Spicy Dark Romance Quotes

Oh, God,” I cursed. A grin crept onto her lips. “Pretty fucking close,” she said, breathing heavily. A pause followed. “But no. The opposite.” A wicked smile appeared on my face. She was sent to me by Satan himself.

She's not mine to use, but to worship.

You look so f---- good right now, with your tits out,” he said, gripping my hair to pull me back for better access to my neck. “I wanna do so many nasty things to you.” I smiled shyly. “What kind of things?

… I’d procured a small collection of mismatching teeth from each male that had violated her. One day, I would present my little treasure trove of teeth as a gift to her… A token of my undying love and readiness to f*cking murder anyone who dared to wrong her...

With Sofiya’s warm body pressed against mine in bed, guilt gnawed atme. Could I really fail this innocent girl? She was like a damsel in distress, a lamb among wolves. Shit. I was supposed to be the wolf she feared.

This city was a mess, he had to admit. It was dark and dirty and riddled with sinners, but it was his city, the only land he'd ever known. On some sleepless nights, the horns of the sinners became halos, and the streets felt like paradise.

He looked so painfully beautiful. So painfully mine.

He was six feet six inches of confusing male. Lord, the man was huge, muscular and smelled heavenly. She just wanted to run her nose all over him, inhaling that spicy, earthy scent that made her inner wolf want to jump up and strut around for him.

But I want you to know that you can’t hide from me,” he spoke, his voice trembling with anger. “No. I’m going to turn over every little stone until I find you. I’m going to search every damn house in this world. Until I fucking find you.

Get on your knees and take off my shoes, Ramirez,” she ordered, her dark gaze fixed on me.

You look like a fucking Goddess, Sofiya. You’re so beautiful, you look unreal.

She’s so fucking beautiful, it feels like punishment just looking at her.

She’s Dante’s daughter and Vittorio’s granddaughter. Machiavellianism runs in her dirty blood.

I will always come for you, Mareina. I will always be there to save you. Whether you wanted me to or not, I would crawl on hands and knees through the fires and chasms of every hell to save you.

She haunted my mind every waking hour, and carved herself into my dreams...

-¿La chica que acaba de entrar? Te has equivocado de chica, David.

Your absence killed my heart, but the sight of your beautiful face just brought it back to life.

If you’re asking him to save you, then I will nail Him onto that fucking cross again. You will be my ruin, but only I will be your savior.

Your daughter has my soul.

I don’t need anyone to tell me he will protect me. I already know, my body, my heart and my soul are safe with the man the world calls the king of the underworld.

You look like a perfect queen, and if we didn’t have an event to attend, I’d show you just how perfect you are in more than one ways.

And I can’t wait any longer to taste my queen.

Begging me already? So sweet. Do it again.

I get on my knees for no one. I submit to no one. I show weakness to no one. But for you Angel? You get all of me. You fucking own me. I bow to you and only you.

The way he lounges like he owns any room he enters, his eyes dark and dangerous - promising trouble and delivering on every ounce of it.

For a moment, they just stared at each other -- challenging, breathing, burning--

Beauty may be dangerous, but intelligence is lethal.

I have everything without you, wife, and it means nothing. I don’t want anything but you.

I hate you, Alexander.” “Hate me, muse,” he whispers in trembling voice. “Hate me all you want, but come back to me. Hate me. Love me. Fight me. But do it in my arms.

He rubs my cheek with his knuckles, his eyes following the movement like a man possessed. “Unreal. Maddening.” His darkened amber eyes lift to mine. “Muse.

I murmur, “Don’t call me your wife.” He whispers, “I will. That word tells me you’re mine. My wife. My Abigail. My muse.

She’s facing the ocean, her black waves dancing in the night breeze, the moonlight brushing against her skin. Muse.

I had this woman. The devotion in her voice, the worship in those molten brown eyes—I had the world. But then I destroyed it. And now I’ve got nothing but ashes.

The most dangerous weapon I ever created… was my muse. The woman behind it ruined me.

Obsession is what remains when love forgets its soul and decays into fixation, when every heartbeat becomes an echo of theirs.

I can conquer anything. But I’m the failure who lost his most sacred conquest—my muse’s heart.

She’s always in my head, like an unsolved puzzle. She has always been a mystery. And the more I learn about her, the more confused I become.

I’d be an idiot to feel something for him when he’s already taken.

Sorry to disappoint you Mr. Bennett, I have zero interest in you.

So are we clear? You are my slave for the next three months, if that term helps you understand your position better.

Look at you. Tied up in my favorite tie, dripping for forgiveness you’re not getting.

Run all the way to the middle of the ocean!” he calls behind me. “Let me see who saves you today!

You have no idea what you are to me.

Tell me you want me, Abigail.

Is your head spinning better now, dear wife?

Now breathe in,” he murmurs, even more seductively. “Out.” And my damned brain imagines something very not meditation-related.

I can see your dirty thoughts written all over your face, wife. Keep your focus on the meeting so I can do the same.

You look so pretty like this,” he murmurs. “Ruined and untouched, all at once.

Don’t force me to show you exactly how much of this is my concern.

