Quotes & Sayings About Dry Lips

You can't love me without growing old," she finally said. "And I can't know that about you without wanting to cry. And my tears are the end of the world."
Ander touched the corners of her eyes with his lips to reassure her they were dry. "Please don't be afraid of my love. — Lauren Kate

I went on Accutane, which is very strong. Your sebaceous glands dry up, you can't exercise, and you have very dry lips. But it was a miracle, and it worked. — Trinny Woodall

I pulled, allowing her body to slide down mine. I kept my hands at her waist to slow her descent. The shifting of her body against mine was heavenly. She sucked in a breath, and when our faces were level, her eyes were not narrowed, but closed. Her lips weren't pursed, but her bottom lip was caught between her teeth in a way that made my mouth dry. Her cheeks were still flushed, but I had a feeling it wasn't about anger anymore.
"You did that on purpose," she said.
I laughed, and it came out raspy. She wasn't the only one affected by our closeness. "I definitely did that on purpose. I think we should make this a post-show ritual actually. — Cora Carmack

I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
The drunkenness of old times
In the wooden seaside villa with its deserted boat house
The roaring Southwestern wind is trapped,
My thoughts are trapped.
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
A bird is flying around your skirt
I know if your forehead is hot or cold
Or your lips are wet or dry;
Or is a white moon is rising above the hazelnut tree
My heart's fluttering tells me
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed — Orhan Veli Kanik

We kiss. Her hands are freezing on my face, and she tastes like coffee and the smell of the onion is still stuck in my nose, and my lips are all dry from the endless winter. And it's awesome. — John Green

These books you're reading . . . I question your taste, Miss Twill."

She straightened the collar of his maroon coat. "I'll read what I please, Mr. Thane."

"I have a suggestion," he said with a wry smile, stepping away and glancing back at the sunset, which had already grown ruddier. "I have a dissertation on eighteenth-century Folding basics on interlibrary loan. It's wonderfully dry and has all its nouns capitalized. I think you'll enjoy it."

Ceony frowned. "You want me to study primitive Folding techniques?"

"Only subprimitive," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "It never hurts to go back to basics, even if you think you know them."

"I do know them."

"Are you sure?"

Ceony paused. "Is this a hint for my test? — Charlie N. Holmberg

In a lightning-fast move, he placed both of his hands on the brick wall, caging me with his body. He leaned toward me and my heart shifted into a gear I didn't know existed. His warm breath caressed my neck, melting my frozen skin. I tilted my head, waiting for the solid warmth of his body on mine. I could see his eyes again and those dark orbs screamed hunger .
"I heard a rumor."
"What's that?" I struggled to get out.
"It's your birthday."
Terrified speaking would break the spell, I licked my suddenly dry lips and nodded.
"Happy birthday." Noah drew his lips closer to mine; that sweet musky smell overwhelmed my senses. I could almost taste his lips when he unexpectedly took a step back, inhaling deeply. The cold air slapped me into the land of sober. — Katie McGarry

She would try to relieve the pain of love by first roughly rubbing her dry lips against mine; then my darling would draw away with a nervous toss of her hair, and then again come darkly near and let me feed on her open mouth, while with a generosity that was ready to offer her everything, my heart, my throat, my entrails, I gave her to hold in her awkward first the scepter of my passion. — Vladimir Nabokov

The men came to mind as mostly idle between nights of running wild or time in the pen, cooking moon and gathering around the spout, with ears chewed, fingers chopped, arms shot away, and no apologies grunted ever. The women came to mind bigger, closer, with their lonely eyes and homely yellow teeth, mouths clamped against smiles, working in the hot fields from can to can't, hands tattered rough as dry cobs, lips cracked all winter, a white dress for marrying, a black dress for burying, and Ree nodded yup. Yup. — Daniel Woodrell

His eyes fall to my lips, and my mouth runs dry.
His eyes fall to my chest, and it begins to heave deeper than it already was.
His eyes fall to my legs, and I have to cross them, because the way his gaze penetrates my body makes it seem as though he can see right through this dress I'm wearing.
His eyes close tightly, and knowing the effect I'm having on him makes me feel as if there might be a lot more truth to his lyrics than he'd like there to be.
It's making me feel like I want to be the only man that you ever see. — Colleen Hoover

Dust in a cloud, blinding weather,
Drums that rattle and roar!
A mother and daughter stood together
Beside their cottage door.

'Mother, the heavens are bright like brass,
The dust is shaken high,
With labouring breath the soldiers pass,
Their lips are cracked and dry.'

'Mother, I'll throw them apples down,
I'll bring them pails of water.'
The mother turned with an angry frown
Holding back her daughter.

'But mother, see, they faint with thirst,
They march away to die,'
'Ah, sweet, had I but known at first
Their throats are always dry.'

