to be engaged to Patrick, but then he decided to cheat on me with Claire, my best friend since kindergarten.” “I see." “In that case, I shall rescind the tea invitation.

Is this why you read smutty romance books?” he purrs. “Porn for women, huh? Do you get yourself off to the dirty things you read in these books?

There should be a sex club that has people read smutty books to its patrons,