Sweet Throat Quotes & Sayings

He seemed to understand what she wanted, for he gave an unsteady laugh and caught one of her hands in his. "No, Amanda... tonight you're going to remain a virgin."
"Why?"
His hand covered her breast, squeezing gently, and he dragged his half-open mouth over her throat. "Because there are a few things you need to know about me first."
Now that it seemed likely that he would not make love to her, it became the thing Amanda wanted most. "But I'll never see you again," she said. "And it's my birthday."
Jack laughed at that, his blue eyes gleaming, and he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth, and hugged her close while he murmured endearments in her ear. No one had ever said such things to her before. People were intimidated by her self-possession and no-nonsense demeanor. No man would ever dream of calling her adorable, sweet, darling... — Lisa Kleypas

His mouth slid over her jaw and down her throat, her skin as smooth
and sweet as cream. "God, you taste incredible," he murmured, his tongue
sliding a teasing path along the edge of her bodice. "I want to lick every inch of you. — Monica McCarty

None of them were easy or soft or simple. They were like me, nursing hurts and hidden wounds, all broken in different ways. We didn't quite fit together. We had edges so jagged we cut each other sometimes, but as I curled up on my side, the warmth of the fire at my back, I felt a rush of gratitude so sweet it made my throat ache. Fear came with it. Keeping them close was a luxury I would pay for. Now I had more to lose. — Leigh Bardugo

It hurts so much, she thought. Our children, Ned, all our sweet babes. Rickon, Bran, Arya, Sansa, Robb ... Robb ... please, Ned, please, make it stop, make it stop hurting ... The white tears and the red ones ran together until her face was torn and tattered, the face that Ned had loved. Catelyn Stark raised her hands and watched the blood run down her long fingers, over her wrists, beneath the sleeves of her gown. Slow red worms crawled along her arms and under her clothes. It tickles. That made her laugh until she screamed. "Mad," someone said, "she's lost her wits," and someone else said, "Make an end," and a hand grabbed her scalp just as she'd done with Jinglebell, and she thought, No, don't, don't cut my hair, Ned loves my hair. Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold. - Catelyn Stark — George R R Martin

You've both got that sweet Hotbox sheen. Looks better on the two of you than the last pair. By the way, one of them is . . ." He swipes his thumb across his throat, indicating that the kid quit, and not that he actually offed himself. I hope.

"Another one?" Grace murmurs.

He leans back against the door, one foot propped up, scrolling through his phone. The propped-up foot puts his knee in my space, mere centimeters from mine. It's like he's purposely trying to crowd me. "This job weeds out the weak, Gracie. They should flash their photos over the teepees in the fake starry sky in Jay's Wing. — Jenn Bennett

I burrowed my head in his neck, Travis clutching me tight to him as he turned his back to the wave. As it crashed wildly around us, the sweet bloom of something beautiful began unfurling in my chest and rocked me hard. My throat worked at swallowing it down, but right then I wanted nothing more than to claw my way Inside his skin and never leave. — Kate McCarthy

Astrid Dane. . . Her long colorless hair was woven back into a braid, and her porcelain skin bled straight into the edges of her tunic. Her entire outfit was fitted to her like armor; the collar of her shirt was high and rigid, guarding her throat, and the tunic itself ran from chin to wrist to waist, less out of a sense of modesty, Kell was sure, than protection. Below a gleaming silver belt, she wore fitted pants that tapered into tall boots (rumor had it that a man once spat at her for refusing to wear a dress; she'd cut off his lips). The only bits of color were the pale blue of her eyes and the greens and reds of the talismans that hung from her neck and wrists and were threaded through her hair. . .
"I smell something sweet," she said. She'd been gazing up at the ceiling. Now her eyes wandered
down and landed on Kell. "Hello, flower boy. — V.E Schwab

A low, sweet sound comes from his throat. I bring a hand up to the back of his neck. Aside from the deep warmth of passion, my energy stays very, very still, and for the first time, I don't miss it. — Marie Lu

I let the beast in too soon I don't know how to live without his hand on my throat. I fight him always and still. Oh, darling it's so sweet. You think you know how crazy, how crazy I am. — Fiona Apple

Then listen to me,' he said and cleared his throat. 'It's true that a child belongs to its father. But when a father beats his child, it seeks sympathy in its mother's hut. A man belongs to his fatherland when things are good and life is sweet. But when there is sorrow and bitterness he finds refuge in his motherland. Your mother is there to protect you. She is buried there. And that is why we say that mother is supreme. Is it right that you, Okonkwo, should bring your mother a heavy face and refuse to be comforted? Be careful or you may displease the dead. Your duty is to comfort your wives and children and take them back to your fatherland after seven years. But if you allow sorrow to weigh you down and kill you, they will all die in exile. — Chinua Achebe

I am in the night of the stars.