'There is no water can supply them
In western streams that flow,
There is no fruit can satisfy them
On orchard trees that grow.'

'Once in my youth I gave, poor fool,
A soldier apples and water,
So may I die before you cool
Your father's drouth, my daughter. — Robert Graves

Do you remember," he said, "when we first met and I told you I was ninety percent sure putting a rune on you wouldn't kill you - and you slapped me in the face and told me it was for the other ten percent?" Clary nodded.
"I always figured a demon would kill me," he said. "A rogue Downworlder. A battle. But I realized then that I just might die if I didn't get to kiss you, and soon." Clary licked her dry lips. "Well, you did," she said. "Kiss me, I mean."
He reached up and took a curl of her hair between his fingers. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, smell his soap and skin and hair.
"Not enough," he said, letting her hair slip through his fingers. "If I kiss you all day every day for the rest of my life, it won't be enough. — Cassandra Clare

He lifts my hand from the root and presses it to his bare chest, over his heart. My breath stops. I wonder if he can feel the pulse racing in my wrist, because it's beating just as quickly as his heartbeat.
"Do you know the Ai'oan word for heart?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"It's py'a." We're so close, his whisper is right in my ear, and his breath warms the side of my neck. "You are my heart, Pia"
I lick my lips. When did they get so dry?
His other hand cradles the back of my head, tipping my face upward. "A body can't live without a heart. And I can't live without you. — Jessica Khoury

Jesus. How do you stop yourself?" Henry perched on the front of his seat and steepled his hands below his lips. "From grabbing your waist and flipping you around on that chair? From tossing your dress over your ass, clamping my hand atop yours against that high cherry back, and taking what's mine?" Her throat was dry. She'd need that drink now. "Uh-huh. — M.Q. Barber

The first cup caresses my dry lips and throat, The second shatters the walls of my loneliness, The third explores the dry rivulets of my soul Searching for legends of five thousand scrolls. With the fourth the pain of past injustice vanishes through my pores. The fifth purifies my flesh and bone. With the sixth I commune with the immortals. The seventh conveys such pleasure I am overcome. The fresh wind blows through my wings As I make my way to Penglai. — Lu Tong

Psalm 63 offers insight into the satisfied soul. Look at David's descriptions of satisfaction: "My soul thirsts for you, / my body longs for you, / in a dry and weary land" (v. 1). "Because your love is better than life, / my lips will glorify you" (v. 3). "My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods" (v. 5). The most obvious symptom of a soul in need of God's satisfaction is a sense of inner emptiness. The awareness of a "hollow place" somewhere deep inside - the inability to be satisfied. — Beth Moore

I am Kian."
"Mercy " she replied. Swallowing hard she forced her gaze away from him. She was being too bold in her perusal but she could not stop looking at
him.
"Kindness " he whispered. Their eyes locked and Mercy felt a jolt of some foreign but not unwelcome sensation pierce her. "I could use some of you"
he said thoughtfully as his cool gaze devoured her. "Most definitely I could use you."
He rose and walked around the pond perusing her body as he came to stand beside her. "The milk of human kindness how sweet the taste."
He actually licked his lips and Mercy shivered her core heating and wetting. Then he lowered himself until they were eye to eye.
"I believe I could drink you dry. — Charlotte Featherstone

Words were few and failing between them as though the silence that sat with them had laid its old lips on theirs and sucked them dry of speech. For where could one begin? With the weather? But here there was no weather. These few sad rooms were the old man's world. His horizons were all walls. — Michael Bedard

Ugly, degrading, rather terrible half-truths ... It is bad for the soul to know itself a coward, it is apt to take refuge in mere wordy violence ... Their hearts ached while their lips formed recriminations. Their hearts burst into tears while their eyes remained dry and accusing, staring in hostility and anger ... They could not forgive and they could not sleep, for neither could sleep without the other's forgiveness, and the hatred that leapt out at moments between them would be drowned in the tears that their hearts were shedding. — Radclyffe Hall

Horrible, this love to which he was now chained, a love without purpose and without aim, without joy and without triumph, a love that sickened, weakened, laid waste to everything, a love without sweetness and without intoxication, breeding nothing but regret and foreboding, tears and pain, hinting at the ecstasy of shared caresses only by some intolerable longing for kisses not to be wakened on cold lips, sterile and dry as dead leaves. — Guy De Maupassant

And looking down on them, the other Londoners, those monsters who live in the air, the city's uncounted population of stone men and women and beasts, and things that are neither human nor beasts, fanged rabbits and flying hares, four-legged birds and pinioned snakes, imps with bulging eyes and duck's bills, men who are wreathed in leaves or have the heads of goats or rams; creatures with knotted coils and leather wings, with hairy ears and cloven feet, horned and roaring, feathered and scaled, some laughing, some singing, some pulling back their lips to show their teeth; lions and friars, donkeys and geese, devils with children crammed into their maws, all chewed up except for their helpless paddling feet; limestone or leaden, metalled or marbled, shrieking and sniggering above the populace, hooting and gurning and dry-heaving from buttresses, walls and roofs. — Hilary Mantel