Damn it. She even smells delicious.

Fucking hell, muse. What are you doing to me?

For the first time, I feel her waist, exactly like I imagined. Soft. Supple. Covered in a layer of warmth that clings to my palms like a perfectly worn leather grip on a trusted sidearm.

I still feel compelled to make you aware of the fact that… If you ever dared to try and take her from me, I will find far more creative ways of inflicting suffering upon you before you succumbed to death…

I’m not supposed to act on the thoughts that cross my mind. Obviously. Even if I wanted to act on them, I can’t. How can I act on the thought of touching his jaw to know how his stubble feels? Or the thought of licking his lips to see if they carry the scent of tobacco? Or the thought of tracing his abs just to know if they’re as hard as his chest?

Adria:Tell me what you want right now, or I’ll get that vibrator out and you can say goodbye to being inside me. Bryson: I want to rip these ropes off and carry you to the bed. I want to taste you, be inside of you. Slam into you, fill you.Serve you.Ruin you. Aria: Are you sure that’s what you want? Because you seem to like this? Bryson: "I love this",he said. I love you.

I told you,” he growled softly, his voice curling with dark arrogance. “There’s no God here… just me. Worship me, darling. Please…” There was something almost wounded in the way he said it, something vulnerable buried beneath his commanding tone, and it made my chest ache with longing. “Desmond…” I breathed out, his name slipping past my lips like a prayer. “Desmond… Desmond…

People come to New Orleans to forget themselves and party like a pagan. They gorge themselves on exotic spicy foods and five to seven course meals, taking hours to consume. They behave badly in bars and routinely encourage their willing female counterparts to flash their tits for cheap plastic beads. Beads women would never wear anywhere else but in New Orleans become triumphant symbols of one’s insatiable allure.

I don't care if I need to set this world on fire until there's no one left but you and me. The world will burn around us, and I'll gladly live in chaos with you as long as the only person that is a danger to you is me.

Sì avvicinò, pose i palmi sul muro sopra le mie spalle e mi bloccò. «Ti piace sfottere. O f0ttere?» Maskable, Unmaskable

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

Is there a problem? I mean, I wasn't expecting you, or anyone, tonight." Drew held out a hand to help her from the car, snatching it back when she got out on her own. "There is a problem." "What?" He tensed. "Did M.J. come back? Is he giving you trouble?" "I can handle my brother." Tyler moved closer. Drew stepped back, his eyes suddenly wary. Sighing she grabbed the front of his t-shirt, the fingers of her other hand threading through his thick, dark hair. Soft. She remembered the feel like it was yesterday. Her hope had been that he would as eager as she was. The attraction was still there, it was time to do something about it. Apparently he wasn't going to make this easy. So she did what she had all those years ago when he wouldn't make the first move—she kissed him first. Prime rib to a starving man. Ten years without even a taste, Drew couldn't help but devour her. The kiss was primal, out of control. Mouths seeking the angle after angle, tongues duelings. And the way Tyler tasted. Sweet and spicy and utterly delicious. In his dreams, he imagined this differently. Slower. He would show her how a man kissed as opposed to the boy he had been. One touch of her lips on his and all those grand plans flew out the window along with any common sense he ever possessed. Tyler was in his arms. Familiar yet new. He needed her and he was never letting go. Drew's hands went under the hem of her shirt slowly sliding up her smooth, hot skin. He could feel the erotic combination of vulnerability and strength in the subtle muscles of her back. She had filled out, they both had. He wanted to spend days discovering all the differences then start all over again, just in case he missed something the first time. The kiss was neverending though the desperation, instead of lessening, scaled higher. He could lift her into his arms, carry her into the house, rip every scrap of clothing from her delicious body and fuck for hours. Fuck. Well, fuck. The word wasn't exactly a bucket of cold water, the desperate heat running through his veins needed more than that. But it did lift the haze. If he didn't stop this right now, there would be no turning back. "Tyler." The word sounded foreign, all guttural. His voice was hoarse with passion and his body was calling every swear word known to man. Why are you stopping? Beautiful woman. Willing. Her hands all over you. Right now she was reaching between his legs. The first caress was almost his undoing. It felt so good, so right. No could touch him like Tyler. The sexual haze enveloped him again. Don't fight it, his body urged. Feel her lips on your jaw, your neck. God. Her teeth biting your earlobe. That alone brought him close to going over the top. Damn his good intentions. Talking was way overrated. Pulling her in until their bodies were flush and he could feel every long, luscious inch of her—plastered against him. Drew was going in for another kiss when her words did what his own reasoning couldn't. It wasn't a bucket of cold water, it was a fire hose—turned on full blast. "Fuck me, Drew. Right here, up against my car. Let's get this thing done, once and for all.

I’m not into your brand of roleplay, but I’d call him daddy.

Careful, little flower," he admonished, caging me against the glass with his body...

Rain hellfire upon him. Take your revenge. Take what you are fucking owed, Fiora.

Have it your way then," I declare. "I will," Sekh whispers darkly in my ear before holding onto my hand and walking us to the door.

You can try to run as far as your heart can take you, but no one will ever be able to fill that longing you have for me in your soul. Not even your pretty fae warrior.