The moon is new and I see my way by focusing on the light given off by the Souls of the trees. The night air is thick and dark and sweet, like blueberries. It enters my nose and throat and ears to fill me up with its night magic.

My ancestors are with me. They are in me. I can hear them. I felt them all day. My great grandmother, Lily Rose, came first. They will guide me with voices that flicker like lightening bugs, orange, hot, liquid glow in the moment. — Sophia Rose

In other words, he looked like uniformed police hotness, and she wasn't entirely uninterested in being cuffed. Wait. That's a bad thought. I don't mean it. She took him in again, her throat suddenly dry. Well, she didn't exactly not mean it, but she knew better than to want it. — Cindi Madsen

And Iseult rose up where she sat apart,
And with her sweet soul deepening her deep eyes
Cast the furs from her and subtle embroideries
That wrapped her from the storming rain and spray,
And shining like all April in one day,
Hair, face, and throat dashed with the straying showers,
She stood the first of all the whole world's flowers,
And laughed on Tristram with her eyes, and said,
"I too have heart then, I was not afraid."
And answering some light courteous word of grace
He saw her clear face lighten on his face
Unwittingly, with unenamoured eyes
For the last time. — Algernon Charles Swinburne

We can't stop staring at each other. Saying nothing, nothing to say. I trace the curve of his jaw and throat, the sweet spot below his ear, with only my eyes, because he's too faraway to touch. We stare and we stare and I can't stop myself from smiling, because he's smiling, too. We don't have to speak to have this conversation; in fact, the only way to have it is by not using words. — Megan Hart

So what's the deal with you and my sister?"
He laughs shortly and rubs the back of his neck like something is there, tickling, tapping.
"Tamra." Clutching the dashboard, I turn and glare at her. "There is no deal."
She snorts. "Well, we wouldn't be sitting here if that was the case now, would we?"
I open my mouth to demand she end the interrogation when Will's voice stops me.
"I like your sister. A lot."
I look at him dumbly.
He looks at me, lowers his voice to say, "I like you."
I know that, I guess, but heat still crawls over my face. I swing forward in my seat, cross my arms over my chest and stare straight ahead. Can't stop shivering. Can't speak. My throat hurts too much.
"Jacinda," he says.
"I think you've shocked her," Tamra offers, then sighs. — Sophie Jordan

One of his palms slipped into the open back of her gown, seeking the skin above the edge of her corset, and a sigh escaped him as he felt her downy softness. "Not yet," he said in a rough whisper, though whether he was talking to himself or to her was unclear. He clasped the vulnerable curve of her neck in one strong hand, and bent to feast on her parted lips, her chin, the front of her throat. "You're so sweet," he said raggedly.
She couldn't help but grin, even in the flush of desire. "Am I?"
Marcus sought her mouth with another hungering kiss. "Very sweet," he confirmed huskily. "Though if I were a lesser man, you'd have torn my head off by now."
The words drew a low laugh from her. "Now I understand the attraction between us. We're a danger to everyone but each other. Like a pair of ill-tempered hedgehogs."
-Marcus & Lillian — Lisa Kleypas

Slavery, that was a kind of alchemy for such White folk, or so they reckoned. They calculated a way of turning each bead of a Black man's sweat into gold and each moan of despair from a Black woman's throat into the sweet clear sound of a silver coin ringing on the money-changer's table. There was buying and selling of souls in that place. Yet there was nary a one of them who understood the whole price they paid for owning other folk. — Orson Scott Card

He wanted to cut the man's throat. Never in his life had he been so overpowered by such a desire to kill someone. It was a strange feeling, sweet and driven. In one leap he could be on him. His legs wanted to do it; they trembled with anticipation. — Robert Karjel

Later - about halfway through the same meeting - do you know what she does?

She fucking kicks me! In the shin, under the table.

"Hmph," I groan, and my hands fist reflexively.

"You all right, Drew?" my father asks.

