Desire

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 331 of 344 · 20 per page

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  His free hand moved to her shoulder, then down along the curve of her spine. Charlotte arched into him, pressing her breasts to his chest. Unhampered by stays and petticoats, he could feel her, all of her, yet not enough of her. Lowering his head slowly, he moved his fingertips away, intent on kissing her. She had such a lovely mouth, so full and ripe. And it said such wonderful things. It was the not-so-gentle bite from his horse upon his shoulder that brought back the reality of the small stable stall and the storm that raged outside. For a moment, Hugh considered ignoring the rude intrusion and continuing anyway, but the warning snort from the beast behind him changed his mind. “We should go back to the house,” he said with true regret. “I believe my horse is jealous.” Charlotte blinked and took a moment to reply, visibly withdrawing from his blatant seduction. “Yes, I suppose that would be wise.” The matching note of regret in her voice soothed Hugh’s nigh-unbearable frustration. Hands linked together, they left the comfortable stable and struggled across the courtyard, entering the manse through the kitchen. They were wet and frozen by the time they completed the journey, and the cook stared at them agape as they stumbled inside followed by a billowing cloud of snow. Hugh gaped right back. The cook was the largest woman he’d ever seen. Impossibly tall and built like a laborman, she quite frankly scared him. Gray hair stuck out in every direction, and grayer eyes raked him from head to toe. With a gleaming knife in her hand and a helpless chicken on the counter, she was a terrifying sight to behold. He might have stood there for hours, arrested by shock, had Charlotte not grabbed his arm and tugged him from the room. “Good God,” he muttered as he followed Charlotte up the servants’ stairs to the upper floors. Minx that she was, she laughed. “Wait until dinner,” she promised. “You’ll be impressed.” “I’m impressed already.” He’d never met an Amazon before in his life. Traversing well-appointed hallways, Hugh barely had time to register the dichotomy of the house before he found himself in an immense bedchamber warmed by a fire. It was beautifully furnished and immaculately cleaned. He found it hard to believe he was in the same residence he’d entered just a few hours ago. “Why isn’t the rest of the manse maintained?” he asked, glancing back at her. Charlotte shivered by the door, her hair and garments wet with melting snow. He held out his hand. “Come warm yourself by the fire.” “Not yet.” The “yet” gave him pause, a tiny intimation that she intended at some point to tarry in his rooms. Their eyes met and held, his with silent query, hers open and clear. “Go change, then,” he said. “Before you catch your death. You can explain to me after you’re warmed.” She nodded. “I’ll return directly to escort you to supper.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “Who cares about proper? We’ve never done anything properly.” Hugh glanced again at the mirror, adjusting his cravat for the hundredth time, before resuming his pacing. What the devil was taking Charlotte so blasted long? He’d give her a few moments more, then he’d track her down. Who knew what had happened to her in this museum of oddities? Why, he shuddered just thinking about it! It was abominable for such a gorgeous creature to be rusticating out here, in the wilds of Derbyshire. It was a travesty he intended to rectify as soon as the cursed weather cooperated. When the long-awaited knock finally came, he threw open the portal with such haste that Charlotte stumbled backward in surprise. He was equally astonished. Dressed in a crimson silk gown of stunning simplicity, she stole his breath and his wits. With off-the-shoulder sleeves, low-cut bodice, and high waist, the dress featured no adornments of any kind. Charlotte herself wore no jewelry or gloves, and her coppery hair was piled atop her head in riotous curls. Her skin was pale as moonlight, and the scent of her, fresh and flowery, was an arousing counterpoint to the seductive look of her. It took all of the self-control Hugh possessed to keep from grabbing her and ravishing her upon his bed. Charlotte appealed to him on so many levels, he found it hard to collect them all. He watched, mesmerized, as her mouth curved in a knowing smile. She was thoroughly aware of the effect the sight of her would have on any man. “Shall we go to supper?” she asked. “Must we?” Her green eyes glowed with warm amusement. “I’m rather starved myself.” So was Hugh, but not for food. However, the thought of her company while eating his meal was somewhat pacifying. He stepped out of his room and offered his arm. The light touch of her bare fingers burned through his coat and shirt to his skin below, making him ache for her. Charlotte was tiny, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and from his high vantage, Hugh had an excellent view of the ripe swell of her breasts. He looked away, staring resolutely down the gallery. Unlike the demimondaines with whom he usually associated, it felt wrong to ogle Charlotte as if she were worth nothing more than a good tumble. She was intelligent and kind, as evidenced by her steadfastness in the face of today’s events. Fact was, he rather liked her, what little he knew of her, and since he had a few days to fill, he determined to discover as much about her as he could in that time. As they moved from one hallway to another and prepared to descend the main staircase, Hugh felt as if he were moving through time. The brightly lit and beautifully furnished part of the house faded into the dust-covered and rotting section as easily as they turned the corner.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “It’s less of a burden on the servants to maintain only the areas we use regularly,” Charlotte explained before he could ask. Thinking of the motley crew he’d met so far, he had to agree. Hugh was relieved to see that the dining room was clean and kept in usable condition, but he was slightly disappointed to see only two place settings on the long mahogany table. “Is Her Grace not joining us for dinner?” Even as he asked, he wondered why a paid companion would be allowed to dress so beautifully and eat dinner with him instead of with her employer. But he refused to ask. No sane man would question such good fortune. “She’s become accustomed to eating her meals alone.” “Odd, that,” he murmured as he held a chair for her. He’d made a habit of surrounding himself with large, boisterous groups of people, rarely spending a moment without company of some sort. Eating alone sounded . . . lonely. Taking his seat, Hugh settled in to enjoy his meal when a familiar noise drew his attention to the swinging door that led to the kitchen. He shook his head and sighed. Sure enough, the portal swung open and the young, jittery maid entered. The soup tureen in her hands wobbled alarmingly, and the ladle protruding from it rattled so loudly, nothing else could be heard. Directly on her heels and bearing a pitcher came Tom, the lazy-eyed boy who’d assisted Hugh earlier. The two servants almost collided, compliments of the madly swinging door. Together they performed an odd sort of spinning dance, stumbling forward and back and around, as they attempted to keep their liquids from spilling out everywhere. For a moment, Hugh watched the antics in dumbfounded fascination, and then, muttering an oath, he pushed to his feet and rescued the maid from the soup (or the soup from the maid, depending on how one looked at it). “’Tis a wonder you don’t starve,” he muttered, and Charlotte laughed. “They would have been fine, if you’d have given them a moment.” Hugh shot her a disbelieving glance. “Truly,” she insisted. “Are you the only normal individual on the premises?” he rejoined as he took his seat. The lovely full mouth he found endlessly erotic curved in a wide grin. “That depends on what you consider normal. Some would say that a young, unmarried woman who chooses to live with a mad duchess is far from normal.” She glanced at the shaking woman at the end of the table. “You may serve now, Katie.” The pretty brunette flashed a tentative smile and moved to fill their bowls with soup. Hugh watched as, despite her affliction, she managed the task without spilling a drop onto the pristine tablecloth.