I peered up at him. He was leaning against the table, arms crossed, the ghost of a smile playing over his lips.
'Mal, I put a hole in the ceiling.'
'A very dramatic hole.'
I let out a huff somewhere between a laugh and a sob. 'What are we going to do when it rains?'
'What we always do,' he said. 'Keep dry. — Leigh Bardugo

She was gone. She was serenity. Her lips faintly smiling. Her golden skin. The glowing thread-ends of her hair. She seemed to have been dipped iin sunlight and set here to dry. I felt a pang of jealousy, that she could be sitting next to me and not know it. That she could be somewhere most wonderful and I could not be there, too. — Jerry Spinelli

A doctrine of endurance flows easily from our lips when we are enduring jam and our neighbors dry bread, and it is still possible for us to become resigned to the afflictions of our brother. — Ellen Glasgow

Kisses kept are wasted; Love is to be tasted. There are some you love, I know; Be not loathe to tell them so. Lips go dry and eyes grow wet Waiting to be warmly met. Keep them not in waiting yet; Kisses kept are wasted. — Edmund Vance Cooke

His grip on her wrists loosened, and his thumbs dipped gently into the humid cups of her palms. "Shall I come to you tonight?" he whispered.
Lottie had to lick her dry lips before she could answer. "Are you posing a question to me or yourself?"
A smile flickered in his eyes. "You, of course. I already know what I want."
-Nick & Lottie — Lisa Kleypas

The other ninja righted himself and moved beside her. "Any last words?" he asked.
I rolled my eyes. Why did people always ask you that before they killed you? It wasn't like you were going to say something that would make them change their minds.
"Yes," I answered. The first tendril of power pushed though my wound and wisped the hair around my head. If I was going down, at least I would take them down with me. "Why did the chicken cross the road."
She hesitated and glanced at the guy. Her eyes were scrunched in a way that I knew she was frowning under her mask. The other ninja looked at her and shrugged.
I licked my dry lips. "To escape the onslaught of exploding ki headed his way. — Cole Gibsen

Air struggles up my throat and past my lips as Mom talks with our new landlady. Even with the air conditioner working at full blast, the air is thin, dry, and empty. I imagine this is how it feels for someone with asthma, this constant fight for breath. As if you can't ever fill your lungs with enough air. I glare at Mom. Of all the places in the world to relocate, she had to choose a desert. I'm certain she's a sadist. — Sophie Jordan

Now...place a finger on the nub between your nether lips."
"But it's a sin," I said, wishing to heaven it wasn't.
"Only on dry land. On my ship, it's downright sacred. — Lyla Sinclair

Is this seat taken?"
The deep, gravelly voice jolted Noelle from her blood-thirsty thoughts. When she laid eyes on the man it belonged to her breath caught in her throat.
She blinked, wondering if maybe she'd dreamed him, but then he flashed her a captivating grin and she realized that he must be real - her mind wasn't capable of conjuring up a smile this heart-stoppingly gorgeous.
A pair of vivid blue eyes watched her expectantly as she searched for her voice.
"There are lots of other seats available," she finally replied, gesturing to the deserted tables all around them.
He shrugged. "I don't want to sit anywhere but here."
She moistened her suddenly dry lips. "Why?"
"Because none of those other seats are across from you," he said simply. — Elle Kennedy

As my mom sees it, her dry, flaky skin is some immigrant's vocational opportunity. Plus, hurting her offers immigrants a nifty cathartic therapy for venting their rage. Her chapped lips and split ends constitute someone's rungs up the socioeconomic ladder to escape poverty. Sliding into middle age complete with cellulite and scaly elbows, my mother has become an economic engine, generating millions of dollars which will be wired to feed families and purchase cholera medicine in Ecuador. Should she ever decide to "let herself go," no doubt tens of thousands would perish. — Chuck Palahniuk

It's me, love," he said softly. "Everything's all right."
Daisy managed to whisper through dry lips. "If you're a ghost ... I hope you haunt me forever."
Matthew sat on the floor and reached for her cold hands. "Would a ghost use the door?" he asked gently, bringing her fingers to his scratched, battered face. — Lisa Kleypas

Four years into her marriage, Sera had woken up one morning to feel something hot and sticky in the back of her throat. For a minute, she thought it was the start of another sinus infection, but when she swallowed cautiously, her throat did not hurt. It was hate. Hate that was lodged like a bone in her throat. Hate that made her feel sick, that gave her mouth a bitter, dry taste. Hate that entered her heart like a fever, that made her lips curve downward like a bent spoon. — Thrity Umrigar

