Muscular Quotes

“Since the experience is different for each individual, the tension will reflect that experience. In some persons the whole lower half of the body is relatively immobilized and held in a passive state; in others the muscular tensions are localized in the pelvic floor and around the genital apparatus. If the latter sort of tension is severe, it constitutes a functional castration; for, although the genitals operate normally, they are dissociated in feeling from the rest of the body. Any reduction of sexual feeling amounts to a psychological castration. Generally the person is unaware of these muscular tensions, but putting pressure upon the muscles in the attempt to release the tension is often experienced as very painful and frightening.”
― Alexander Lowen, Fear Of Life

“More often than not, expecting to lose weight without first losing the diet that made the weight loss necessary is like expecting a pig to be spotless after hosing it down while it was still rolling in mud.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“I don't want you to see me naked," I say, my bottom lip trembling. "Not now, not like this."
"Keep your undergarments on," he says, lifting my dress over my head. "Whoa. God, you're gorgeous."
He picks me up and gingerly places me in the bathtub. Instantly, my teeth start chattering. "I'm getting in with you," he says, and I jolt.
"I'll keep my boxers on. It'll be like we're in bathing suits. On a holiday at a beach."
He whips his socks and his jeans off, and then his T-shirt, his body sheer and cut perfection. Those abs---an eight-pack, or, as they say in France, le bar du chocolat. Those legs. The tattoo of two tigers anchored on his hairless and sculpted chest. And I'm too sick, too delirious, to explore every delicious detail. Charles lifts my back and slides behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist and I sink into his embrace, snuggling into the warmth of his body.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“As Garrett looked up from the transfuser, she blinked at the sight of a shirtless West Ravenel hoisting himself easily onto the table. Despite his earlier crack about Ethan's athletic form, he was certainly no physical lightweight himself. He had the hard, rippling musculature of a man accustomed to lifting and carrying heavy weight. But what had surprised Garrett was the discovery that his torso was tanned the same shade of golden brown as his face. All over.
What kind of gentleman went outside in the sun for that long with no shirt?"
Ravenel's lips quirked as he saw her expression. A twinkle of arrogant amusement appeared in his eyes. "Farmwork," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "And I do some quarrying."
"Half naked?" Garrett asked tartly, setting the transfuser on an expanse of clean linen.
"I've been loading rocks into horse carts," he said. "Which suits my intellectual capacity perfectly. But it's too hot for a shirt.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Hello Stranger

“He undressed before her, dropping his shirt to reveal a tautly muscled torso and a chest covered with with black hair. His big-framed body was clearly built for power rather than elegance. Yet there was something innately graceful about the long lines of muscle and sinew, and the heavy breadth of his shoulders. He was a man who made a woman feel safe, and at the same time, deliciously overpowered.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Again the Magic

“Have a look if you like," she heard him say casually. "Unlike you, I'm not shy."
Clutching the sheets higher against her neck, Helen risked a timid glance at him... and then she couldn't look away.
Rhys was a magnificent sight, dressed only in trousers with braces hanging loosely along his lean hips. The flesh of his torso looked remarkably solid, as if it had been stitched to his bones with steel thread. Seeming comfortable in his half-naked state, he sat on the edge of the bed and began to remove his shoes. His back was layered with muscle upon muscle, the contours so defined that sun-colored skin gleamed as if polished.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Were men's knees supposed to be sexy? Their calves? One sight of Lucian's bony knee, delineated muscled thigh, and hard calf, lightly dusted with dark curling hair, made me want to reach out and stroke his leg, creep my hand under those shorts to cup what I knew would be firm and meaty and... damn.
Keeping my hands to myself and my mind out of his pants was going to be difficult. Which was weird; I loved men and sex, but I'd never been preoccupied by either. Until him.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“After six months of building muscle mass I can now confirm that muscle mass creates increased tolerance to biologically harmful radiation sources.”
― Steven Magee, Health Forensics

“Lily paused on a ragged breath, admiring the sight of his bared chest and rippled abdomen. He was so strong, so tightly contained. Muscle and bone formed a rigid structure- a beautiful design of masculinity. It was hard to imagine the pain and vulnerability that had resided beneath such strength for so long.”
― Amy Sandas, The Untouchable Earl