• From Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex (1905)

  The Sexual Tension—The character of the tension of sexual excitation is connected with a problem the solution of which is as difficult as it would be important for the conception of the sexual process. Despite all divergence of opinion regarding it in psychology, I must firmly maintain that a feeling of tension must carry with it the character of displeasure. For me it is conclusive that such a feeling carries with it the impulse to alter the psychic situation, and acts incitingly, which is quite contrary to the nature of perceived pleasure. But if we ascribe the tension of the sexual excitation to the feelings of displeasure we encounter the fact that it is undoubtedly pleasurably perceived. The tension produced by sexual excitation is everywhere accompanied by pleasure; even in the preparatory changes of the genitals there is a distinct feeling of satisfaction. What relation is there between this unpleasant tension and this feeling of pleasure? Everything relating to the problem of pleasure and pain touches one of the weakest spots of present-day psychology. We shall try if possible to learn something from the determinations of the case in question and to avoid encroaching on the problem as a whole. Let us first glance at the manner in which the erogenous zones adjust themselves to the new order of things. An important rôle devolves upon them in the preparation of the sexual excitation. The eye which is very remote from the sexual object is most often in position, during the relations of object wooing, to become attracted by that particular quality of excitation, the motive of which we designate as beauty in the sexual object. The excellencies of the sexual object are therefore also called “attractions.” This attraction is on the one hand already connected with pleasure, and on the other hand it either results in an increase of the sexual excitation or in an evocation of the same where it is still wanting. The effect is the same if the excitation of another erogenous zone, e.g., the touching hand, is added to it. There is on the one hand the feeling of pleasure which soon becomes enhanced by the pleasure from the preparatory changes, and on the other hand there is a further increase of the sexual tension which soon changes into a most distinct feeling of displeasure if it cannot proceed to more pleasure. Another case will perhaps be clearer; let us, for example, take the case where an erogenous zone, like a woman's breast, is excited by touching in a person who is not sexually excited at the time. This touching in itself evokes a feeling of pleasure, but it is also best adapted to awaken sexual excitement which demands still more pleasure. How it happens that the perceived pleasure evokes the desire for greater pleasure, that is the real problem.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  It took less than an hour to find the tiny lever. Hugh engaged it, and the wall slid open without a sound, betraying how well maintained the mechanism inside was. With a small smile of satisfaction and the thrill of discovery, he picked up the taper and stepped inside. Chapter Three Bending over the desk in the study, Charlotte released a deep breath and seriously considered ripping the blasted map she was studying into pieces. She’d spent three years attempting to puzzle out the cryptic thing and had very little to show for her efforts. If she had only herself to look after, she would frame the map as a colorful memento and carry on. But she had an entire house of people to worry about, and her efforts alone could never support them all. Moving them away, finding a place to live, trying to make ends meet . . . impossible. But of course, that’s exactly what Carding intended. Charlotte tightened the belt of her lined silk robe. Her negligees had been purchased for her past life and were ill-suited to her present circumstances, but she wore them regardless. They reminded her that she was a woman, that she was still young and attractive. Left out here in the country, it was far too easy to forget those things. Bleary-eyed, Charlotte knew she should retire, but thoughts of the handsome earl just a few doors down made sleep difficult. She hungered for him, hungered for the hard body and impressive cockstand she’d felt while sitting on his lap. All night he’d looked at her as if nothing else in the world existed. Despite his readily apparent desire and her obvious willingness, he’d restrained himself. He’d kept his hands from pawing her despite the hard, throbbing erection she’d felt at her hip. His slow, leisurely seduction showed he respected her, perhaps even admired her. Bold as she was, she’d considered knocking on his door, knowing the charming rogue would welcome her eagerly. She was considering it now . . . “Hello.” Startled, Charlotte glanced up, and her heart lodged in her throat. Not but a few feet away stood the Earl of Montrose, wearing only trousers and an endearingly tousled head of dark blond curls. He was such a beautiful man, powerfully built, with shoulders that were a tailor’s dream tapering to a washboard stomach and trim hips. His dark eyes were heavy-lidded, seductive, gazing at her with their customary breathless intensity. “I didn’t hear you come—” Her voice trailed off as she looked past him and saw the opening in the wall of the study. “Have you been sneaking around?” she snapped. Barefooted, he stepped toward her with the top button of his trousers undone, the muscles of his stomach rippling with strength as he moved. “I was sleeping,” he drawled softly. “Someone else was sneaking around. In my bedchamber.” Charlotte winced inwardly, but kept her face impassive. Bloody hell.