I know. I'm just trying to keep things simple."
Trenton took a step toward me. "This isn't simple. Not even close."
"It is simple. Black and white. Cut and dry."
Trenton grabbed me by the shoulders and planted a kiss on my mouth. Sheer shock made my lips
hard and unforgiving, but then they melted against his, along with the rest of my body. I relaxed, but
my breathing picked up, and my heart beat so loud I was sure Trenton could hear it. His tongue
slipped between my lips, and his hands slid down my arms to my hips, his fingers digging into my
skin. He pulled my hips against his as he kissed me, and then sucked my bottom lip when he pulled
away.
"Now it's complicated." He grabbed his keys and shut the door behind him. — Jamie McGuire

17. Butterfly
A butterfly fluttered its wings in a wind thick with the smell of seaweed. His dry lips felt the touch of the butterfly for the briefest instant, yet the wisp of wing dust still shone on his lips years later. — Ryunosuke Akutagawa

Maybe you should just take it off up in my room and I can help you get dry." He leaned in, his full lips right on my ear. "Or make you wetter. — Magan Vernon

His lips felt dry with a literal thirst for righteousness, which was like a glass of ice-cold water on a table in another man's room. — Graham Greene

Back home, my favorite part of Mass was during communion, when I'd stand at the rail and hold a little gold platter under people's chins. The pretty girls would line up for communion (I confess to Almighty God). They'd kneel (and to you my brothers and sisters), cast their eyes demurely down (I have sinned through my own fault), and stick out their tongues (in my thoughts and in my words). Their tongues would shine, reflected in the gold platter, and since the wafer was dry, the girls would maybe lick their lips (and I ask Blessed Mary ever virgin, all the angels and saints, and you my brothers and sisters) before they swallowed (to pray for me to the Lord our God). It was all I could do not to pass out. — Rob Sheffield

Why Lila glaring at you, hombre? " asked Rico. "Though I wouldn't mind a hot piece of culo like that acknowledging my existence." Rico puckered his lips, sending a mock kiss in Lila's direction. I laughed when she flipped her golden hair over her shoulder and stared at the dry-erase board. — Katie McGarry

Promise me ye'll be careful."
"I'll gladly do that." A hand moved to her nape, a finger tickling the side of her neck. "Ye ken why?" he asked with a devilish grin.
"No." Her tongue grew dry.
His gaze dipped to her mouth. "'Cause ye still love me, lass." With one step in, his chest lightly brushed the tips of her breasts as he lowered his lips to hers. She caught a drift of his scent, part leather, part iron, part musk and entirely intoxicating male. With a rush of heat between her legs, Eva could no sooner resist him than to say no to warm double-chocolate-fudge-melting cake. The deep rumble of his sigh made tingles spread through the tips of her fingers as he deepened the pressure with soft, demanding lips — Amy Jarecki

I study his face closely. The smudges under his eyes are darker than usual; his lips are dry and ashen, similar to the rest of his face. It's been a while between haircuts. Two days' worth of stubble. He's beautiful. — Laura Buzo

Inch by tantalizing inch, he brought the shirt up exposing his six pack abs. Kim's mouth went dry as more and more of his chest was revealed to her view. Her tongue ran over her parched lips. All she could think about was licking something off those abs. It could have been poison and she would have gladly licked it and begged for more. — Marie Rose Dufour

My mouth went dry as I tried to remember all of Poppie's tips for kissing over the years. She told me no guy wanted a girl with a mouth as wide as a guppy, who sucked his tongue with the force of a Dyson vacuum cleaner first time, or licked him to death like an overeager puppy. She'd told me to just purse my lips and let him lead and take control. Don't slobber, don't slobber, don't slobber, I chanted to myself as he got closer and closer — Charlotte Fallowfield

He would not now conduct little Nell to the coast; he would not convey her by a steamer to Port Said, would not surrender her to Mr. Rawlinson; he himself would not fall into his father's arms and would not hear from his lips that he had acted like a true Pole! The end, the end! In a few days the sun would shine only upon the lifeless bodies and afterwards would dry them up into a semblance of those mummies which slumber in an eternal sleep in the museums in Egypt — Henryk Sienkiewicz

Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, stray lower where the pleasant fountains lie — C.D. Reiss

I have a coconut oil stick, which I use for everything - on my eye lids to make them shinier, on my lips, and on any dry skin. — Georgia May Jagger

