Tingling In Face Quotes & Sayings

He turned to face her, his body tingling. She gave a little shudder.
"Did you feel that too?" she asked.
"Yes," he said softly, "but don't talk."
She pushed him away. "It was our sensor webs, you fool. Something's triggered them. — Jonathan Stroud

His kisses fade to nuzzle along my face and neck, soft and poignant. "Al," he whispers. "You taste so sweet ... like honeysuckle."
"Don't," I murmur, in a daze.
He draws back, eyes heavy and dark. "You want me to stop?"
"No." I've fallen asleep praying for you to look at me like this. To touch me like this. "Don't break my heart."
Moth shadows glide above him in the mirrored ceiling, distracting me from the fierceness of his frown. "I'd cut mine out first."
I believe he would. Stretching to tiptoe, I clasp his ponytail. This time, I kiss him. He responds with a spine-tingling growl, fingers digging into my hips. — A.G. Howard

And then we're kissing. His lips are soft and leave mine tingling. I close my eyes, and in the darkness behind them I see beautiful blooming things, flowers spinning like snowflakes, and hummingbirds beating the same rhythm as my heart. I'm gone, lost, floating away into nothingness like I am in my dream, but this time it's a good feeling - like soaring, like being totally free. His other hand pushes my hair from my face, and I can feel the impression of his fingers everywhere that they touch, and I think of stars streaking through the sky and leaving burning trails behind them, and in that moment - however long it lasts, seconds, minutes, days - while he's saying my name into my mouth and Im breathing into him, I realize this, right here, is the first and only time I've ever been kissed. — Lauren Oliver

We kiss for a long time, a good long time. I don't even notice that it's cold and I forget to be afraid because that's just how good a kisser he is. His lips move above my lips. My lips ache for the touch of him, the softness of his skin. We keep kissing. My hands wrap themselves in his hair. His hand presses me close into him, as close as I can be against him, and he is solid, strong, amazing. My hands leave his hair and journey down to the sides of his face, still tingling.
"We should keep going," he says, voice gruff and husky again. I love when his voice sounds like that, deeper than normal. His lips puff out a little more, too. "You're blushing."
I pull my lips in against each other like I'm still trying to taste him. I move my snowshoes off of his snowshoes. It's tricky.
"You're a good kisser," I say.
"So are you. — Carrie Jones

I'm not mad. I'm a writer. — Peter Milligan

You are absolutely amazing,' he breathed into her ear, but she didn't have the breath to respond to his words. She gasped heavily as their faces drew closer. He leaned down towards her, and she felt so drawn to him that she leaned up to meet him. She had no idea what was going on, but in spite of Uche's presence, she decided to follow her heart under the clear cold stars. Next thing, her unprepared body was rising gently, gradually standing on her tingling toes in order to meet his face. He was so tall that she barely reached his shoulders... — Nick Nwaogu

There is no reason to contain your positive thoughts, words and emotions and many reasons to control your negative ones. Are you making the right choices? — Tom Cunningham

Very well." In a voice as cool and detached as if he were critiquing a work of art, he said, "Starting at the top: your brow is marked with intelligence, your gaze is direct, your features are delicate, your skin is fair, your voice is refined, your speech reflects education ... " He paused. "Even the way you hold your head is elegant." I was suddenly, excruciatingly self-conscious. I dropped my gaze, my face on fire. "Ah, yes," he said softly. "And then there is your modesty. No milkmaid could have blushed like that." To my mortification, I felt my blush deepen until the tips of my ears were tingling with the heat. "Shall I continue?" he asked with a hint of a laugh in his voice. "No, that is quite enough, thank you. — Julianne Donaldson

People used to think I was just a shouty comic but I was doing stuff about Sartre. — Alexei Sayle

My wife Martha used to call me Ol' Lemon Face because of my facial contortions when I play Lucille. I squeeze my eyes and open my mouth, raise my eyebrows, cock my head and God knows what else. I look like I'm in torture, when in truth, I'm in ecstasy. I don't do it for show. Every fiber of my being is tingling. — B.B. King

America is a such a melting pot, I'm not sure if roast chicken is the classic comfort food for everybody. — Eric Ripert

Vimes was hazy on religion. He attended Watch funerals and went to such religious events as the proper fulfilling of the office of Commander entailed, but as for the rest ... well, you saw things sometimes that made it impossible to believe not only in gods, but also in common humanity and your own eyes. — Terry Pratchett

'What about stress? Are you using your stress-management techniques when things seem to be getting on top of you?' 'Nothing is getting on top of me.' As I said it, a totally inappropriate picture popped into my mind. 'What are you feeling?' Jake's breath warm against my face, my bruised lips tingling from his kisses. 'Tell me what it feels like with me inside you.' — Josh Lanyon

Locke stared at the Black Bridge for a good long while, excercising that capacity for conniving that Chains had so forcefully repressed for many long months. He was far too young for much self-analysis, but the process of scheming gave him real pleasure, like a little ball of tingling warmth in the pit of his stomach. He had no name for what he was doing, but in the collision of his whirling thoughts a plan began to form, and the more he thought on it the more pleased he became with himself. It was a fine thing that his white hood concealed his face from most passersby, lest anyone should see an initiate of Perelandro staring fixedly at a gallows and grinning wildly. — Scott Lynch

Or I would be the rain itself, wreathing over the island, mingling in the quiet of moist places, filling its pores with its saturated breaths. And I would be the wind, whispering through the tangled woods, running airy fingers over the island's face, tingling in the chill of concealed places, sighing secrets in the dawn. And I would be the light, flinging over the island, covering it with flash and shadow, shining on rocks and pools, softening to a touch in the glow of dusk. If I were the rain and wind and light, I would encircle the island like the sky surrounding earth, flood through it like a heart driven pulse, shine from inside it like a star in flames, burn away to blackness in the closed eyes of its night. There are so many ways I could love this island, if I were the rain. — Richard Nelson

His eyes darkened as they moved from her face, to her breasts, to the tingling spot between her legs.
She writhed beneath him, and he fell over her. "You want this?" he asked, his voice rumbling against the shell of her ear.
Her entire body throbbed. "Yes."
"You want my mouth on you?"
Heat flooded her, and her dry throat made it almost impossible to answer. "I do." Oh God, she did. She really did.
"Where?"
"Everywhere," she whispered. — Cathryn Fox