Intimate Touch Quotes & Sayings

He makes a face and tosses the flower at me. It lands on my cheek, and I pick it up and twirl it between my fingers. I could lie out here all day, not moving an inch, feeling the sun above and the grass below. With a contented sigh, I stretch my arms wide, raking the grass with my fingers - and find myself brushing Aladdin's hand with my own. I pull it away quickly, my cheeks warming. He laughs a little.
"Sometimes," he says, "I forget you're supposed to be four thousand years old. You act as shy as a girl of sixteen."
"I do not!" I sit up and glare at him.
He grins and shrugs, sliding his hands under his head. There are bits of grass stuck in his hair, and after a moment's hesitation, I reach over and flick them away.
Aladdin watches me silently, his throat bobbing as he swallows. I drop my gaze. — Jessica Khoury

I had never really noticed it before, but Sahariel and I touch a lot. Casual touches here and there, and as I hold onto his hand I can't help but notice how intimate the touch is. He — Camilla Beavers

The soul is in danger when knowledge of doctrine outsteps intimate touch with Jesus. — Oswald Chambers

By holding hands a couple can always say a lot of things they couldn't have otherwise said in a public place. Among a million people, they can touch and tickle each other at their most intimate places: their hearts. — Uday Mukerji

He raises his hand to my face again and I allow the touch. His fingers slide along my jawline and the warmth of his caresses radiates past my skin and into my bloodstream. Pleasing goose bumps rise on my neck.
"Do you think you'll come back sometime?" he asks. "And let me help you with your car?"
My ears ring with the staccato thrum, thrum, thrum of my heart. Holy crap, I can't believe this is happening to me.
"I'll make it work. I swear." The words tumble out of my mouth without thought. That's not true. Actually, they tumble out with a lot of thought of how my parents won't approve, of how my brothers will kill Isaiah, then possibly kill me. But in this moment, I don't care what any of them think. — Katie McGarry

Come away with me now, sweet tease, and we will pleasure each other all the night long. We will strip off these masks, and with them rid ourselves of all inhibition. You do not yet know me, but I will soon know your every delectable inch, taste your nectar, explore your most intimate, womanly secrets. I will take you where you have never been, touch you in ways you have never been touched. Until you weep with the joy of it. — Kasey Michaels

Noah propped himself up on his elbow, his wicked grin in place. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to see you on this bed?"
"Nope." The hem of my sweater rode up from our fall, exposing my belly button. Noah traced circles onto the skin of my stomach, down to the material of my low-rise jeans. His touch sent a combination of tickles and chills through my body. My heart sped up and I struggled to keep my breathing normal.
Every Noah rumor had been right. His kisses curled my toes and now his simple touch rocked my body. Fear mingled with the pleasure in my bloodstream. — Katie McGarry

Countless times, I have found that it is only during the physical exam that patients reveal what is truly on their mind. Whether it is the cough that they are reminded of now that I am listening to their lungs, or whether it is the domestic violence, the eating disorder or the genital symptoms that they feel comfortable revealing once we are in a more intimate setting - there is something about touch that changes the dynamic. — Anonymous

At her tone, at once intimate and formal, a terrible sadness came over me, and when we looked at each other it seemed that the whole past was redefined and brought into focus by this moment, clear as glass, a complexity of stillness that was rainy afternoons in spring, a dark chair in the hallway, the light-as-air touch of her hand on the back of my head. "I'm — Donna Tartt

I lick my lips as his teeth nibble on my earlobe. Between my muscles melting under his touch, my blood tingling with the teasing of my ear and the way my foot rubs against his calf, my thoughts become hazy.
My shirt rides up and Isaiah rubs his thumb in small circles on the bare skin of my stomach. The sensation causes me to arch my back and Isaiah groans as I kiss his neck. I like these feelings. Actually, I more than like them. They're addicting, and I love how every little thing I do causes Isaiah to kiss and touch me more.
He rolls and I move with him. Our tangled legs become unraveled as my thighs fall open, accepting his weight. Isaiah's body over mine is heavier than I would have imagined, but it's a weight I craved without knowing it.
Isaiah kisses up my neck and when his lips meet mine again, he rocks his hips. Suddenly very aware parts of him are touching very aware parts of me, and my head falls to the side as a new sensation spikes through my body. — Katie McGarry

The more we touch the intimate love of God which creates, sustains, and guides us, the more we recognize the multitude of fruits that come forth from that love. — Henri Nouwen