I have nothing to offer you," he finally said in a guttural voice.
"Nothing."
Win's lips had turned dry. She moistened them, and tried to speak through a thrill of anxious trembling. "You have yourself," she whispered.
"You don't know me. You think you do, but you don't. The things I've done, the things I'm capable of
you and your family, all you know of life comes from books. If you understood anything
"
"Make me understand. Tell me what is so terrible that you must keep pushing me away."
He shook his head.
"Then stop torturing the both of us," she said unsteadily. "Leave me, or let me go."
"I can't," he snapped. "I can't, damn you." And before she could make a sound, he kissed her. — Lisa Kleypas

No you don't," he said. "The corpses can wait."
I wasn't sure if he was referring to me or the screen. I would've asked him to clarify but, Jack's lips were suddenly very busy moving against Nikki's. I resisted the urge to dry-heave and looked up at the sky, the trees, the buses anywhere that wouldn't trigger the upchuck reflex.
Jack needed to learn some manners. Damn epic love. — Brodi Ashton

The words issuing from her lips like crumbs of dry biscuit. — Virginia Woolf

I'm keeping a list of Mr. Wrongs going for you. This one might not make it to the weekend's auction."
"Stop," said another woman.
"I'm just kidding."
"I still vote we strip him down." This was a third woman.
Wait. Three women? Had he died and gone to orgy heaven? Awake now, Ty took stock. He wasn't dead. And he had no idea who the fuck Mr. Wrong was, but he was very much "going to make it." He was stuffed in the back of a car, a small car, his bad leg cramping like a son-of-a-bitch. His head was pillowed on ... he shifted to try to figure it out, and pain lanced straight through his eyeballs. He licked dry lips and tried to focus. "I'm okay."
"Good," one of them repeated with humor. "He's fine, he's okay. He's also bleeding like a stuck pig. Men are ridiculous."
-Ty and the Chocoholics ladies — Jill Shalvis

He couldn't look away from the pale curve of Jamie's spine. From the two dimples just above the swell of Jamie's ass. From the tiny pink hole between Jamie's pale, lush cheeks. He felt like a bloody pervert every time he looked at the picture. This time was no exception, but he wasn't looking away. He never could. He licked his dry lips, looking at Jamie's hole. — Alessandra Hazard

Clay nudged my leg with his surprisingly warm and dry nose, and I glanced down. He stared at me a moment then shifted his gaze to Scott, who was moving his drink for the waitress. Clay returned his glance to me and pulled his lips back in a silent snarl. Without the growl, it looked more like a scary, crazy wolf smile, but I got his meaning. Scott was getting on Clay's nerves, and Clay wouldn't put up with too much more. Peter — Melissa Haag

The father was dry-eyed but the mother kept erupting, like loudly, unprovoked, in a keening foreign wail that was almost like song; it sounded strangely ceremonial and impersonal, like a lament for an idea. Walter went alone to the morgue, without any idea. His love was resting beneath a sheet on a gurney of an awkward height, too high to be knelt by. Her hair was as ever, silky and black and thick, as ever, but there was something wrong with her jaw, some outrageously cruel and unforgivable injury, and her forehead, when he kissed it, was colder than any just universe could have allowed such a young person's forehead to be. The coldness entered him through his lips and didn't leave. What was over was over. His delight in the world had died, and there was no point in anything. — Jonathan Franzen

Egypt tasted as Eleanor remembered: gritty, dry, and full of a hundred thousand secrets. She licked her lips and peered down the long corridor before her. A shadow moved across the ancient tomb walls. — E. Catherine Tobler

I try not to notice the exploded eyeballs or the ruptured tongue bursting through the blackened lips. This job is quite gross enough as it is without adding my own dry heaves to the mess. — Charles Stross

Simon," she whispered, vaguely surprised that she had just used his first name, for she had never used it even in the privacy of her thoughts. Moistening her dry lips, she tried once more, and to her astonishment, she did it again. "Simon ... "
"Yes?" A new tension had entered his long, hard body, and at the same time, his hand moved over the shape of her skull in the softest caress possible.
"Please ... take me to my room."
Hunt tilted her head back gently and regarded her with a sudden faint smile playing on his lips. "Sweetheart, I would take you to Timbuktu if you asked. — Lisa Kleypas

My mouth has gone dry as sawdust. I desperately find Cinna in the crowd and lock eyes with him. I imagine the words coming from his lips. 'What's impressed you most since you arrived here?' I rack my brain for something that made me happy here. Be honest, I think. Be honest. — Suzanne Collins

I need to fuck you till you come saying my name. Then I'm going to take my cock out of your divine cunt and fuck your beautiful mouth with it. And watch your lovely lips wrap around it and suck me dry. — Raine Miller

It felt oily inside her head. There were strings of Xavier Stancliff caught inside of her, holding on and spiderwebbing out as he plotted and waited and thought: this is all the bitch deserves. Swallowing, Sandra pushed herself off the bed. It was late and the room was dark. She could see the bundled lump of Jack beneath his own covers. He'd left the television on and the light flickered down the tiny hall. Shadows danced and Sandra shivered as she left the room.