• From What Do Women Want?: Adventures in the Science of Female Desire (2013)

  What mostly male scientists had expected and likely wanted to see appeared to have blinded them. Wallen’s career had been about pulling away the blinders. At the moment, below us, one female clawed fiercely at another, bit into a leg, whipped the weaker one back and forth like a weightless doll. Harrowing shrieks rose up. Four or five more monkeys joined in, attacking the one, who escaped somehow, sped away, was caught again. The shrieks grew more plaintive, more piercing, the attackers piling on, apparently for the kill, then desisting inexplicably. Assaults like this flared often; Wallen and his team usually couldn’t glean the reasons. Full battle—one female-led family’s attempt to overthrow another—was rare. That tended toward death: death from wounds and, some veterinarians thought, from sheer fright and shock. Occasionally the compound was littered with corpses. When he thought about the way science had somehow kept itself oblivious to female monkey lust for so long, Wallen blamed not only preconceptions but the sex act itself. “When you look at the sexual interaction, it’s easy to see what the male is doing; he’s thrusting. It takes really focusing on the entire interaction to see all that the female is doing—and once you truly see it, you can never overlook it again.” Deidrah fingered Oppenheimer’s belly, caressing, desperate to win his favors. He flopped down on his front, inert in a strip of sun. She kissed where she could get access, his ear again. The red of her face bordered on neon. She was near or in the midst of ovulation, her libidinous hormones high. When it comes to their cycles and sex, female monkeys are somewhere between lower mammals and humans; rhesus mating isn’t limited to the time of ovulation, but in most situations, that’s when it’s a lot more likely to occur. What was happening between Deidrah’s ovaries and her brain as she stalked and stroked Oppenheimer is only partially understood, and the ways that biochemistry affects desire in women is even more complicated. Basically, though, sex hormones produced by the ovaries and adrenal glands—testosterone, estrogen—prime the primitive regions of the brain, territory lying not far from the brain stem and shared by species from Homo sapiens to lizards. This hormonal bathing then affects the intricate systems of neurotransmitters, like dopamine, that send signals within the brain, and this, in turn, alters perception and leads—in people and monkeys, in dogs and rats—to lust. The belief that animals, especially species less advanced than primates, don’t experience lust, that their mating is scripted to the point of making them sexual automatons, is wrong, as Jim Pfaus, a neuroscientist at Concordia University in Montreal, would soon explain to me. Now, on the far side of the ladders and ropes, Deidrah was mouthing Oppenheimer’s ear more and more ardently.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “Sounds as if you had a bad dream,” she murmured, rolling up the map. “After what happened today—” “It wasn’t a dream, Charlotte.” She froze as Montrose rounded the desk and came up behind her. He smelled wonderful, an enticing scent of softly warmed cologne and aroused male. And there was no doubt he was aroused—the hard length of an impressive erection strained against the front of his trousers. She stood tense, expectant, waiting for him to make the first move. The earl blew out his taper and set it aside. His chest pressing into her back, he reached around for her hands and stilled their movements. “I’ve allowed you to be evasive, sweet, but now it’s time we discussed the answers to the obvious questions.” “I don’t know what you mean,” she breathed, her heart racing at his proximity. The heat of his skin burned through her robe. Unable to stop herself, she squirmed against him and felt the hard swell of his cock slide across her buttocks. He spread the map open, his breath hot and harsh in her ear. “Now where is the sharp wit I so admire?” Charlotte swallowed hard. He did admire her, and for more than her appearance. One of his large hands rested safely over hers on the map. The other, however, ventured away, cupping her shoulder before sliding down her back. She arched into his caress helplessly. “This is beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the heavy silk of her robe. “The green brings out the color of your eyes and sets off your hair.” “Montrose . . .” Her eyes slid closed. It had been so long since another person had touched her. Too long. “Hugh,” he corrected softly, his teeth grazing the side of her neck. Shivering, she caught her breath in an audible rush. Much taller than she was, he had no trouble looking over her shoulder. “What are you studying so intently?” “I-it’s nothing.” “Hmmm . . .” Hugh’s hand moved to her hip and kneaded the flesh gently. “It looks like a map of the West Indies to me.” Charlotte leaned heavily against the desk. “I look at it when I wish to bore myself to sleep.” His hand over hers lifted and came to rest on her stomach, pressing her back into his hard chest. His tongue, hot and moist, licked along the shell of her ear. “Are you having trouble sleeping, then?” Lord, she felt drugged, her mind working sluggishly to respond to his questions. The earl was a master seducer, she’d recognized that immediately. But to be the object of such skill was completely overwhelming. “Sometimes,” she admitted. His mouth nuzzled the sensitive skin of her neck, his erection burned into her lower back. “Explain the map to me.” She tried to remember why she didn’t want to answer his questions and failed. “I-it’s believed t-to lead to a treasure.”