I can only nod and squeak, "Something in my throat." I cough dramatically.

See, I'm not about to go crying to Daddy either. But sweet Christ it hurt. You ever been kicked in the shin by a four-inch pointy shoe? For a man, there is only one area that's more painful to be kicked.

And that is a place that dare not speak its name. — Emma Chase

I sighed, sinking back, head filling with pleasant images; pictures Pietr floated to the surface. Kisses scorched along my face and neck. "Pietr ... "
There was a growl, and I felt fingers at the waistband of my jeans. The button opened and a hand traced along the top of my underpants.
"No," I said. The kissing resumed, harder. "Jessica." The word rumbled in someone's throat. Not Pietr's. To him, I was Jess.
"No," I insisted, trying to pry my eyes open. Something was wrong ... Not Pietr ... I pushed at the chest above me, my eyelids stinging as I willed them apart.
"Relax ... " a voice said, lips dragging along the cornerof my jaw, filling my head with honey, sticky and sweet ... — Shannon Delany

The Kitchen





Half a papaya and a palmful of sesame oil;
lately, your husband's mind has been elsewhere.

Honeyed dates, goat's milk;
you want to quiet the bloating of salt.

Coconut and ghee butter;
he kisses the back of your neck at the stove.

Cayenne and roasted pine nuts;
you offer him the hollow of your throat.

Saffron and rosemary;
you don't ask him her name.

Vine leaves and olives;
you let him lift you by the waist.

Cinnamon and tamarind;
lay you down on the kitchen counter.

Almonds soaked in rose water;
your husband is hungry.

Sweet mangoes and sugared lemon;
he had forgotten the way you taste.

Sour dough and cumin;
but she cannot make him eat, like you. — Warsan Shire

I grabbed her by the waist and swung her around to face me. As I bent, I closed my eyes ... and kissed air as she ducked out of my grasp. I opened my eyes to see her dancing backward along the path.
I made a noise in my throat.
"Don't growl," she said. "Aren't you always complaining that you don't get enough exercise?"
I lunged. She backed away.
I let out another growl and crossed my arms. "Better watch out. I might decide the prize isn't worth the effort."
She grinned, blue eyes dancing. "Oh, you know it is. And you know it's never as sweet as when you have to work for it."
She wheeled and ran. As I went after her, adrenaline pumped through me, like liquid fire. There was nothing quite like a chase, and one that ended with this reward was the best chase of all. — Kelley Armstrong

The heady scent of him filled her nostrils, that particular blend of salt and sea and musk that was his alone. Just the smell of him made the blood rush to her core; the feel of his strong arms, the sweet taste of his mouth made her whole body pulse with need and longing.
Marcus made a groaning noise deep in his throat and started to pull away.
"Don't you dare," she breathed in his ear. "If you stop kissing me, I'll... I'll bite you. — Deborah Blake

The first cup moistens my lips and throat; The second cup breaks my loneliness; The third cup searches my barren entrail but to find therein some thousand volumes of odd ideographs; The fourth cup raises a slight perspiration-all the wrongs of life pass out through my pores; At the fifth cup I am purified; The sixth cup calls me to the realms of the immortals. The seventh cup-ah, but I could take no more! I only feel the breath of the cool wind that raises in my sleeves. Where is Elysium? Let me ride on this sweet breeze and waft away thither. — Lu Tong

"Do you have any money?" he asked.
"What?"
He rubbed his fingers together. "Dinero? Cash? Do you have any on you?"
Unsure where this was headed, I shook my head. He reached over the counter and grabbed a knife. He cut the burger in half and slid the plate between us. "Here. Don't bogart the fries."
"Are you serious?"
Noah took another bite of his half. "Yeah. Don't want my tutor to starve to death."
I smacked my lips like a cartoon character and bit into the succulent burger. When the juicy meat touched my tongue, I closed my eyes and moaned.
"I thought girls only looked like that when they orgasmed."
The burger caught in my throat and I choked. Noah stifled a laugh while sliding my water toward me. If only drinking it would erase the annoying blush on my cheeks. — Katie McGarry