In another life, she would have told Danny and Jack about the man. Danny would have whispered, "It's alright," and smoothed back her hair from her face and kissed her, lips dry and coarse on her forehead. Then he and Jack would've left while she was sleeping. They would've trampled the flowers and climbed into Xavier Stanliff's window and when Sandra woke up there would have been one less man in the world. — Angele Gougeon

The stars shone through the leafless jasmine branches. Behind them they heard the river flowing, and now and again on the bank the rustling of the dry reeds. Masses of shadow here and there loomed out in the darkness, and sometimes, vibrating with one movement, they rose up and swayed like immense black waves pressing forward to engulf them. The cold of the nights made them clasp closer; the sighs of their lips seemed to them deeper; their eyes, that they could hardly see, larger; and in the midst of the silence low words were spoken that fell on their souls sonorous, crystalline, and that reverberated in multiplied vibrations. — Gustave Flaubert

He's a funny one," said Ida. "Here's how he sound." She pursed her lips and, expertly, imitated the red-winged blackbird's call: not the liquid piping of the wood thrush, which dipped down into the dry tchh tchh tchh of the cricket's birr and up again in delerious, sobbing trills; not the clear, three-note whistle of the chickadee or even the blue jay's rough cry, which was like a rusty gate creaking. This was an abrupt, whirring, unfamiliar cry, a scream of warning -congeree!- which choked itself off on a subdued, fluting note. — Donna Tartt

She held her finger to his lips. "We have a lifetime to reveal our secrets."
In a bold move, she took his hand and led him to the bed.
Ever so eager to follow, Hugh's mouth suddenly went dry. Hell, he couldn't even manage a swallow. "Are you ready, my love?" he croaked.
Licking those delectable lips, she nodded. "I want you more than the air I breathe. — Amy Jarecki

I knew what she meant, and in that moment felt as though I had shaken off some of the dust and grit of ten dry years; then and always, however she spoke to me, in half sentences, single words, stock phrases of contemporary jargon, in scarcely perceptible movements of eyes or lips or hands, however inexpressible her thought, however quick and far it had glanced from the matter in hand, however deep it had plunged, as it often did, straight from the surface to the depths, I knew; even that day when I still stood on the extreme verge of love, I knew what she meant. — Evelyn Waugh

Peter smiled as Concheetah sashayed across the ballroom floor
Concheetah sashayed towards him, wriggling her hips, full lips in a pout, followed obediently by the tentative, Tapping Ted dressed in tight shorts and singlet. Tapping? Tapping because he always wore conspicuous, tap-dancing shoes in the club.
Was Ted going to rip up the stage as a mincing Irish dancer or maybe perform a Gene Kelly routine or the Swan Lake ballet in taps? It was terrible to imagine. Peter bit his lip at that thought, hoping he wouldn't burst into howls of laughter.
He had noted after coming to several shows, that Ted usually stood at the side of the stage ready with a drink of champagne and an encouraging word and a dry towel to mop Her Highness's face. And he always cried during the
show's finale, Abba's Dancing Queen. Poor Tapping Ted. — T.W. Lawless

You know that kind of quiver that trembles around through you when you are seeing something so strange and enchanting and wonderful that it is just a fearful joy to be alive and look at it; and you know how you gaze, and your lips turn dry and your breath comes short, but you wouldn't be anywhere but there, not for the world. — Mark Twain

Whatcha got there?" Drake asked, nodding to the floor. "Snacks for me." I winked. "Well, now I'm offended." He fake pouted, scooting away from me in his seat, which made it even more funny because there was nowhere for him to go in the tiny car. "Why is that?" Nothing wrong with playing along, besides, he was cute when he was fake-mad. What was I saying? He was cute ALL the time. He turned to me and slid his arms around my waist, pulling me close. Far off, I caught a whiff of his scent. Mmm. Delicious. "It's just that I thought I was your snack on the go." His breath danced on my cheek, dangerously close to my lips. I giggled before I could stop myself. "Do you really want me to suck you dry?" "Mmm, that sounds like an offer I can't refuse." He raised his eyebrows and flashed a naughty grin. "Don't be dirty, I didn't mean that." I slapped his arm for good measure. "Is that all you think of me as - some kind of slutty vampire? — Karly Kirkpatrick

The first time I kissed you, you had just cut off your hair with a plastic knife. You were in restraints and your lips were completely chapped and dry from the tranquilizers. The next day you tried to kill me with a torn-off piece of bedsheet. I've seen you at your worst. You hardly need to dress up for me. — Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

There is a deep truth in being at home enough with someone to kiss them while your lips are dry. And happiness may not be the greatest of things to hear, but it should be. — Mikl Paul