• From Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex (1905)

  Fore-pleasure Mechanism.—But the rôle which devolves upon the erogenous zones is clear. What applies to one applies to all. They are all utilized to furnish a certain amount of pleasure through their own proper excitation, which increases the tension, and which is in turn destined to produce the necessary motor energy in order to bring to a conclusion the sexual act. The last part but one of this act is again a suitable excitation of an erogenous zone; i.e., the genital zone proper of the glans penis is excited by the object most fit for it, the mucous membrane of the vagina, and through the pleasure furnished by this excitation it now produces reflexly the motor energy which conveys to the surface the sexual substance. This last pleasure is highest in its intensity, and differs from the earliest ones in its mechanism. It is altogether produced through discharge, it is altogether gratification pleasure and the tension of the libido temporarily dies away with it. It does not seem to me unjustified to fix by name the distinction in the nature of these pleasures, the one through the excitation of the erogenous zones, and the other through the discharge of the sexual substance. In contradistinction to the end-pleasure, or pleasure of gratification of sexual activity, we can properly designate the first as fore-pleasure. The fore-pleasure is then the same as that furnished by the infantile sexual impulse, though on a reduced scale; while the end-pleasure is new and is probably connected with determinations which first appear at puberty. The formula for the new function of the erogenous zones reads as follows: they are utilized for the purpose of making possible the production of the greater pleasure of gratification by means of the fore-pleasure which is gained from them as in infantile life. I have recently been able to elucidate another example from a quite different realm of the psychic life, in which likewise a greater feeling of pleasure is achieved by means of a lesser feeling of pleasure which thereby acts as an alluring premium. We had there also the opportunity of entering more deeply into the nature of pleasure.57

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  The earl’s hand at her waist slipped inside the opening and cupped her breast through her night rail. Expert fingers circled with teasing, brushing caresses, while his other hand slowly raised the hem of her gown and robe. “What kind of treasure?” “Pirate’s treasure.” Hugh rolled her nipple between his fingertips. “An interesting way to pass the time.” A moan escaped her, and she arched into his cock. “Ah . . . yes.” His palm cupped her bare thigh, then slid upward. He was taking over her senses, waging a silent battle to force her to lower her guard. And he was succeeding. She’d already revealed far more than she should. “Are you attempting to seduce me, my lord?” She gasped as his hand cupped her sex. “Seduction is long past, sweet. Now I’m making love to you. But don’t change the subject. Tell me why you have such interest in that map.” With a long swipe of his tongue, he licked her neck, then whispered, “And spread your legs.” A breathless laugh escaped her at his arrogance, but she complied with his request, because she could do nothing else. She was rewarded with his stroking fingertips, gentle and reverent, gliding through the slick evidence of how very much she wanted him. “I promised to find the treasure,” she moaned, melting into him. “For what purpose?” His finger slipped inside her and began to pump in a leisurely rhythm, driving her mad. “Why does anyone seek treasure?” Her head fell back against his shoulder. “Heavens . . . that feels wonderful.” She shivered, and his hand at her breast gripped tighter. “For money, for fame, for adventure,” he suggested, his voice so gruff, it betrayed his arousal. “Which is it for you?” Charlotte arched her hips into his hand, her body on fire. His teeth bit into her neck, his fingertips tugged at her nipple, his fingers thrust between her legs until her orgasm was almost upon her. She cried out and tensed in expectation. He stopped, and his hands left her. “No . . .” she protested. “Don’t stop.” With a hand between her shoulder blades, Hugh pressed her gently forward until she lay sprawled across the map. He lifted one of her legs and set it sideways atop the desk, opening her completely. “Why do you want to seek treasure, Charlotte?” His palms stroked the curve of her bare derriere. “For the money.” “For the duchess?” He kissed the small of her back. “For yourself?” “Both.” She shuddered, her arousal so painfully acute, she considered relieving it herself. Her hand moved off the desk to do just that. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned. And then she heard him remove his trousers. “Tell me you’re not a virgin.” Her throat was so tight, she could only shake her head. “Do you want this?” he growled, thrusting his hard cock through the lips of her sex. “God, yes,” she breathed. “I want it.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  He bent over and pressed his damp cheek to hers, his erection resting in the valley of her buttocks. “I want you more than any woman I can recall, Charlotte. Your scent intoxicates me, the feel of your skin drives me to madness, and your mouth . . . I want to do obscene things to your mouth.” He kissed her cheek so gently, her heart clenched. “But I need answers, and I expect you to give them to me. Will you do that when I’ve finished?” At the moment, she felt like doing anything he asked. Hugh’s hands stroked down her back, soothing, caressing. “Are you in danger, sweet? Perhaps you hide here to escape something unpleasant?” Charlotte’s hands closed into fists. Seduction was one thing, as long as it was honest and without guile. “Don’t pretend to care, Montrose, when I hold no illusions that you do or will. You want sex. Fuck me, and be done with it.” He straightened abruptly, his voice tightening. “I’m not lacking in sex. It’s you I want.” She took a breath, then released it, sensing she’d pricked him and wondering why that mattered to her. “I swore not to tell anyone, Montrose. Can you collect that? I don’t know you. In a day or two you’ll leave and—” She gasped as he thrust his cock into her with no further preliminaries. Her fingers clawed at the desk and her back arched as pleasure seared her senses. He was large, so unbelievably built, and hard as steel, throbbing within her, until she felt nothing else. Hugh leaned over her, lacing his fingers with hers. “I’m inside you, Charlotte.” He nudged deeper, reminding her of that fact. As if she could forget. “I intend to remain inside you for the next few days. There are things I can do, ways I can take you, that will prompt you to tell me what I want to know just so I’ll allow you to come. Or you can be a good girl and just tell me now. Then we can spend the next few days enjoyably discussing ways to alleviate your problems.” Arrogant men were one of her deep irritations. “I am not without skills of my own,” she bit out, clenching deliberately around him, pushing herself into orgasm. He growled, his hands tightening brutally on hers, as she came around his cock. She threw her hips back to take him completely inside her, biting her lip to hold back her cries. It was a breathless, burning release, searing her senses, but it was only a tease, a brief respite, and as he swelled in response, she writhed in torment, needing more. Hugh withdrew from her, then slid forward again, making her feel every thick, silken inch, stretching her deliciously, until she thought she would die of it.