Are you with me, Raven? I'm with you.

I crawled from the darkest pit of Hell to find your light, Bellamy.

Yo era un Russo. Nosotros queremos lo que no podemos tener, y no podía tener a Elena Abelli en mi cama, ni siquiera una puta vez.

-No deberías seguir a los hombres hasta los rincones oscuros. Puede que la próxima vez no salgas con vida.

Mi corazón nunca sería suyo. Era lo único en mi vida que me pertenecía, y yo no iba a cedérselo.

-Elena, te he dicho que jamás te haría daño, pero, si me entero de que has tocado a otro hombre, no habrá nada en este mundo que pueda salvarlo.

-Elena, te juro por Dios que, si me entero de que has dejado que te toque cualquier hombre, te enviaré sus manos en una caja.

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.

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

When we have company, you’re my princess. But behind closed doors, you’re my queen.

Maybe strength isn’t in surviving or not feeling. Maybe it’s in experiencing the pain and still being able to grasp onto love and allow it to consume us.

Sometimes the people who carry the darkest demons shine the brightest because they know what it means to miss the light.

I’ll go get your spicy book collection from downstairs; that will keep your mind busy.” He winks.  “That isn’t your worst idea,” I tease.  If there’s ever been a time I need to escape reality, it's now.

Eden Faulkner, has the Devil himself sent you to test me?

Eden: You swore an oath to God... Roman: I am no stranger to temptation Eden, and while my devotion to God is unwavering. I fear you just might become my greatest sin.

His eyes search mine, studying me, reading every flicker of hesitation before he speaks. "You sure you want this?" His voice dips lower, thick with warning, "Because if you say yes to me right now, Anastaasia, you are mine. And I don't share.

After tonight, Ana, if you think what I did to you was love, then you're just as fucked up as me.

Don't let the light of day diminish your fire. You should shine as brightly in the noon sun as you do in the darkness of midnight.

She rolled her eyes. “They’re called spicy romances, and they’ve taught me as much about myself as your masktok account has.

I will train her to be my equal in the mafia, the Bonnie to my Clyde.

I don't care how much money you take or if you use me for it. But mark my words you’re going to earn it.

The attraction between us is perilous, but right now, I’m too selfish to care about the repercussions.

Well, I don’t think you’re a monster... you’re a sexy monster.

He was deeply in love with her. Truly. Madly. A kind of love he'd never dared fathom. It hadn't happened in an instant--- a flash in the pan, quick sear, raw within--- but over time, his initial wallop of attraction so thin and bland beside the concentrated feeling that consumed him now, this love that had simmered slowly, sauce marrying over long, low heat. Maura with the tarot, shuffling his cards, dashing his dreams, telling him to quit in a way that only drove him to think about her: the tartness of tomato, stewing over flame. Maura in the dark, pulling down his mask, kissing him in the stairwell of that strange immersion theater: the heat of hot pepper flakes. Maura in his bed, in his T-shirt, eating grilled cheese in the middle of the night, feeding it to him, crumbs on the comforter, her fingers in his mouth: the sweet emulsion of butter. Maura arguing with him, one hand on her hip, pissed the hell off: basil, torn. Maura working through a problem, her forehead furrowed, eyes in such sharp focus: the concentration of tomato paste. Maura walking into a room, the air shifting, his eyes finding hers: garlic, caramelized. Maura when she said his name, when she whispered it, when she traced it into his shoulder, gasped it, screamed it, held it in her mouth like a secret: pepper--- red and black and white--- grinding in a mill. Maura in the world, living with so much life, so much yearning, so much hunger, that all he ever wanted to do was feed her, satisfy her, love her, make her feel as full as she made him: streams of salt and salt and salt. It had all stirred together inside him until there it was--- love--- and everything else he'd ever tried just fell away, tasteless.

I could feel heat pooling between my legs fast and intense. My thighs pressed together, uselessly. Shame surged up my spine, but there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide from what I was feeling. And then I realized my mouth was open. He noticed. A gloved hand reached out slowly, not to harm, but to hush. He touched my chin with surprising gentleness and placed one finger against my lips. “What did you see?” he whispered, his voice low, husky, dangerous and magnetic. “An angel… or something else?

You touch my shit, Red, you get used like it.

I take it as a promise, because these two cocks...” She paused, her gaze flicking downwards before meeting my eyes once more. “I want them forever.

My boner is not for you, baby.” I winked at her and took another sip of whiskey. “This is for my beloved in that monastery...” I whispered to myself, licking my lips as I felt my cock stir and twitch in my tight leather pants, the fabric growing increasingly hot and constricting.

He charged at me, grabbing me by the neck. I flinched as he lifted me slightly off the ground. The witch just watched, arms crossed, eyebrows raised like this was some trivial drama she’d seen a hundred times. “Oh, darling,” he hissed, voice low and venomous like a snake ready to strike, “you can’t just do that to demons. Did you really want to get rid of me?

You’ll be mine, babe. You’ll be…” slap “You’ll be…” slap His tongue slid over my neck, licking the spot where he’d bitten me. “You’ll be mine.” slap