Ever'one here think it easy for me. I be this good little church boy from Mississippi with my good little church-goin' Mammy, and since I be this stupid country nigger with the big faith, I don't have no troubles. Well, it just don't work that way" ... "I see my friend Williams get ate by a tiger," ... "I see Broyer get his face ripped off by a mine. What you think I do all night, sit around thankin' Sweet Jesus? Raise my palms to sweet heaven and cry hallelujah? You know what I do? You know what I do? I lose my heart." Cortell's throat suddenly tightened, strangling his words. "I lose my heart." ... "I sit there and don't see any hope. Hope gone." Cortell was seeing his dead friends. "Then, the sky turn gray again in the east, and you know what I do? I choose all over to keep believin'. All along I know Jesus could be just some fairy tale, and I could be just this one big fool. I choose anyway." ... "It ain't no easy thing. — Karl Marlantes

It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they executed the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York. I'm stupid about executions. The idea of being electrocuted makes me sick, and that's all there was to read about in the papers
goggle-eyed headlines staring up at me at every street corner and at the fusty, peanut-smelling mouth of every subway. It had nothing to do with me, but I couldn't help wondering what it would be like, being burned alive all along your nerves.
I thought it must be the worst thing in the world.
New York was bad enough. By nine in the morning the fake, country-wet freshness that somehow seeped in overnight evaporated like the tail end of a sweet dream. Mirage-gray at the bottom of their granite canyons, the hot streets wavered in the sun, the car tops sizzled and glittered, and the dry, cindery dust blew into my eyes and down my throat. — Sylvia Plath

I should be getting back to the bonfire. They're going to think I've been kidnapped." He pulled me toward him in one quick motion.

"Kidnapped insinuates some sort of struggle." He said in a low voice with a sexy grin. "You'd enjoy being captured by me." My heart jumped in my throat, but I tried to remain cool.

"I'd like to see you try," I threw back at him, "but first you'll have to escape your own sandy death trap" I wiggled my feet out of the sand, stood up and washed my hands off in the water. He followed my every move with curious eyes.

"Sweet dreams, Anastasia." I wasn't sure if there was an underlying meaning to his words. "Sweet dreams, Finn," I responded, breathlessly. — Kristen Day

And Morwen lost control.
A quick bite and deep, and a flap of skin fell in her throat, sweet and juicy. Galadir pushed her away with all his might, backing away. Morwen put her hand over her mouth, shutting her eyes. — Chiara Cilli

What belonged to Jack McKenna belonged only to Jack McKenna, and the pussy he was feverishly sucking on was definitely his. He went in for the kill then, sucking her clit firmly and vigorously, growling low in his throat as she bucked up beneath him. On a loud groan she burst, her legs violently trembling as her nipples stabbed up and she drenched his mouth with her sweet climax. He lapped it all up, gluttonously sucking at her hole to get every drop of liquid her cunt had made for him...

"MINE," Jack murmured, causing her to seek out his gaze. "This pussy is ALL mine, baby. — Jaid Black

I need you, Viola. I need you.'
'You are repeating. You are trying to convince yourself, aren't you?'
'You are an impossible woman. I am declaring my love to you and still you quarrel with me ... Viola, I am perishing before you. *Perishing.*' His tone was strained. 'Say something.'
She nodded.
'What does that mean?'
She nodded again, faster, her throat a clogged mess of joy.
His eyes seemed to sparkle. 'You do love me.'
She got dizzy nodding.
'Why aren't you speaking? What is -'
She clutched her neck ... He looked astounded. Then he pulled her hand away and bent to set his mouth atop her windpipe.
'Function, beautiful harridan's voice,' he murmured, trailing soft, sweet kisses along her throat. — Katharine Ashe

Matthias," Nina said breathlessly, and then they were kissing again.
She was sweet as the first rain, lush as new meadows. His hands curled along her back, tracing her shape, the line of her spine, the emphatic flare of her hips.
"Matthias ," she said more insistently, pulling away.
He opened his eyes, certain he'd made some horrible mistake. Nina was biting her lower lip - it was pink and swollen. But she was smiling, and her eyes sparkled. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Not at all, you glorious babink , but - "
Zoya cleared her throat. "I'm glad you two found a way to spend the time while you waited. — Leigh Bardugo

He chuckled low in his throat as he slowly eased away, leaving he momentarily confused and bereft, her body keenly aware of the abrupt loss of pleasure.
His eyes gleamed like gold coins. "You taste every bit as sweet as you look, my dear." He skimmed the back of one finger over her cheek. "Maybe this bargain we're making won't be such a bad one after all. — Tracy Anne Warren