• From The Ice Storm (1994)

  Stuff was going to get into her hair, bugs and crumbs, and old pieces of gum that had been stamped into the rug. —Tell me your long-range plans, Wendy said. Tell me that you aren’t going to leave. Tell me that you aren’t like all the others. Read the awful parts of the Old Testament to me. Would you harm people for me? Would you give me your most expensive possession? Would you be on call twenty-four hours a day? Would you leave the church of your birth for me? Would you give up weekend sports activities, including touch football? Would you do my laundry, including the very personal items? Would you take responsibility for filling my prescription of birth control pills? Would you grow your hair or go to a group encounter session or visit Nepal? Would you swing? Their hips locked together uneasily, like mismatched pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. They ground themselves against one another slowly. She grazed the part of his jeans where the monstrous thing had swollen again. It looked as though it was bent uncomfortably toward his right pocket. —Have you forgotten everything? Mike said. —What do you mean, my darling? Wendy said. —I gave you work for the weekend. —I’m afraid I don’t understand the assignment. I’m going to need an extra help session. The quiet was funereal. Wendy slowed to a stop. Mike had transformed himself entirely into the unforgiving executive of her dreams. The guy who would look after drug and alcohol procurement. She could smell it on his breath, and his tongue had a taste it never had, a medicinal taste. Her needs were going to be met. She grabbed the back of his ass. It was loose and boyish. Just bones and jeans. Nothing more. He wrestled with her as though she were a sailor’s knot he had never learned. —C’mon, he said. —You mean the tapes, Wendy said. You mean the tapes you wanted me to look after. You want me to fast-forward— Mike grunted. —C’mon— —I’m afraid there’s been a problem. There’s a problem in processing— —Wendy, Mike said, you gotta take off your pants. —No way, not until I’m fifteen. —It’s not … you can’t do it like this. You have to take off your pants. —No way. He caught her by the wrists again. He let go and got up on his knees. He began to fumble with his belt buckle. And then with the zipper. —Okay, she said. Okay. I’ll touch it, but that’s as far as it goes. Mike shoved his jeans down around his knees and lay down on her again. Goosebumps. His briefs were tangled in his pants. They reminded her of nothing so much as a diaper. Her turtleneck was still bunched up around her breasts, and he set his penis on the unnavigated terrain there, on her belly. It felt like a salamander to her. It felt like a salamander scampering across her.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  He snorted. In the last twenty-four hours, he’d wished he paid better attention to a lot of things. He’d always been a bit self-absorbed and rarely bothered with matters not directly pertaining to him or Julienne. Now suddenly he found himself concerned for a stranger. It was disconcerting, to say the least, and confusing. Behind him, in his bed, Charlotte slept on. He’d give her a few more minutes, and then he’d take her again. The need he felt astonished him. He’d been at her most of the morning, and still his cock was hard and throbbing to be inside her once more. Only when they were fucking did he feel even remotely like his normal dissolute self, albeit minus his usual control. Hugh couldn’t grasp why his brain refused to concentrate on the finer points of the sexual act with Charlotte. It was simply base, no finesse, all need and sweat and fierce desire. He’d been unable to pull out before spilling his seed—not once, but every damn time. It was intolerable, but he was unable to resist, assuring himself that one more encounter would sate his lust, one more spine-melting orgasm would appease his craving. “Hugh?” The soft sigh behind him made his heart race. It had taken a bit of . . . persuasion to convince her to use his given name. Hugh was inclined to think she’d initially been stubborn just to enjoy more of his fucking, a thought that filled him with masculine satisfaction. He turned and offered a smile. “Yes, sweet?” Charlotte’s eyes dropped to his erection, widened, and then lifted again to his. She licked her lips. Flushed and disheveled, sprawled out across the mess that was his bed, she was breathtakingly beautiful. “What are you doing?” “Studying your map.” He rested his hip against the escritoire and crossed his arms. “It’s unusual and cryptic.” She nodded. “There are some books and a journal that I’ve been using to decipher it.” “Where did you purchase these things?” “The elder Glenmoore gave them to me.” Hugh frowned. “Why?” She slid upward on the bed, propping herself against the pillows, caring nothing for modesty. And he was glad of that, for the sight of her creamy skin, firm breasts, and rosy nipples filled him with delight. He could gaze at her for hours, had in fact done that very thing this morning, counting her freckles and admiring her sleeping innocence. Then he’d cursed himself and the madness that had been plaguing him since he arrived. He’d donned his trousers and retrieved the map, determined to think of something other than Charlotte. “Glenmoore knew his son would give us nothing,” she said, with obvious bitterness. “His Grace grants us the use of this home only because it suits him to keep us under his thumb.” “Why not simply institutionalize the duchess?” Charlotte stiffened visibly. “She’s not mad.” She paused, and he said, “It would be best if you divulge everything without prodding.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  She rolled back onto her side. “Go away.” “Why me?” he repeated. “Why do you find it so hard to believe?” she mumbled into the pillow. “Women throw themselves at you all the time. Why should I be any different?” He moved toward the bed. “Am I something to boast to your friends about?” Julienne tucked tighter into the pillows, pulling the sheet with her. “As if I would ever tell anyone that I’d succumbed to your charms. Which I won’t!” she added hastily. “Succumb, that is. Now, please leave!” “What if I spread the tale?” he asked. “What if I tell every member of my club that I rode between your thighs? That I ruined you, and you screamed with pleasure while I did it?” His mouth curved in a predatory smile. “And you will scream with pleasure.” She snorted. “I’ll do no such thing.” “What if I tell everyone, Julienne?” “You wouldn’t.” “You don’t know me well enough to say that.” “You don’t know me well either. For if you did, you wouldn’t be so fearful of my intentions.” Turning away, Lucien stared into the dying fire. “You are distraught over your brother.” “I am,” she admitted, her clear voice telling him as she faced him again. “I will have to bail him out of this mess, just as I’ve always done.” He sighed. “If I touch you, you’ll be ruined, and the marriage you require to save your brother will be jeopardized.” “I’m aware of that. My actions tonight were foolish at best, but I knew the possible consequences and I weighed them carefully. I’d planned to sit in a quiet corner and observe. I wanted to watch you in your element, a place where the rules are completely yours and you are not bound by the strictures that suppress you in Society. It is unfortunate that Ridgely chose my table to share, but not unexpected.” “Lady Julienne. If you’d been found out—” “The scandal would have destroyed all chances of an advantageous marriage, I know. But perhaps that would be best for Montrose. I don’t care much for the thought of being a sacrifice on the matrimonial altar. Facing the consequences of our actions is the best way to learn responsibility, but I am to blame for shielding him too well. As for this moment, is it so wrong to want the pleasure other women experience? Is it so terrible to steal a little passion in a life that will be bereft of it? There are ways . . . ways to . . . ways that would leave me a virgin—” Lucien turned in stunned amazement. “How would you know of such ‘ways’?” She flushed from the top of her breasts to her hairline. “I read . . . things.” “You read ‘things’?” His eyes widened. “Erotica?”