She gulped her whiskey sour. The bar was hot tonight.
CJ circled back to check on them. "You ladies doing okay?"
"Define okay." Natalie's whiskey seemed to be talking. Because the whiskey was the only thing that could've put that husky, suggestive tone in her voice. Yep, that was all the whiskey.
He propped his elbows on the bar, which put his face level with hers, and fixed his undivided attention on her. There went her lady bits fanning themselves. With a few added whimpers. They remembered what his hands and body and lips felt like too.
"Content." His voice was low and raw, his gaze penetrating and unwavering. "Happy. Completely, one hundred percent satisfied."
Her mouth went dry while the rest of her went up in needy flames that made her want to scratch the all-but-gone rash he'd tended so well on Monday.
"Nope," Natalie squeaked. "Not okay then. — Jamie Farrell

Psalm 63 A psalm of David. When he was in the Desert of Judah. 1 O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. 2 I have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory. 3 Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. 4 I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands. 5 My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you. 6 On my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night. 7 Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings. — Beth Moore

The implication was reasonably clear; I condemned him, and his minions would be round promptly to cut off my nipples and burn Jared's warehouse. I licked dry lips, cursing Louis. Why couldn't he just have wanted my body? — Diana Gabaldon

I like to imagine that Adam's tongue, his palate and his lips were always on fire, that the air he breathed was kindled to incandescence each time he cried out in sorrow or delight. If fiction can be said to have a function, it is to release that primary fury of which language, even now, is miraculously capable - from the dry mud of daily use. So that furred, spotted and striped, it may - as it did in Eden - scrawl under every tree as revelation. — Rikki Ducornet

Coming up behind her, Westcliff settled his hands at her waist, easily dodging her attempts to throw him off. He pulled her hips back firmly against his and spoke against her ear. "Are you angry because I started making love to you, or because I didn't finish?"
Lillian licked her dry lips. "I'm angry, you bloody big hypocrite, because you can't make up your mind about what to do with me." She punctuated the comment with the hard jab of one elbow back against his ribs."

~ Marcus and Lillian — Lisa Kleypas

Some day,' said Smee, 'the clock will run down, and then he'll get you.'
Hook wetted his dry lips, 'Aye,' he said, 'that's the fear that haunts me. — J.M. Barrie

Panting softly, I licked my dry lips. He groaned, tilted his head, and sealed his mouth over mine. I was shocked by how soft his firm lips were and the gentleness of the pressure he exerted. I sighed and his tongue dipped inside, tasting me in long, leisurely licks. His kiss was confident, skilled, and just the right side of aggressive to turn me on wildly. — Sylvia Day

His gaze dropped down to the deep V of her cherry-red top and the pulse in his temple pulsed. For a second she didn't think he was going to say anything, which was good because she'd just forgotten her own name. His focus inched northward across her generous cleavage, up her neck and to her lips -- leaving a heated trail across her skin without ever making a move. The last dry spot on her panties surrendered. — Avery Flynn

He grabs the swing by the seat and it grinds to a halt. Oz's fingers brush along the skin of my thigh.
My heart stutters. Stupid heart. Stupid short skirt. Stupid deep blue eyes and wild charcoal hair. Stupid, stupid, stupid me for licking my suddenly dry lips. — Katie McGarry

What," he said slowly, "do you think you're doing here?"
"I work here." My lips felt cracked and dry all of a sudden. He tightened his grip on me and pulled me closer. Not really a place I wanted to be. I swallowed hard.
"Not here, fool. Seattle."
"I live here. — Lish McBride

Lauren was still studying the mobile line of his lips when they quirked suddenly, as if amusement was lurking tere.Her gaze shot up, and to her utter horror she discovered that his gray eyes had shifted to her.
Lauren was torn between laughing at his dry observation and blushing because she hadn't fooled him in the least. She did neither, and instead carefully kept her eyes on the elevator doors until they opened on the eightieth floor. — Judith McNaught

Later in the afternoon the sun went down with a riotous swirl of gold and varying blues and scarlets, and left the dry, rustling night of Western summer. Dexter watched from the veranda of the Golf Club, watched the even overlap of the waters in the little wind, silver molasses under the harvest-moon. Then the moon held a finger to her lips and the lake became a clear pool, pale and quiet. Dexter put on his bathing-suit and swam out to the farthest raft, where he stretched dripping on the wet canvas of the springboard. There was a fish jumping and a star shining and the lights around the lake were gleaming. Over on a dark peninsula a piano was playing the songs of last summer and of summers before that - songs from "Chin-Chin" and "The Count of Luxemburg" and "The Chocolate Soldier" - and because the sound of a piano over a stretch of water had always seemed beautiful to Dexter he lay perfectly quiet and listened. — F Scott Fitzgerald