“Time to change, ladies."
The stranger's deep, penetrating voice rumbled through Zara's body. Rich and full, it was the kind of voice that made lawyers spill milkshakes and babble incoherently as they thrust sticky business cards into celebrity hands.
"Is there a problem?" Parvati made a show of inspecting her weapon while Zara tried to untie her tongue. Although she couldn't see the dude's face, he was tall---at least six-two---and powerfully built, the top of his coveralls unzipped and tied around his narrow waist. His black T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and magnificent pecs as if it had been painted on his muscular body. One thick, deeply tanned forearm bunched and flexed as he unholstered his weapon in one smooth practiced motion.”
― Sara Desai, The Singles Table

“Then he planted his big hands on the side of the pool and, with an effortless push, thrust himself up and out of the water.
"Sweet mercy..." My knees went weak, and I gripped the rail to keep from falling over. Oh, Édith, I don't regret anything either.
His body was a Bernini sculpture come to life---Triton looking down on mere mortals. Water sluiced over rippling planes of muscles, trickled down dips and cut grooves, heading straight toward...
His dick. Even from far away, it was impressive. Long and thick with a wide head and plump balls. My lips parted, heat flushing my cheeks, and my nipples tightened.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“Holding my gaze, he unbuttoned his jeans and let them slide to the floor.
Mistake. Huge mistake, ordering him to take those off. God, his thighs. Could you call a man's thick ripped thighs beautiful? I pressed mine together, trying to suppress the desire to straddle one of those lightly furred, powerful thighs and ride it.
Didn't work, though.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“I stammer as I gawk at his sculpted chest. And his shoulders. And his arms. And his abs. My lizard brain counts the muscles.
One, two, three, four, five, six, s---holy shit, you can have eight ab muscles? What the hell, I never knew...
And oh damn, those V-lines along the sides of his stomach that I'm sure have a name, but I can't think of it right now. Because my brain is too busy taking in the flawless visual.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“She stared after him, her eyes widening when his plaid suddenly dropped to pool around his feet. He then tugged his shirt off over his head, bent to grab up the heavy plaid and strode into the water carrying both.
Claray knew she should turn away, but couldn't seem to manage that as her eyes slid over his wide, muscular back and then down to the round curves of his derriere. They stopped there briefly before moving on to his strong thighs, and shapely calves. Claray had never thought she would call a man beautiful, but Conall was, and she found herself fascinated by the play of muscles in his back, buttocks and legs as he moved.”
― Lynsay Sands, Highland Wolf

“He had apparently finished cleaning his clothes and set them on the boulder while she fussed with her plaid. Now he was done bathing too and was coming out of the river, his front as fully on display as his behind had been as he'd gone in.
Claray's eyes ran over his chest and arms, taking in his wide shoulders and bulging pecs, then cascaded down over his rippling stomach to---Gasping, she whirled abruptly away and covered her eyes as if she could erase what she'd just seen. Good heavens, that was really... a terribly undignified appendage, she thought with a shake of the head.”
― Lynsay Sands, Highland Wolf