Coffee is a lot like people. In many ways, it's deceiving. The sweetness that you smell as it brews is more often than not a fallacy. The scent of a dark roasted coffee bean promises you rich flavors with hints of chocolate and hazelnut, but if you're not used to coffee's deceptiveness, you're left with a bitter aftertaste dangling at the back of your throat. To those of us who are used to it- we've grown a fondness for that bitter taste. It's complex. It's teasing. It reminds us that most things in life are not consistently sweet with every sip. One morning, your coffee might brew mild with just a flirtation of nutty undertones, And the next morning, it might be pelting you in the face with those same nuts, leaving little stinging marks with each sip. It's moody. It's not easy to perfect. But when you get the perfect brew, it's rewarding. And that same perfection is not guaranteed tomorrow just because you managed it today. — Katana Collins

I didn't want to be in love with you. I didn't want to believe in love at all. It's never happened to me before. And to be perfectly frank, I'm still not entirely happy about the whole thing. I think - it's going to be exhausting. You're domineering and devious and I've noticed that whenever we're not kissing, I wish we were." Her voice had grown nearly plaintive; she stopped and cleared her throat. "It's a damnable situation. I don't know what to do about it."
He eyed her from the chair. "I'm pigheaded, too. Pray don't forget that."
"Certainly not. It was the next thing I was going to mention."
"My sweet, your notion of love is unique, to say the least. I wonder that you haven't written me sonnets already. Something like 'Ode to the Blackguard. — Shana Abe

Jen put her hands on her hips and pinned Sally with the famous 'you're going to spit it out or I'm going to rip it out of you' look. "You talked?" Jen asked sarcastically. "Sally," she cleared her throat then continued, "you have a mate. A guaranteed husband. A sure thing. Not to mention he's hot, funny, sweet, and he has a dimple. You talked?" She repeated. This time Jen's voice was skeptical. Before Sally could defend herself, however, her door opened slowly, calculatingly.
"I know you weren't describing me Jennifer. So who is this male who has caught your eye so descriptively? Please do tell, so that I can rip him to pieces." Decebel's power filled the room and Sally took an involuntary step away from the very angry Alpha. — Quinn Loftis

I have heard it called a dance, I have heard it called a battle. Some men speak of it with a knowing laugh, some with a sneer. I have heard the study market women chuckling over it like hens clucking over bread crumbs; I have been approached by bawds who spoke their wares as boldly as peddlers hawking fresh fish. For myself, I think some things are beyond words. The color blue can only be experienced, as can the scent of jasmine or the sound of a flute. The curve of a warm bared shoulder, the uniquely feminine softness of a breast, the startled sound one makes when all barriers suddenly yield, the perfume of her throat, the taste of her skin are all but parts, and sweet as they may be, they do not embody the whole. A thousand such details still would not illustrate it. — Robin Hobb

Her heart sprang up into her throat.
Watching that shadow play was like paying a quarter for a peep show. Only she got it for free.
He thinks I'm pretty.
Butterflies did a dance around her heart before she could swat them away.
Behind the shade. his shadow unbuttoned those soft, worn, butt-hugging jeans and slid them down his lean hips. Charli sucked in a big gulp of air, then headed back to the veranda and her glass of wine.
With all the estrogen doing a conga line through her blood, she needed a drink.
Well, she really needed something else.
But she'd settle for a drink. — Candis Terry

I'm lucky in that I don't like sweet things at all. My father loved cakes to such a degree that he kept forcing them down my throat when I was little, and it put me off for life. He had terrible cholesterol, poor thing. — Felicity Kendal

Sweet heaven." She swallowed back a lump in her throat. "You must do this all the time. Night after night, you tell women your tale of woe . . ." "Not really. The tale of woe precedes me." " . . . and then they just open their arms and lift their skirts for you. 'Come, you poor, sweet man, let me hold you' and so forth. Don't they?" He hedged. "Sometimes. — Tessa Dare

He's on his knees.
I bite back the moan caught in my throat just before he lifts me up and carries me to the bed. He's on top of me in an instant, kissing me with a kind of intensity that makes me wonder why I haven't died or caught on fire or woken up from this dream yet. He's running his hands down my body only to bring them back up to my face and he kisses me once, twice, and his teeth catch my bottom lip for just a second and I'm clinging to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and running my hands through his hair and pulling him into me.
He tastes so sweet. So hot and so sweet and I keep trying to say his name but I can't even find the time to breathe, much less to say a single word. — Tahereh Mafi