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  CHRYSOSTOM. (ut sup.) But why did not the Spirit come while Christ was present, or immediately on His departure? Because it was fitting that they should become desirous of grace, and then at length receive it. For we are then most awakened towards God, when difficulties press upon us. It was necessary in the mean time that our nature should appear in Heaven, and the covenants be completed, and that then the Spirit should come, and pure joys be experienced. Mark also what a necessity He imposed upon them of being at Jerusalem, in that He promised that the Spirit should there be given them. For lest they should again flee away after His resurrection, by this expectation, as it were a chain, He kept them all there together. But He says, until ye be endued from on high. He did not express the time when, in order that they may be constantly watchful. But why then marvel that He does not reveal to us our last day, when He would not even make known this day which was close at hand. GREGORY. (de Past. 3. c. 25.) They then are to be warned, whom age or imperfection hinders from the office of preaching, and yet rashness impels, lest while they hastily arrogate to themselves so responsible an office, they should cut themselves off from the way of future amendment. For the Truth Itself which could suddenly strengthen those whom it wished, in order to give an example to those that follow, that imperfect men should not presume to preach, after having fully instructed the disciples concerning the virtue of preaching, commanded them to abide in the city, until they were endued with power from on high. For we abide in a city, when we keep ourselves close within the gates of our minds, lest by speaking we wander beyond them; that when we are perfectly endued with divine power, we may then as it were go out beyond ourselves to instruct others. AMBROSE. But let us consider how according to John they received the Holy Spirit, while here they are ordered to stay in the city until they should be endued with power from on high. Either He breathed the Holy Spirit into the eleven, as being more perfect, and promised to give it to the rest afterwards; or to the same persons He breathed in the one place, He promised in the other. Nor does there seem to be any contradiction, since there are diversities of graces. Therefore one operation He breathed into them there, another He promised here. For there the grace of remitting sins was given, which seems to be more confined, and therefore is breathed into them by Christ, that you may believe the Holy Spirit to be of Christ, to be from God. For God alone forgiveth sins. But Luke describes the pouring forth of the grace of speaking with tongues.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “Naughty Charlotte,” he murmured. He stroked her again with expert awareness. “We can stay here for hours.” Again he withdrew, again he thrust. “Or we can retire to my bed, and you can lay on your back. I could suck your nipples then, sweet. Lick them, bite them, while I fuck you. Wouldn’t you like that?” She ground her teeth together and shuddered all over as he pumped into her again. “Bastard.” “No, I’m quite legitimate. And wealthy. I could help you, sweet.” Out. In. “Why seek treasure when you have me?” His fingertips stroked the straining length of her spine. “I don’t have you.” He stilled his movements. “You could.” She lay prone upon the massive mahogany desk, spread and helpless, filled with Montrose’s wondrous cock, her heart racing so fast she could hear nothing over the rushing of blood in her ears. What was he saying? What was he offering? And why, when she’d given him what he desired without a fight? Hugh didn’t move, he simply waited, and she knew without him saying so that he wouldn’t continue until she replied one way or the other. She didn’t understand what he was offering, but whatever it was, she wanted it, she wanted him. Desperately. She’d spent her entire life caring for herself because there was no one else to do it. She found it difficult to trust others, and she was a pragmatist at heart who believed in keeping her emotions far removed from her sexual liaisons. And yet she found herself wanting to believe a silver-tongued rogue. Knowing she shouldn’t, Charlotte nodded her head. “Thank God,” he muttered, his mouth pressing feverish kisses against her skin, belying the control he’d exhibited only a moment ago. Hands on her hips, Hugh pinned her down. Releasing his desire, he began to fuck her with greedy abandon. Hard and deep, his driving rhythm unfaltering, he brought her to orgasm and then continued to take her, plunging through the grasping depths of her body. He came, she was certain of it. She heard his deep groan, felt his seed pulse and then spill out, but he didn’t cease, didn’t grow softer. He slid her knee forward, opening her further, so that nothing impeded his cock from her depths. His sac, tight and hard, slapped against her clit, making her beg. Hugh swore and cursed, and came again. Charlotte could only grasp the edge of the desk and allow the pleasure to take her, to fill her, to sweep away her reservations, until all she felt was Hugh La Coeur and a tentative dream that would never come to fruition. Chapter Four Hugh stared at the map and wished he’d paid more attention to the Earl of Merrick’s discussions of trade routes in the West Indies.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  His hips began to thrust rhythmically into her talented hands. Charlotte knew just how to hold him, how tightly to grip him, how fast to take him to the ecstasy only she could bestow. He began to pant, the heat of his lust washing over him, bringing him to the edge of reason. His cock swelled, his balls drew up, a tortured groan escaped as he prepared to come . . . Her movements stilled, and she stepped away just as he was on the verge of release. “Damn you.” He slammed his glass on the sideboard. Clenching his fists, he couldn’t stop the tremors that shook his frame. “Is your goal in life merely to torment me?” Charlotte stepped around to face him, her eyes shining like emeralds and burning with desire. “My aim is to comfort you, Hugh, to please and satisfy you, so that I may prove my love and win you back.” Her hands cupped the edge of the sideboard, and she jumped to sit upon it. Above the scoop of her bodice, the ripe swell of her breasts was flushed and covered with a spattering of reddish freckles he knew intimately, because he’d licked and worshipped every one. Gripping fistfuls of her skirt, she yanked the hem of her gown upward, the fevered haste of her movements betraying how desperately she desired him. The length of her lithe, stocking-clad legs was revealed to him first, and then she spread her thighs, displaying the deep red curls that sheltered the plump lips of her sex. Drawn to her, Hugh closed the distance between them, until her soft floral fragrance swirled through his senses with potent familiarity. Charlotte leaned back carefully until her shoulders rested against the wall, angling her hips to give him greater access. Watching his own movements with ravenous hunger and deep adoration, Hugh parted her lips with one hand while rubbing the tiny nub of her clit with the blunt fingertip of the other. She gasped, and arched her back, thrusting her breasts toward him. Unable to resist, he bent and licked along her slender neck. “Yes . . .” she breathed. “I’ve hungered for the feel of your hands, the warmth of your mouth . . .” His skin was burning hot and covered with sweat. Hugh could barely think, could hardly breathe. Shifting his hips, he was there, the broad head of his cock covered in her cream. She was so ready, he slipped the first inch inside her without any effort. The tight clasp of her body welcomed him and was nearly the end of him. His breathing harsh and ragged, his fingers digging into her thighs with bruising force, he paused and locked his eyes with hers. And waited. Even though it was killing him. Charlotte’s hands moved to his shoulders and then around his neck, her calloused fingers entwining in the hair at his nape. “I belong to you, Hugh. In whatever way you’ll have me.”