“Even with enormous sunglasses and a hoodie pulled over his head, she'd recognize that swoop of dark hair anywhere. And he'd either had time for a spray tan, or the warmth from the sun was hitting him just right to make his skin look as golden as the top of a crème brûlée.
She squinted, and he had the nerve to smile back.
She wasn't going to let him get her flustered, especially not at her own restaurant. Though how was it possible that he managed to fill out a hoodie this well? Like, who has muscles underneath bulky fabric? Leo did, because, of course, he'd be that guy.”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“Then he peeled his shirt off and over his head.
She did a double take. If she'd had a mouthful of water, it would've been a spit take. Leo was shirtless. She stopped moving. She couldn't tell if she was horrified or mesmerized by the sight of his abs, which looked like a waffle iron, minus the syrup. She'd imagined that underneath the starched and boring button-downs was a stack of white dinner plates in the shape of a human form.
But there he was, half-naked and absolutely real.”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“Leo was just outside the door, and he was shirtless. His arm flexed against the sleek white top of his dresser as he stared into the open drawer. He was clearly searching for a shirt, as his devil suit had mysteriously vanished.
And she just went ahead and stared at his arms, chest, shoulders and back, because that's what she wanted to do--- especially after the last glass of wine she'd had. She'd seen him shirtless once before, on their hike, so the sight of him shouldn't have felt so new, but it was like seeing him for the first time all over again. She let her gaze linger over how the muscles between his shoulder blades emphasized his strong back, and the tricep that flexed as he straightened his arm. A small, parched noise escaped her lips, and he looked up.
She coughed, trying to cover the sound.
Leo turned. "You're supposed to be in pajamas."
You're not supposed to look this fucking good.
"The problem is the dress. Not built for food or unzipping. I was wondering if you could, um..." She turned and motioned toward her back, where the zipper was.
When Leo stepped forward, his bare torso briefly brushed against her back. His skin was warm in contrast to the cool air, and goose bumps erupted across her arms in response. She hoped he wouldn't notice her body's reaction to being so close to him. At least he couldn't see that her gaze was fixed straight ahead, on the pesky bed nearby...
His fingers grasped the top of the zipper, and he pulled on it just enough that she stumbled back and against his chest. She muttered an apology under her breath as he slowly lowered the zipper down her back. His knuckle grazed the track of her spine, and his hand stopped at the bottom, just above her ass. She wondered if his eyes were roaming over her exposed skin. And he didn't move his fingers from the zipper right away, which made her feel like he wanted the back of his knuckle to stay exactly where it was. Neither of them moved. She was afraid that if she did, she'd break the fantasy of Leo, examining her--- of him potentially wanting more of her.
Eventually he leaned down, and the shadow of his beard scraped against her ear as he said, "All done.”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“Her gaze traveled over his beautiful back, that glorious expanse of smooth skin she had caressed so eagerly last night--- to her shame.
She wished she couldn't remember at all, for what could be worse than to desire a man who meant one's destruction?
Yet she could not deny her awe at his leonine beauty, all dangerous power, his massive, sculpted size balanced by effortless male grace. Her wistful stare followed the sweeping line of his lean sides and stone-carved arms as he warmed his hands beneath the hearth fire.
Between his broad shoulder blades, his sable hair hung in a thick, glossy queue. Kate watched a droplet of rain run off his wet hair and roll down his back.
As he rubbed his hands together, she was riveted by the complex play of chiseled muscle that flowed through his upper body with the simple motion. She was especially entranced by his fortresslike shoulders and those incredible arms, whose raw strength had saved her life. She looked away, feeling a bit faint. Never in all her days had she seen a physique like that on a man.”
― Gaelen Foley, My Dangerous Duke

“Never had she found any man so utterly thrilling, especially like this; Rohan was more hungrily lustful for her and less civilized every moment. She urged him on, loving the fiery, untamed force of him, the hard, unyielding potency of the warrior. Losing herself in her want of him, she slipped her fingers inside the V of his loose white shirt, yearning for the chance to finally touch the gorgeous body she had so long craved.
She ran her palms over him, exploring. His muscled shoulders seemed carved of stone, but his smooth skin had the luxurious feel of kid leather. She moaned softly at the marvel of his heaving, sculpted chest.
He groaned in answer. "You're driving me mad. I want you now," he panted against her lips.
"Yes." Greedily, she peeled his shirt off him. But when he paused to lift it off over his head, she stared in dazed awe at his chisels abdomen. Oh,my.
Delights never ceased.
"Come here," he whispered in a low, raw, husky tone.
The order excited her terribly. At the moment, she did not at all mind him telling her what to do.”
― Gaelen Foley, My Dangerous Duke