A little smile on your face, because you'd just untangled a new translation." He cleared his throat. "Like this one. Tumi amar jeeboner dhruvotara." She tilted her head, puzzling over the phrase. "That's not Hindustani." "Bengali. It means 'You are my life's bright star' in Bengali." The sweet words were edged with frustration, not tenderness. His knuckles cracked. "Obviously, I was saving that one. For the right morning. — Tessa Dare

She'd be the perfect choice."
Jake snapped his head around to find Charli no smiling. "Who?"
"Annie."
"Are you kidding me?" Jake barked out a laugh. "We'd tear each other's throat out."
"Or each other's clothes off. Which sounds like a much better solution to me. — Candis Terry

Lincoln?" she asked.
"Yes?"
"Do you believe in love at first sight?"
He made himself look at her face, at her wide-open eyes and earnest forehead. At her unbearably sweet mouth.
"I don't know," he said. "Do you believe in love before that?"
Her breath caught in her throat like a sore hiccup.
And then it was too much to keep trying not to kiss her. — Rainbow Rowell

Cam leaned over her, bracing his forearms on either side of her, kissing her sulky mouth. "Just for tonight," he whispered. "Wear my ring, Amelia, and let me pleasure you." He kissed her throat, his hips shunting gently against her. She gasped at the feel of him, hard and swollen behind the black silk. His mouth traveled slowly up to her ear. "I'll enter you, fill you, and then I'll hold you still and quiet in my arms. I won't move. I won't let you move, either. I'll wait until I feel you throbbing around me ... I'll follow that rhythm deep in your body, that sweet pulse ... I won't stop until you weep and shiver and cry out for more. And I'll give it to you, as long and hard as you want. Take my ring, love." His mouth descended to hers in a smoldering kiss. "Take me. — Lisa Kleypas

Miles just smiled and felt her love flow around his own. Yet inside his love was a rock, and it had the words "payback is sweet" written in large letters on it. He laughed and she looked up at him and saw the hard glint in his eyes. "Uh oh!" was all she said. He laughed again deep in his chest. She kissed him happily. She sucked at his throat. She, as much as he, would enjoy the struggle that would follow.
Part of the joy of their love was this constant battle to top the other. Kate was excellent at beginning these battles and sometimes even won them. Yet her weakness was that she submitted naturally. She knew it and he knew it. From her point of view the skill of the game was in keeping his Dom side distracted enough so she could submit to him before he took her. Miles smiled as he realised that whoever won was largely irrelevant to their love. Yet he liked to win; and so did she. (Journey Into Submission, eXtasy) — Khul Waters

After more of his sweet torture, I called, "Tate, honey?"
"Yeah, baby," he answered.
"Am I under your skin?" I whispered as my hips moved with his hand.
He replied instantly, "Oh yeah." His thumb tweaked my clit harder, my hips jerked and a low mew slid out of my throat as the fingers of one of my hands slid into his hair and the other arm held on tighter. "Fuck yeah," he growled and his lips left my ear, his mouth found mine and he kissed me, wet and deep. — Kristen Ashley

I exist. It's sweet, so sweet, so slow. And light: you'd think it floated all by itself. It stirs. It brushes by me, melts and vanishes. Gently, gently. There is bubbling water in my throat, it caresses me- and now it comes up again into my mouth. For ever I shall have a little pool of whitish water in my mouth - lying low - grazing my tongue. And this pool is still me. And the tongue. And the throat is me. — Jean-Paul Sartre

Thomas Builds-the-Fire's stories climbed into your clothes like sad, gave you itches that could not be scratched. If you repeated eve a sentence from one of those stories, your throat was never the same again. Those stories hung in your clothes and hair like smoke, and no amount of laundry soap or shampoo washed them out. Victor and Junior often tried to beat those stories out of Thomas, tied him down and taped his mouth shut. They pretended to be friendly and tried to sweet talk Thomas into temporary silences, made promises about beautiful Indian women and cases of Diet Pepsi. But none of that stopped Thomas, who talked and talked. — Sherman Alexie

He cupped her face in his hands, crushing his lips into hers. Angry and raw after all these months, he couldn't hold himself back any longer. It wasn't gentle or sweet. It was powerful and full of need. A quiet moan escaped from her throat, inciting another rushing wave of desire through him. Her lips parted, inviting his tongue inside her mouth. — Stacey O'Neale