I close my eyes at his intimate touch. It's a slow movement, not one meant to seduce. It's one to show how much he loves me, and I flatten my lips, fighting the urge to cry. Noah nudges me toward him and if it wasn't for his hold, I'd drop like a house of cards.
I fall into him, and Noah wraps me in his arms. "It's okay, baby. We're okay."
I cling tighter to him, because it doesn't feel okay. For the past two months, life was good and easy and everything I dreamed it could be. Despite my efforts, the muscles at the corner of my mouth tremble. I wanted to be done with tears and with whispered comments thrown in my direction like knives and with this overwhelming sense that I'm less and that I'll never belong. — Katie McGarry

Beautiful and rich is an old friendship, Grateful to the touch as ancient ivory, Smooth as aged wine, or sheen of tapestry Where light has lingered, intimate and long. Full of tears and warm is an old friendship That asks no longer deeds of gallantry, Or any deed at all- save that the friend shall be Alive and breathing somewhere, like a song. — Eunice Tietjens

Isaiah pushes off his car and invades my personal space. His dark scent envelops me and my heart literally trips several times as it tries to continue to beat. Even though he doesn't touch me, it's like Isaiah is everywhere. Only centimeters separate us, but his warmth surrounds me like a bubble.
I have to force myself to lift my chin to look at him. His gray eyes soften, and there's this playful aura to him, accompanied by a devious tilt of his mouth. — Katie McGarry

Hold on tight," he says, pulling my hands around his waist. The simple feel of his strong hands resting on top of mine is intensely intimate. I wonder if he's feeling these emotions, too, but dismiss the thought. Alex Fuentes is a hard guy. Experienced. The mere touch of hands isn't going to make his stomach flutter.
He deliberately brushes the tips of his fingers over mine before reaching for the handlebars. Oh. My. God. What am I getting myself into? — Simone Elkeles

I'll be gentle." Solemn words that made him want to smile. "I know you're a virgin. Psy don't have sex do they?"
"No." Intimate touch was forbidden in the PsyNet. "But I think I have the concept figured out. — Nalini Singh

I'll buy you a blow-up doll. I'm sure my mate won't mind when I explain how hard up you are."
She didn't bother to punch him this time, just glared with promise of future retaliation. "Very funny. You wouldn't be laughing if you knew how sexually frustrated I am right now." [ ... ] "The last time was when that SilverBlade sentinel was in town for a communications meeting."
All amusement left Dorian's face. "You serious? That was months ago." A very long time to go without intimate touch. "Merce, that could get dangerous."
"I know. Do you think I don't know?" She thrust her hands through her hair. "Damn it Dorian! It's getting to the point where I'm starting to wonder if some of the wolves would be good in bed. [ ... ]
"Cat and wolf isn't a ... um ... normal combination."
"And Psy and cat is?" She made a face at him. "Yeah, yeah I know. Cat and wolf is strange." [ ... ]
"How about one of the Rats?" Dorian's eyes gleamed. — Nalini Singh

The front door opened smoothly to my key, the air inside stirred as I came in and it didn't feel over-intimate anymore; it felt like a slight smile and a cool brief touch on the cheek, like a welcome. — Tana French

Have you ever been anyone's?" I ask, a feathery whisper in the quiet bedroom. He lifts his head to mine, and I want him so bad I feel consumed inside, like he's already possessed my soul, and now my soul aches for him to possess my body. A powerful emotion tightens his features as he reaches out to cradle my cheek in his big hand, and there's an unexpected fierceness in his eyes, in his touch, as he cups me. "No. And you?" The calluses in his palm rasp on my skin, and I find myself tucking my cheek deeper into them. "I've never wanted to." "Neither have I." The moment is intimate. — Katy Evans

The world would see the beauty of the packaging, but only I knew the man inside it and how precious he was. His intimate smiles and his deep husky laugh, the gentleness of his touch and the ferocity of his passion were all reserved for me. — Sylvia Day

The soul which has come into intimate contact with God in the silence of the prayer chamber is never out of conscious touch with the Father; the heart is always going out to Him in loving communion, and the moment the mind is released from the task upon which it is engaged, it returns as naturally to God as the bird does to its nest. — Edward McKendree Bounds

Where are you going?"
He looked over his shoulder at me. "If I stay, you won't get any sleep."
"Stay," I said. "I promise to keep my hands to myself." Lie - such an outright lie.
He gave me a half smile that told me he knew it, too, but nestled down, tugging me into his arms. I wrapped an arm around his waist and rested my head in the hollow of his shoulder.
He idly stroked my hair. I didn't want to sleep - didn't want to lose a minute with him - but an immense exhaustion was pulling me away from consciousness, until all I knew was the touch of his fingers in my hair and the sounds of his breathing. — Sarah J. Maas