• From Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty (1999)

  34. women with greater intelligence: N. F. Marks, “Flying solo at midlife: Gender, marital status, and psychological well-being,” Journal of Marriage and the Family, 58, 1996, 917–932. 35. men with very attractive women: H. Sigall and D. Landy, “Radiating beauty: Effects of having a physically attractive partner on person perception,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 28, 1973, 218–224. 36. “Women don’t look for handsome men”: Milan Kundera, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting (New York: Penguin, 1981), p. 12. 37. model salaries: Joshua Levine, “We have shares,” Forbes, March 27, 1995, pp. 75–78. John W. Wright, The American Almanac of Jobs and Salaries (New York: Avon, 1982), pp. 263–267; top model salaries: Interview with model Hoyt Richards, first male supermodel, January 1996. 38. men and women mold each other: Matt Ridley, “Why should males exist?” U.S. News and World Report, August 18, 1997, p. 54. 39. “I don’t feel less”: Camille Paglia, “The M.I.T. Lecture: Crisis in the American Universities.” In Camille Paglia, Sex, Art, and American Culture (New York: Vintage, 1992), p. 264. 40. women respond to envy: Fran Lebowitz, “Fran Lebowitz on money,” Vanity Fair, July 1997, p. 96. 41. “If you desire glory”: Betrand Russell, The Conquest of Happiness (New York, Liveright, 1958), p. 88. 42. “If the sixties”: Joyce Winer, “The floating lightbulb.” In Patricia Foster, ed., Minding the Body: Women Writers on Body and Soul. (New York: Anchor, 1994), p. 47. 43. minifetishists: Robert J. Stoller, Presentations of Gender (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985), p. 135. 44. Symons and Profet: From Donald Symons, “Beauty is in the adaptations of the beholder: The evolutionary psychology of human female sexual attractiveness.” In P. R. Abramson and S. Pinkerton, eds. Sexual Nature, Sexual Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), pp. 80–118. 45. breast feeding and fertility: S. Diaz, R. Aravena, H. Cordenas, M. Casado, and P. Miranda, “Contraceptive efficiency of lactational amenorrhea in urban Chilean women,” Contraception, 43, 1991, 335–352. S. Diaz, M. Seron-Ferre, H. B. Croxatto, and J. Veldhuis, “Neuroendocrine mechanisms of lactational infertility in women,” Biological Research, 28, 1995, 155–163. 46. fertility: J. Menken, J. Trussell, and U. Larsen, “Age and infertility,” Science, 233, 1986, 1389–1394. 47. Menopause is … cruel: Susan Sontag, “The double standard of aging.” In J. Williams, ed., Psychology of Women (New York: Academic Press, 1979), pp. 462–78. 48. Lauren Hutton: Quoted in Michael Gross, Model: The Ugly Business of Beautiful Women (New York: William Morrow, 1995), p. 222. 49. shutdown … biologically strategic: Jared Diamond, Why Is Sex Fun? The Evolution of Human Sexuality (New York: Basic Books, 1997). 50. frozen eggs: Personal communication, M. Jodeane Pringle. 51. In boys’ camps, rank: R. C. Savin-Williams, “Dominance hierarchies in groups of early adolescents,” Child Development, 50, 1979, 923–935.