Are you asking me to undress, Tris?'
A nervous laugh gurgles from my throat. 'Only ... partially — Veronica Roth

You're my safe harbor in an endless stormy sea. You're my shady willow on a sunny day. You're sweet music in a distant room. You're unexpected cake on a rainy day. You're my bright penny on the roadside, you are worth more than the moon on the long night walk. You are sweet wine in my mouth, a song in my throat and laughter in my heart. — Patrick Rothfuss

Song I try to make the step-down call of the chickadee, but do it too insistently, over and over so it loses sense, the air going equally out and back, not slower in the opening, then quickening as the tight hinge retracts, but absolutely evenly, too even, the way one breathes and regulates breath for a doctor, to present the body's equanimity. There's a bird in a tree with a hinge in its throat, a door opening to let the sweet air pass from a high, thin place down a notch. There's phlox out there, opening between one black and another black, hanging branch of an apple tree - the very tree that holds the bird that bends the air so parenthetically around itself, and its song around anything listening. — Lia Purpura

You moved my head so that it was lying in your lap.
"Keep your eyes open," you said. "Stay with me."
I tried. It felt like I was using every muscle in my face. But I did it. I saw you from upside down, your lips above my eyes and your eyes above my lips.
"Talk to me," you said.
My throat felt like it was closing up, as if my skin had swollen, making my throat a lump of solid flesh. I gripped your hand.
"Keep watching me, then," you said. "Keep listening. — Lucy Christopher

It wasn't the quick peck Nate had given her. It wasn't like anything she'd ever felt before. His fingers brushed her jaw, settling on the pulse at her throat. The kiss was soft, sweet, almost unbearably perfect. — Elle Todd

He barely managed not to choke it into free fall, atomized. Thick, green, herbal, sweet as syrup - he nearly gagged on the sweetness - perhaps sixty percent pure ethanol. But what was the rest of it? It burned down his esophagus, making him feel suddenly like an animated display of the digestive system, with all the different parts picked out in colored lights. Respectfully, he wiped the mouthpiece on his sleeve and handed the bottle to its owner, who tucked it back under his arm. "Thanks," Miles gasped. Mayhew nodded. "So how," Miles aspirated, then cleared his throat to a more normal tone, "what are you planning to do next? What are you demanding? — Lois McMaster Bujold

Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me
And tune his merry note,
Unto the sweet bird's throat;
Come hither, come hither, come hither.
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather. — William Shakespeare

What were you going to make for Christmas dinner?" one of my
older children asked in a very reasonable tone. I cleared my throat,
but couldn't speak. There was no real explanation for my behavior. I'd been so intent on getting through this first Christmas without David. I'd found new rituals to replace the old, wrapped gifts, and even made cutout sugar cookies. I'd modified Christmas in order to endure it. What I hadn't done was plan on or prepare a Christmas meal. Everyone was looking at me expectantly by this point, including my sweet, hungry grandchildren.
"I forgot all about Christmas dinner," I finally admitted. No one batted an eye. — Mary Potter Kenyon

Morwen was petrified. Galadir was getting closer. She could feel his breath, cold and accelerated. She imagined for a second like would be kissing him. A hazard too dangerous. And what if she could not stop? If by mistake, kissing him, she had bitten him? What if his blood was come down sweet in her throat? No. Too dangerous. With a quick movement, she stood up and walked away from the Prince. — Chiara Cilli

She went up on tiptoe, and that easily, her mouth was against his. It was barely a kiss - just a quick, startling press of her lips.
Before she could even think of moving away, he had hold of her. He knew he was probably doing everything wrong, but he couldn't bring himself to worry, because she was in his arms, her lips were parting, her hands were twining around his neck, and sweet Djel, her tongue was in his mouth. No wonder Fjerdans were so cautious about courtship. If Matthias could be kissing Nina, feeling her nip at his lip with her clever teeth, feel her body fitted against his own, hear her release that little sigh in the back of her throat, why would he ever bother doing anything else? Why would anyone? — Leigh Bardugo

Amelia furrowed her brow and said adamantly. "I'm not staying here tonight. No way!"
Rick cleared his throat and was about to tell her there was no other hotel in town. They had no choice but to stay here. After a moment, he thought better of it. He made it his goal to never argue with an irate woman. If he had anything to say, it was better to wait until she was calm. He knew that much about women.
When Rick was old enough to date, his father had warned him: "Any man who is not afraid of a woman's wrath is a fool. Wait until she's calmed down before talking with her."
Rick gave a curt nod. He thought it best to do as his father had warned. — Linda Weaver Clarke