His soft lips glide across my jaw. I'm dazzled by his touch, drugged by his promises, falling deeper and deeper into him. Before he reaches my mouth, I catch his hands and roll him off until he's the one on his back, his wings no longer a hiding place but silky black pools along the ground.
I prop my top half over his so I'm in control. "I can't think," I whisper. "You're making me crazy."
"Insanity is the most pristine clarity." He winds a leg around my hips and topples me onto him. "Let the lunacy in. Let it be your guide." One corner of his mouth lifts to a boyish grin. — A.G. Howard

We stand, gazing at each other, until Ivy moves again, pulling me into another super hug. But this time as my arms touch her waist, it somehow feels softer than before. I wish I could hold on forever. — Colleen Boyd

Every motion she made was slow, as if she'd never before put her arms around a man, and didn't know for certain where everything fit. When at last they were pressed close, she didn't think she'd know how to let go when the time came. They summarized the course of passion with kisses: a chaste, half-frightened brush of the lips metamorphosed into something fierce and fast-burning, which in its turn became a more patient, more intimate touch, full of inquiry and shared pleasure. — Emma Bull

The money hits the floor, and my hands immediately frame her face. She has skin so soft that I worry about damaging her with a gentle touch. Her breathing hitches as my lips come close to hers. I'm going to kiss her. "Tell me I'm who you want." So I know there are no mistakes.
Her nose slides against mine as she slowly nods. "I don't want anyone else."
God help us both for her allowing the devil permission. — Katie McGarry

I lay my fantasy in the backseat of Isa's car and slide in next to her. She snuggles up, using me as her personal pillow, her blond curls sprawled over my crotch. I close my eyes for a second, trying to get the image out of my head. And I don't know what to do with my hands. My right one is on the door armrest. My left one hovers over Brittany.
I hesitate. Who am I kidding? I'm not a virgin. I'm an eighteen-year-old guy who can deal with having a hot, passed-out girl next to me. Why am I afraid of putting my arm where it's comfortable, right over her midsection?
I hold my breath as I settle my arm on her. She cuddles closer and I'm feeling weird and light-headed. Either it's the aftereffects from the joint or . . . I don't want to think about the "or." Her long hair is wrapped around my thigh. Without thinking, I weave my hands in her hair and watch as the silky strands slowly fall through the V's between my fingers. — Simone Elkeles

Elliot had always thought that touch was the most intimate way a man and a woman could connect. A kiss. A hand across the base of the neck or a brush of fingertips against the small of the back. But if his thundering heart gave any indication, the moment of honesty Wren had shared in that single look made the air crackle with tension, of the kind he'd never known before. — Kristy Cambron

There is seldom a physical description of a character or scene in Pride and Prejudice and yet we feel that we have seen each of these characters and their intimate worlds; we feel we know them, and sense their surroundings. We can see Elizabeth's reaction to Darcy's denunciation of her beauty, Mrs. Bennet chattering at the dinner table or Elizabeth and Darcy walking in and out of the shadows of the Pemberley estate. The amazing thing is that all of this is created mainly through tone - different tones of voice, words that become haughty and naughty, soft, harsh, coaxing, insinuating, insensible, vain.
The sense of touch that is missing from Austen's novels is replaced by a tension, an erotic texture of sounds and silences. She manages to create a feeling of longing by setting characters who want each other at odds. — Azar Nafisi

We have become victims of our own art. We touch people on the outsides of their bodies, and they us, but we cannot get to their insides and cannot reveal our insides to them. This is one of the great tragedies of our interiority-it is utterly personal and unrevealable. Often we want to say something unusually intimate to a spouse, a parent, a friend, communicate something of how we are really feeling about a sunset, who we really feel we are-only to fall strangely and miserably flat. Once in a great while we succeed, sometimes more with one person, less or never with others. But the occasional break-through only proves the rule. You reach out with a disclosure, fail, and fall back bitterly into yourself. — Ernest Becker

Even when I press against him his presence is too far away. — Johnny Rich

He was aware of his trauma, but he was using it to distance himself from life. He had a story about himself but no access to who he might have been before his trauma derailed him. I was trying to use his feelings of deprivation as a means of bringing him back in touch with a more fundamental truth about himself, to guide him back toward - or at least help him to visualize - the intrinsic relational foundation of his being. By not fighting with his internal wounds, by not insisting on making them go away, by not recruiting everyone in his intimate life to save him from his feelings of abandonment, by simply resting with them the way we do in meditation, he could learn, as the Buddha did, that he already was the love he thought he lacked. — Mark Epstein