• From Saint Augustine (Penguin Lives) (1999)

  And a dozen years later he wrote: “I no longer go to the arena to see a hound chase a hare. But if by chance I catch sight of that in a field, the hunt attracts me, distracts my concentration from the most important matters. It reins aside not my horse but my heart’s regard.” (T 10.57) Thagaste, though not near the sea or a navigable river, was crisscrossed by major land routes, which meant that Augustine saw in its streets Berber faces from the desert as well as the Semitic features of Africa’s ancient Phoenician settlers (Perler 120–21). He would later marvel at God’s ability to differentiate people using the same limited features of eyes, nose, and mouth. Like other Mediterraneans, the citizens of Thagaste shunned the midday heat and lingered out conviviality through the night. When he became sixteen, Augustine relates, he and his friends roamed the streets looking for trouble after dusk, and saved their worst pranks till after midnight (T 2.9). But that was after he had returned from Madauros. 2. Madauros: 366–370 SINCE AUGUSTINE does not mention the town where he attended secondary school until book 2 of The Testimony, many readers have associated the account of his school days in book 1 with Thagaste. But he talks, in book 1, of studying Virgil and failing in his Greek lessons—the curriculum of grammar school, which Augustine must have entered when he was eleven or twelve for him to complete the course when he was sixteen, the age he gives for his return from Madauros (Perler 126). Though Madauros (near present Mdaourouch) was only sixteen miles from Thagaste as the crow flies, the road there was roundabout and difficult, like most land travel in Numidia. One had to descend into the Medjerda Valley and go up onto the central plains, the great wheat and barley fields that made up Rome’s granary (Perler 126–27). Madauros took pride in being a sophisticated town in a backward area. The poorer classes of the region, largely Donatist, kept up the cult of martyrs with uncouth names mocked by the educated—names like Miggin, Sanamen, Namphano (L 16). But statues of pagan gods were honored in the forum. Christian Africans might look back to their great orator of the third century, Saint Cyprian. But Madauros boasted of its fellow townsman of the second century, Apuleius, the naughty novelist of The Golden Ass.

• From Saint Augustine (Penguin Lives) (1999)

  In his exhaustive search for some conceivable good to be found in his bad act, Augustine finally comes up with a psychological clue: Whatever his motive for acting with the gang, he would not have done the same thing all by himself. Does that suggest some good hidden in the bad? He finds a psychological parallel that may help him toward an explanation. People normally laugh when together, not when alone—or, as Bergson put it, anyone who laughs alone is imagining the company of others (Le Rire 1). There is something essentially social about laughter. Companionship (consortium) is the good in the morally indifferent act of laughing. Could that have been the good paradoxically prompting him to the bad act of theft? Yes, he concludes: “The mutual provocation of my partners in crime provided the friction that ignited my desire to act thus” (T 2.16). He began his discussion with the observation that theft is obviously wrong, since even thieves do not want to be stolen from. He will later dwell on the bonds of good that unite even robber bands; they insist on just distribution of the “take” from their robberies (CG 19.12). Consortium and amicitia (friendship) are key values in Augustine’s eyes. His later companionship with heretics will prolong his own adherence to error. He will make amicitia the base of all Christian communities. He will even dispute Cicero’s definition of the state, saying that “things loved in common” are the basis of all politics, not mere abstract justice. So a persistent love of fellowship was the falsely conceived good behind his motiveless act in the pear orchard. Augustine has solved his own psychological mystery without having to resort to the Manichean heresy, which holds that evil is a positive (choosable) substance. But more. People notice that there is a parallel between this “first sin” of The Testimony and Adam’s fall in the garden of Eden. Though the gang hauls off a “huge load” (onera ingentia) of pears from the orchard, Augustine talks of only one tree—like the tree of the apple in Eden. He goes out of his way to say the pears were not beautiful, marking a contrast with the fruit in Eden, where the tree “was pleasant to the eyes” (Genesis 3.6). But a further parallel, the key one, has not been noticed, I think. Eve falls for the serpent’s lies in Genesis; but Saint Paul’s First Letter to Timothy (which Augustine thought was authentically Pauline) says that “Adam was not deceived” (2.14). Why did Adam commit the original sin if he was neither desirous of the fruit in itself nor deceived about any power it might give him? The problem is exactly Augustine’s in his own little orchard.

• From Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex (1905)

  That keen observer of human nature, E. Zola, describes a girl in his book, La Joie de vivre, who in cheerful self renunciation offers all she has in possession or expectation, her fortune and her life's hopes to those she loves without thought of return. The childhood of this girl was dominated by an insatiable desire for love which whenever she was depreciated caused her to merge into a fit of cruelty. [←70] It is possible that the heightened adhesion is only the result of a special intensive somatic sexual manifestation of former years.