I had a nightmare about the Averys' sweet-tempered German shepherd, Ina. In the dream, as I was sitting on the floor in the Averys' living room, the dog walked up to me and began to insult me. She said I was a frivolous, cynical, attention-seeking "fag" whose entire life had been phony. I answered her frivolously and cynically and chucked her under the chin. She grinned at me with malice, as if to make clear that she understood me to the core. Then she sank her teeth into my arm. As I fell over backward, she went for my throat. — Jonathan Franzen

I believe we are still so innocent. The species are still so innocent that a person who is apt to be murdered believes that the murderer, just before he puts the final wrench on his throat, will have enough compassion to give him one sweet cup of water. — Maya Angelou

Sloane motioned for him to follow and Dex did, happily, his eyes glued to Sloane's ass. Sweet Aunt Jemima, what he wouldn't give to have a piece of that tasty - "You hungry?" "Starved," Dex muttered, clearing his throat and tearing his gaze away. — Charlie Cochet

Pure truth," I said. "You are my bright penny by the roadside. You are worth more than salt or the moon on a long night of walking. You are sweet wine in my mouth, a song in my throat, and laughter in my heart. [ ... ] "You are too good for me," I said, "You are a luxury I cannot afford. Despite this, I insist you come with me today. I will buy you dinner and spend hours waxing rhapsodic
over the vast landscape of wonder that is you." [ ... ] "I will play you music. I will sing you songs. For the rest of the afternoon, the rest of the world cannot touch us. — Patrick Rothfuss

You taste so sweet." The whispered words sent a shiver down her spine. Somehow, whenever she had imagined this intimacy with a man, she had thought of darkness and urgency and groping. She had not expected firelight and heat and this patient courting of her body. Jack's lips wandered in a velvet path from her throat to the sensitive opening of her ear, played lightly, and then Amanda jerked in surprise as she felt the tip of his tongue stroke along a tiny inner crevice.
"Jack," she whispered. "You don't have to play the lover for me. Truly... you are kind to pretend that I'm desirable, and you-"
She felt him smile against her ear. "You are an innocent, mhuirnin, if you think that a man's body reacts this way out of kindness. — Lisa Kleypas

And me all the while having to pee - coughing into the mike when my throat was tired and raw - eyes stinging and lips and chin crumpling in grief at his anger. The sweet tinkle of Electra on the bass and Iphy on the treble with Mama's voice counting, "One and two and ... " as the twins had their piano lesson inside the trailer. The gurgle and hum of the pumps that filtered my brother Arty's "Aqua Boy" tank. And the dim round moon of baby Fortunato's face peering at me from the dark of the risers above Papa. — Katherine Dunn

Hello, sexy. I knew that you couldn't get through the night without me," Finn's smug, slightly sleepy voice filled my ear. "So why don't you tell me what you're wearing?"
I rolled my eyes. Apparently, my foster brother hadn't bothered to check his caller ID before he picked up the phone. I wondered if this was how he answered all his late night calls, or if he was actually expecting to hear from Bria. I really hoped it was the second one.
"What am I wearing? Well, right now it would be the blood of two giants, among other naughty unmentionables," I purred. "What does that do for you, sexy?"
Silence.
Then Finn cleared his throat. "Uh Gin? Did you dial my number by mistake? Shouldn't you be cooing these sweet, sweet nothings into Owen's ear instead of mine? — Jennifer Estep

Sweet stars above, Red." In a moment of sheer impulse, she leaned forward and nipped his exposed throat. A subtle growl rumbled in his chest, reverberating notes of approval and pleasure. For an alpha to bare his throat to her, it could mean only one thing. He truly did see her as his equal. "I love you," she whispered. "My wolf." How had it taken her so long to realize she'd been falling in love with him? "Yours always, Red," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "Ride — Vivienne Savage

Letting go of the pipe in the laundry room, he could feel in his throat so many sentences from the night's reading of emails, and he needed to shout them at her now as she poured her coffee in the kitchen, its smell always such a comfort to him, but not then; that morning it was like the sweet fragrance of lilacs just before you see the corpse upon which they lie. — Andre Dubus III