I rake my hands across his biceps and down his pecs. Water and sand crumble to shimmery, granular trails along his chest hair in my wake. As I touch him, his breath catches and his long, dark eyelashes close in exquisite agony.
I splay my fingertips and open my palm to match his cigarette burns to my scars. His muscles answer with tiny twitches, every part of him strong where I'm soft.
"Jeb."
He opens his eyes and we lock gazes.
"This is why we fit. Because we're both damaged, in a way that can't be healed. — A.G. Howard

But how can two people who are undeniably more than just attracted to one another not give in? We've been on the road together for almost two weeks. We've shared intimate secrets and we've been intimate in some ways. We've slept next to each other and touched one another, yet still here we are, standing on opposite sides of a thick glass wall. We reach up and touch our fingers to the glass, we look into each others eyes and we know what we want but the glass won't fucking budge. This is either inviolable discipline or pure, unadulterated self-torture. — J.A. Redmerski

People like it when you tell them things, in suitable portions, in a modest, intimate tone, and they think they know you, but they do not, they know _about_ you, for what they are let in on are facts, not feelings, not what your opinion is about anything at all, not how what has happened to you and how all the decisions you have made have turned you into who you are. What they do is they fill in with their own feelings and opinions and assumptions, and they compose a new life which has precious little to do with yours, and that lets you off the hook. No-one can touch you unless you yourself want them to. — Per Petterson

Touch can have two meanings: it can be an intimate gesture between equals, a way of saying: I care for you. But between people who are unequal, there's an asymmetry: the powerful may touch the weak - a pat on the back, for example; but the weak may not lay hands on the powerful. His touch probably meant nothing. Any touch I might receive from a family member would be difficult to interpret. It could be a gesture of affection, a bit of condescension, or worst of all, a sexual overture. Or perhaps it might be a confusing mixture of all of these. — Rebecca East

I touch her cheek to slow the kiss down, holding her mouth on mine so I can feel every place where our lips touch and every place where they pull away. I savor the air we share in the second afterwards and the slip of her nose across mine. I think of something to say, but it is too intimate, so I swallow it. A moment later I decide I don't care.
"I wish we were alone," I say as I back out of the cell.
She smiles. "I almost always wish that. — Veronica Roth

It is possible to know all about doctrine and yet not know Jesus. The soul is in danger when knowledge of doctrine outsteps intimate touch with Jesus ... Have I a personal history with Jesus Christ? The one sign of discipleship is intimate connection with Him, a knowledge of Jesus Christ nothing can shake. — Oswald Chambers

Music gets us in touch with our emotions in a way that's more intimate than any other art form. — Michael Franti

His touch was simple, but specific, meant to show me he could be like a lover, gentle, intimate, but also that he was a man unaccustomed to hearing the word no. Yes. I understood. He was a man, and I? I was nothing but a girl, not even a woman. I was meant to fall at his feet and worship at the altar of his masculinity, grateful that he'd deigned to acknowledge me. All this, from a simple touch. — C.J. Roberts

When we reveal ourselves to our partner and find that this brings healing rather than harm, we make an important discovery - that intimate relationship can provide a sanctuary from the world of facades, a sacred space where we can be ourselves, as we are ... This kind of unmasking - speaking our truth, sharing our inner struggles, and revealing our raw edges - is sacred activity, which allows two souls to meet and touch more deeply. — John Welwood

If we turn away from our sexual passion, then we freeze and beings are harmed. If we grab it, then we are burned and beings are harmed. But if we just stay close to it, walk around it, always in touch with the fact that we are sexual beings, neither identifying with nor distancing ourselves from our sexuality, then we gradually become intimate with it. — Reb Anderson

My fingers draw up her back and tangle into her hair. "They'll never separate us."
"Never," she repeats.
Our lips crush together, our bodies pressed tight. An inferno of lips and hands and movements that continues to grow in heat. The blanket falls away as Rachel slides her legs so that she straddles me. On the verge of burning up completely, I groan and cling to her small frame. Her hands drift under my shirt, leaving a singeing trail.
We've become a wildfire. Almost unstoppable. I kiss her neck and the beautiful sounds escaping her mouth encourage me further. My hands skim under her shirt, up her back, linger for seconds near her bra, and I gently nip her ear when I feel lace.
Images pour into my mind of what she'd look like with her shirt off, then her jeans. My fist traps strands of her hair. "I want you, Rachel."
And because I do, I kiss her fully on the mouth - nothing left to the imagination. Every fantasy becomes a reality with that one embrace. — Katie McGarry

You and I have formerly seen warm debates and high political passions. But gentlemen of different politics would then speak to each other and separate the business of the Senate from that of society. It is not so now. Men who have been intimate all their lives, cross the streets to avoid meeting, and turn their heads another way, lest they should be obliged to touch their hats. This may do for young men with whom passion is enjoyment. But it is afflicting to peaceable minds. Tranquility is the old man's milk. — Thomas Jefferson

