Spicy Romance Book Quotes

You want to be the first guy I fuck up, get in line.

For a moment she was convinced she was still dreaming. That she’d fallen asleep while reading one of JR Ward’s Brotherhood of The Black Dagger romances and had inserted herself into a dream based on the book. Any moment now he was going to start growling Mine Mine Mine and let loose with some spicy bonding scent. Or flash a massive set of fangs.

You ever been fucked by a bayou boy after drinkin’ moonshine at a crawfish boil while skinny dippin’ when you’re supposed to be fishin’?” His drawl had just gotten very deep and pronounced and Caroline felt her clit actually tingle in response. “I…” She cleared her throat. “…have not.” “Then you’re a virgin in all the most fun ways.

I cocked a brow at her. “Alpha, huh? Is that something out of your porno books?” She rolled her eyes. “They’re called spicy romances, and they’ve taught me as much about myself as your masktok account has.

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

I want to know every inch and curve of your body like it belongs to me-and it will. I want to know everything. Where you are. Who you're with. What panties you are wearing right now.

Not all monsters hide under your bed...some of them entice you into theirs.

Oh God,” I gasped. The burn of his mouth on me was so deliciously wrong. “I knew you could be a good girl,” he crooned.

This spicy historical will steal your breath, and capture your heart. -Susan Sigler, Love Romance Passion

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 really knew we were destined to be friends when I saw a copy of the spicy romance book I’ve been wanting to read tucked between her kids’ books, fresh from the local library.

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

Cupid, if you’re watching, you are going to love this next part.

My body arched into him automatically, craving more contact, more pressure, just more. Skin against skin wasn’t enough—I needed us to be soul to soul.

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

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.

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.

Your daughter has my soul.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it. She even smells delicious.

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

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

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

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

Is your head spinning better now, dear wife?

Tell me you want me, Abigail.

You have no idea what you are to me.

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

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

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.

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 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.

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

Du bist die Flamme für meine innere Motte.

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.

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.

Despite how horrifying today had been, my knees trembled when his warm body bucked softly against me. His eyes met mine in the mirror, and he gave one of those half-smiles only very hot guys could master.

MG: Question number five: Would you ever consider cowriting something with another author? Personally, I've got a manuscript of a spicy romance novel I'd love to slap your name on. It's called Fifty Shades of Goose. CC: I just threw up a little in the back of my mouth.

Love was no delusion. You didn’t have to have your head in the clouds to believe in it. It wasn’t invalid because someone was hopelessly romantic, nor was negated because someone viewed the world with a more critical eye. Love was about being safe with someone, knowing you could count on them for anything. Big or small. Heavy. Or featherlight.

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?

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…

I couldn’t lie to myself any longer. I wanted him as more than my friend. It didn’t matter that it hadn’t been long since Brayan. Tristen was the boy next door with dirty dance moves. He helped me with math and watched stupid shows with me when I was sad. He walked with me, challenged me. Liked me. Every time I tried to push him away, I knew it was morally right, but it felt wrong.

My eyes traced the curve of her leg until it disappeared into the hem of her skirt, and I wanted to touch that silky skin so badly that my fingers twitched. I needed to know if she felt as good as she looked. - Tristan

I wish she didn’t hate me. I wish she’d tease and talk to me like she used to. I wish she’d let me touch her the way I needed to. - Tristan, Apparently, I'm A Bitch

Why couldn’t I stop treating him like this? If I hated the way we sniped at each other so much, why did I keep instigating it? - Nikki

She looked like a gift I wanted to unwrap. All those curves bound in a touchable fabric… her smooth skin just below that thin layer. It was enough to make my brain short-circuit at the sight of her like this. - Tristan

We were opposites, but not like oil and water. More like a positive and negative charge, drawn to each other inexplicably.

I need the way he looks at you and can’t stand to be near you at the same time.

Scared? Yes. Giving up? Not a chance.

I didn’t want to let her go. I never wanted her to let her go again.

A job is a dumb fucking thing to give up happiness for.

Every time we came together it was like a perfectly choreographed routine. Like two dancers who had spent years moving as one, who could read every breath, every slight flutter of muscle. Decipher the intent, and meet together with expert unity.

You. Are. Mine.

Luke sure flipped the script. But the movie still ended the same. And I didn't even get an orgasm out of this version.

Fuck the mission, Madi. I need you.

I can’t heal your scars, baby. Never will be able to. I wish I could, but I’ll be here to give you peace.

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.

The only way this is happening, Chloe, is if I’m on my knees.

If she was out in the world right now, I was right there with her.

There will always be another mission, Madi, but there won’t always be another you.

I had too many questions to figure out a question to ask.

I shifted in my stool so I was already smiling up at him when he turned to face me. Six-foot-too-many-inches—Seriously, how does he even fit a plane?—hovering right above me.

His kiss was a poison that my body craved. I was an addict, diving headfirst into the drug I knew would destroy me.

Fucking. Luke.

He kissed me like it was the last thing he’d ever do, the last time he ever would.

In my experience, men loved to help, even when they weren’t wanted.

Fuck, I didn’t know how I could be so angry at someone I simultaneously couldn’t stand to be without.

I realized then that I’d do anything to hear that sound every day for the rest of my life. To be the one making her laugh like that.

I'm never going to get over you.

I don't think I can just be your friend.

She was an addiction, a drug I desperately needed to stay away from, but there was no rehab for Chloe Grant.

If the choice is the mission or coming home to you, I’m coming home.

I'll grovel every day of my fucking life.

This was too much. Too much of what I wanted, too much of what I knew I couldn’t have.

Chloe Grant was the poison and the cure all at once.

But she was under my skin, in all meanings of the word. If I was honest, I really fucking liked her there.

One night and he’d already figured out exactly how to make me melt.

Wanting you is never a problem. It's keeping you.

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

Infuriating men I could deal with, but nice, playful, great kisser ones that took care of me and thought of me in ways that I didn’t even understand, that? That was something I didn’t know how to react to.

I've wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you," he breathed. "I think of you all day and night. I imagine what it would be like ot kiss you, taste you. I get lost in those thoughts and I never want to leave. Wanting you...it's consuming me.

I'm not fucking sweet!" "No, you're like the flames of a fire. Bright, beautiful, and deadly. To anyone but me.

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

Reframing the situation is a powerful tool for reducing cognitive dissonance. It’s fascinating how flexible our minds can be in maintaining internal consistency.

Personal experiences often lead to the most passionate research.

What are your thoughts on the ethical implications of using cognitive dissonance as a tool for behavior change?” I blink, trying to gather my thoughts. “I think… it’s a double-edged sword. While it can be effective, it raises questions about manipulation and consent. We have to be careful about how we use it.

Now be a good girl and keep that pretty mouth quiet before I find use for it somewhere else.

A wave of intense disorientation swept over her. For a moment she was convinced she was still dreaming. That she’d fallen asleep while reading one of JR Ward’s Brotherhood of The Black Dagger romances and had inserted herself into a dream based on the book. Any moment now he was going to start growling Mine Mine Mine and let loose with some spicy bonding scent. Or flash a massive set of fangs. Except… if she was dreaming,

Some things we both need to work on, babygirl, but this isn’t one of them. Feeling safe isn’t one of them.