“He was shirtless, with only the baldric across his muscled chest. The pommel of his sword glinted golden in the dying sunlight, and the feathered tops of arrows were stained red as they poked across his broad shoulder. I stared at him, and he watched me back. The warrior incarnate.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“He slipped his fingers inside her dress, touched her skin very gently and exhaled a soft shaky sigh, almost of relief. He combed his fingers over her shoulder blades, down either side of her spine, the rough pads of his fingertips and the exquisite lightness of his touch turning every cell of her skin to glowing cinders, her legs to liquid. Susannah closed her eyes, wanting only to feel, wanting to heighten the pure exquisite pleasure of his hands on her skin.
And then his mouth was warm against her ear. "Susannah," he breathed there, her own name as sensual as his fingers. It traveled along the fuse of her nerve endings and lit a furnace inside her. Her lungs labored to breathe. She flattened her hands against his chest, savoring, at last, at last, the warm strong beauty of it. His skin was satiny over the rigid plane of his muscle, and again, this softness juxtaposed with strength... this was Kit.
"I like that," he murmured against her throat, where his mouth had traveled from her ear. He opened his lips against the soft skin there, put a hot kiss there. "Touch me anywhere you please."
"If you insist," she said. She was trying for insouciance, but the words were a squeak.
And he laughed, bloody man.
She indulged all of her weeks of stored longings and dragged one finger around the contours of his muscled chest, tracing a broad figure eight, then drew it down between his ribs, down the pale line of hair that led to the bulge of his trousers, stopping short of it, and was rewarded when he sucked in his breath. She opened her hands then and clasped them around his slim waist, let them wander down to cup his firm buttocks through his trousers. He mumbled some unintelligibly pleasured sound.”
― Julie Anne Long, Beauty and the Spy

“I stepped closer and put both of my hands on his chest. Part of me still half expected to feel a heartbeat, a warm and yielding male body beneath my palms. But Frederick's chest was cool and almost unnaturally solid where I touched him, no rhythmic thumping where one would have been if he were still human.
Fortunately--- or, unfortunately--- my heart was beating more than enough for the both of us.
Frederick was right. The fabric of his shirt was soft. I slowly slid my hands back and forth over the waffle-knit material, reveling in how silky it felt beneath my fingertips, how delicious the contrast was with the hard planes of the chest beneath.
But I didn't.
The shirt he was wearing was nice enough. But that wasn't what kept me rooted to the spot, what kept my hands on his body long beyond what he'd probably imagined when he asked me to do this. I'd known he was muscular, but now that I was actually touching him I realized he was all but made of muscle. Had he been this physically fit when he was still human, I wondered? Or was being built like a professional athlete a physiological peculiarity unique to vampires? Either way, I could feel his pectorals bunch and flex beneath my palms as I touched him, could feel his sharp intake of breath when I grew bolder and started gently tracing his collarbones with my thumb.
His eyes were still trained on me, but growing glazed and unfocused.
"How..." He stopped, his eyes drifting closed. When he opened them again there was a heat in his gaze that made the department store, the rest of the world, fall away. He inclined his head towards me, his mouth scant inches away from mine. I could feel each one of his breaths against my lips, cool and sweet. My heart raced. My knees wobbled. "How does it feel?”
― Jenna Levine, My Roommate Is a Vampire

“Ryker was sprawled across the bedding, ass-up and naked as the day he was born. He let out a sleepy hum and shifted a little before settling back down.
Damn. He's chiseled from head to toe, I'll give him that. Wait, I'm freezing my ass off and he's butt naked and content?”
― Sabrina Blackburry, Dirty Lying Dragons

“I assume you've got a weapon under that shirt, although it's tight enough to see every ripple of your abs and I don't see a holster, but maybe you've got a low-profile holster, or maybe the gun is in your pocket, or under your jeans..." Stop. Stop. But I was in the spiral and the only way out was down. "I meant on your ankle under your jeans and not under your zipper part of your jeans because I wasn't looking there. At all.”
― Sara Desai, To Have and to Heist

“Dina slipped out of the bathroom and nearly walked directly into Scott. Well, fuck. He was shirtless. She definitely hadn't been wrong about his body. His wasn't the chest of a man who spent endless hours in the gym or kept to a strict diet. Scott's muscles were heavy, densely packed. His shoulders were broad and rounded with thick cords of muscle. He looked like some kind of Scottish war hero or Greek god.
Dina was definitely staring and she didn't give a fuck. She had been right about the hair too. A mass of dark brown--- almost black--- hair peppered his chest and trailed down his stomach to the V-shape of his hips.”
― Nadia El-Fassi, Best Hex Ever