Let me have you in the most intimate of
ways, let me give you a part of myself that no other man may touch.
Make me yours forever. — Rachel L. Demeter

When you hike through the forest you have no choice but to experience every step. The slow speed at which you move through the wilderness allows you to experience the landscape in such an intimate way. You have the opportunity to slow down and look across every stunning mountain vista, touch the blossoming azaleas, feel the cool mist of the waterfalls, and smell the rich scents of the forest as you pass through it. You have the opportunity to experience this paradise that is our planet. — Joshua Kinser

Press and gloom make recognition difficult. Man and wife are strangers two paces apart to mention only this most intimate of all bonds. Let them move on till they are close enough to touch and then without pausing on their way exchange a look. If they recognize each other it does not appear. Whatever it is they are searching for it is not that. — Samuel Beckett

How to care for intimate apparel? Treat your bras like you'd want a partner to handle your breasts: with kindness and a gentle touch. — Elisabeth Dale

When seeing a dying animal a man feels a sense of horror: substance similar to his own is perishing before his eyes. But when it is a beloved and intimate human being that is dying, besides this horror at the extinction of life there is a severance, a spiritual wound, which like a physical wound is sometimes fatal and sometimes heals, but always aches and shrinks at any external irritating touch. After Prince Andrew's death Natasha and — Leo Tolstoy

I sit on the bed and kick off my shoes, and he kneels before me and takes the riding boots, holding one open for my bare foot. I hesitate; it is such an intimate gesture between a young woman and a man. His smiling upward glance tells me that he understands my hesitation but is ignoring it. I point my toe and he holds the boot, I slide my foot in and he pulls the boot over my calf. He takes the soft leather ties and fastens the boot, at my ankle, then at my calf, and then just below my knee. He looks up at me, his hand gently on my toe. I can feel the warmth of his hand through the soft leather. I imagine my toes curling in pleasure at his touch.

'Anne, will you marry me?' he asks simply, as he kneels before me. — Philippa Gregory

For you
i have saved poems
under my skin. — Sanober Khan

Expediency was the first word in his catechism, although he gave proper lip-service to the precepts of the Butlerians. Machines could not be fashioned in the image of a man's mind, he said, but he betrayed by every action that he preferred machines to men, statistics to individuals, the faraway general view to the intimate personal touch requiring imagination and initiative. As — Frank Herbert

I - At her tone, at once intimate and formal, a terrible sadness came over me, and when we looked at each other it seemed that the whole past was redefined and brought into focus by this moment, clear as glass, a complexity of stillness that was rainy afternoons in spring, a dark chair in the hallway, the light-as-air touch of her hand on the back of my head. — Donna Tartt

I crave intimate love. Words that make my soul dance, a touch that gives me goosebumps, eye contact that electrifies my entire body, a kiss that could have me questioning whose air I am breathing. — Nikki Rowe

They were so intimate and utterly out of touch. — D.H. Lawrence

We have not long to love.
Light does not stay.
The tender things are those
we fold away.
Coarse fabrics are the ones
for common wear.
In silence I have watched you
comb your hair.
Intimate the silence,
dim and warm.
I could but did not, reach
to touch your arm.
I could, but do not, break
that which is still.
(Almost the faintest whisper
would be shrill.)
So moments pass as though
they wished to stay.
We have not long to love.
A night. A day ... — Tennessee Williams

The success occurs in a place outside of me, and doesn't touch me on an intimate level. I live in my own skin, I have not changed greatly, I remain the same woman. — Isabel Allende

She paused and unexpectedly stroked her fingers down the feathers of his neck.
He froze. She couldn't know how intimate that seemed, or how sensitive he was to her touch even through the sleek covering of eagle feathers. Pleasure at being petted ran down his spine.
He should say something or step away. He did neither. Instead, ever so slightly, he leaned into her touch.
It was wrong of him, but his wrong button seemed to be broken, and he didn't care. — Thea Harrison

Toward seven o'clock every morning, I leave my study and step Out on the bright terrace; the sun already burns resplendent Between the shadows of the fig tree, makes the low wall of coarse Granite warm to the touch. Here my tools lie ready and waiting, Each one an intimate, an ally: the round basket for weeds: The zappetta, the small hoe with a short haft ... There's a rake here as well, at at times a mattock and spade, Or two watering cans filled with water warmed by the sun. With my basket and small hoe in hand, facing the sun, I Go out for my morning walk. — Hermann Hesse