Poppy wiped his sweating face with a dry cloth. "Poor Merripen." She brought a cup of water to his lips. When he tried to refuse, she slid an arm beneath his head and raised it insistently. "Yes, you must. I should have known you'd be a terrible patient. Drink, dear, or I'll be forced to sing something."
Amelia stifled a grin as Merripen complied. "Your singing isn't that terrible, Poppy. Father always said you sang like a bird."
"He meant a parrot," Merripen said hoarsely, leaning his head on Poppy's arm.
"Just for that," Poppy informed him, "I'm going to send Beatrix in here to look after you today. She'll probably put one of her pets in bed with you, and spread her jacks all over the floor. And if you're very lucky, she'll bring in her glue pots, and you can help make paper-doll clothes."
Merripen gave Amelia a glance rife with muted suffering, and she laughed.
"If that doesn't inspire you to get well quickly, dear, nothing will. — Lisa Kleypas

Hunt seemed similarly indifferent to the show, his head inclined toward hers, his gaze
locked on her face. Though his breathing remained soft and disciplined, it seemed to her that its rhythm
had changed ever so slightly.
Annabelle moistened her dry lips. "You ... you mustn't stare at me like that."
Soft as the murmur was, he caught it. "With you here, nothing else is worth looking at. — Lisa Kleypas

You know what I used to dream about, in stir?" His voice was hoarse, the words low and fast and faintly guttural. "I used to dream about you. You were the only clean and good and decent thing left in my life, and I would dream about you. I used to dream about taking your clothes off piece by piece, and what you would look like naked, and how it would feel to fuck you really good. I used to dream about that in high school, too. In fact, I got off almost every night for the last fourteen years, dreaming about you." Rachel's lips parted with shock. Speechless, she stared at him wide-eyed for what seemed an eternity while her heart suddenly hammered and her throat went dry.
"I'm fucking tired of dreaming, — Karen Robards

The brown earth, the torn, blasted earth, with a greasy shine under the sun's rays; the earth is the background of this restless, gloomy world of automatons, our gasping is the scratching of a quill, our lips are dry, our heads are debauched with stupor - thus we stagger forward, and into our pierced and shattered souls bores the torturing image of the brown earth with the greasy sun and the convulsed and dead soldiers, who lie there - it can't be helped - who cry and clutch at our legs as we spring away over them. We have lost all feeling for one another. We can hardly control ourselves when our glance lights on the form of some other man. We are insensible, dead men, who through some trick, some dreadful magic, are still able to run and to kill. — Erich Maria Remarque

He who speaks from the lips chatters. He who speaks from an empty mind adds confusion to discord. He who speaks from a full mind feeds the minds of men. He who speaks from his heart wins the confidence of mankind. But he who speaks from his soul heals the heartbreaks of a world and feeds the hungry, starving souls of men. He can dry the tears of anguish and pain. He can bring light, for he will carry light. — Annalee Skarin

I'm leaving." Her cold lips barely moved as she mouthed the words.
Horror fisted around his vitals. "No."
For the first time she met his eyes. Hers were red-rimmed but dry. "I have to leave,
Simon."
"No." He was a little boy denied a sweet. He felt like falling down and screaming.
"Let me go."
"I can't let you go." He half laughed here in the too-bright, cold London sun before his own
house. "I'll die if I do."
She closed her eyes. "No, you won't. I can't stay and watch you tear yourself apart."
"Lucy."
"Let me go, Simon. Please." She opened her eyes, and he saw infinite pain in her gaze.
Had he done this to his angel? Oh, God. He unclasped his hands. — Elizabeth Hoyt

Or else the cloud hovered, having barely left the lips, dense and slow, and suggested another vision: the exhalations that hang over the roofs of the metropolises, the opaque smoke that is not scattered, the hood of miasmata that weighs over the bituminous streets. Not the labile mists of memory nor the dry transparence, but the charring of burned lives that forms a scab on the city, the sponge swollen with vital matter that no longer flows, the jam of past, present, future that blocks existences calcified in the illusion of movement: this is what you would find at the end of your journey. — Italo Calvino

I lean in this time, and she doesn't turn away. It's cold, and our lips are dry, noses a little wet, foreheads sweaty beneath wool hats. I can't touch her face, even though I want to, because I'm wearing gloves. But God, when her lips come apart, everything turns warm and her sugar sweet breath is in my mouth, and I probably taste like hot dogs but I don't care. She kisses like a sweet devouring, and I don't know where to touch her because I want all of her. I want to touch her knees and hips and her stomach and her back and her everything, but we're encased in all these clothes, so we're just two marshmallows bumping against each other, and she smiles at me while still kissing because she knows how ridiculous it is, too. — John Green