“You asked me in Paris how many women I'd loved. I said one. I should have said two." He cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing over her bottom lip. "As a child I loved my mother, and as a man I love you.”
“Theirs was a closeness that went way beyond physical proximity. She was under his skin. Moving closer to his heart.
He just didn’t know it yet, because no one else had ever found the pathway before.”
“You want me. And I’m here, now, saying I want you too, saying I love you, and I don’t know where the hell it’ll end up, but I’m brave enough to say that right now you’re my everything. You’ve opened my eyes, and my body, and my heart so much more than I knew existed, and you make me feel beautiful, and protected, and adored, and I don’t think you could do all of those things if you didn’t love me back.”
“I don’t love you,” he ground out, biting her lip.
Sophie wound her arms around his neck, her fingers in his hair as she kissed him gently. “I don’t love you either,” she whispered, holding him close and rocking the last ebbs of pleasure out of him. “I don’t love you either.”
“You said something to me” …
“I know” …
“Don’t say it again … Because I won’t say it back” …
“I know that too”
“I love every beautiful fucking inch of you, Sophie Black.”
“I don't want to wake up and find you're not really here," he whispered, not yet opening his eyes.”
“They say the best way to get over a man is to get under another one”
“No. No, you're not like him," she spat. "You're your very own brand of fucked up, Lucien.”
“I don’t want to feel this Sophie. Like I’ve led you on, or like I can’t be with anyone else. “
“Lucien, you said yourself that you don’t want to be with anyone else!”
“Yes, and you have no idea how much that fucks me off. Don’t you get it, Sophie? I don’t want these feelings, or these cravings.” He splayed his hand on his chest. “It’s not who I am.”
“You want me. And I’m here, now, saying I want you too, saying I love you, and I don’t know where the hell it’ll end up, but I’m brave enough to say that right now you’re my everything. You’ve opened my eyes, and my body, and my heart so much more than I knew existed, and you make me feel beautiful, and protected, and adored, and I don’t think you could do all of those things if you didn’t love me back.”
“Will you kiss my envelopes before you mail them?”
“Will you give me my job back if I say yes?” He gestured towards the doorway to her old office.
“It's all yours.”
“Lucien drew female eyes wherever he went. It wasn't just his height, or his Viking beauty, or his broad shoulders. The man exuded lust from his very bones: he emitted sexual charisma on a frequency that no woman could be expected to ignore.”
“…then she was Sophie Black, the girl who surprised him. He'd never met anyone quite like her before. On first glance she was quiet and unassuming, but scratch the surface and she was spectacular.”
“...It's not okay." He spoke jerkily, painfully. "I will hurt you, and I will leave you, and I will cheat on you.”
“Okay, okay. No kissing. No touching. No flirting." He touched his fingers to his forehead in mock salute.”
“This was goodbye. The best, longest, sexiest goodbye kiss ever…”
“It was sex, it was fucking, and it was making love. It was life in glorious technicolour, full of promise and joy. The best of all worlds, with the best of all men.”
“I shagged my sex god boss whilst my husband was on holiday with his secret mistress’ has a certain ring to it.”
“I want sex with you now, but that doesn't mean I'm going to want sex with you for the rest of my life.”
“The egg was vibrating, and not the egg on her plate. Astounded and flustered, she picked her fork up swiftly…”
“Lucien Knight was a walking, talking hang up, a beautiful mass of contradictions. He'd been single-minded in his mission to free her from her marriage and it was time to return the favour.”
“I've quit.
I didn't get your resignation letter. Invite me in.”
“The man was a walking, talking poster boy for his own sinfully sexy empire.”
“I don't want lunch, because I'm not hungry," he said. "And I don't want anger management classes, because right now angry is all I have," he spat. "And I don't want condoms, because it seems that I'm incapable of fucking anyone but you.”
“They were lovers, except without the love. It was about sex. Amazing, fantastic, not-ready-to-walk-away-from-it-yet sex.”
“Seducing Sophie had been a mutual pleasure and she'd proved herself an excellent and very willing pupil, but when it came to freeing her he'd failed dismally. He'd freed her from one cheating man, only for her to fall in love with another who couldn't or wouldn't give her what she deserved.”
“Lucien was a whole lot of trouble because he made her want things she couldn't possibly have. He made ordinary life feel pale and insipid, a watered-down version of the existence she'd tasted that had him in it.”
“He'd made her see that she'd been living on the edges of life, existing rather than embracing its bountiful richness in technicolour. He'd plunged her head first into a storm of sensations and emotions; a mental shredding of an old, dull skin; a seductive invitation. 'Hello, come with me, let me show you somewhere bigger, more dazzling, more truly alive.”
“... Mother Nature is punishing us, ..., for our greed and selfishness. We torture her at all hours by iron and wood, fire and stone. We dig her up and dump her in the sea. We sink mine shafts into her and drag out her entrails - and all for a jewel to wear on a pretty finer. Who can blame her if she occasionally quivers with anger?" - Pliny, Pg. 176”
“Durante a rápida estação em que a mulher permanece em flor, os caracteres da sua beleza servem admiravelmente bem à dissimulação à qual a sua fraqueza natural e as leis sociais a condenam. Sob o rico colorido do seu viçoso rosto, sob o fogo dos seus olhos, sob a fina textura das suas feições tão delicadas, com tantas linhas curvas ou retas, mas puras e perfeitamente determinadas, todas as suas comoções podem permanecer secretas: o rubor então nada revela, aumentando ainda mais cores já tão vivas; todos os focos interiores concordam tão bem com a luz desses olhos brilhantes de vida que a fugaz chama de um sofrimento aparece apenas como um encanto a mais. Por isso, na da há mais discreto do que um rosto juvenil, porque também não há nada mais imóvel. A fisionomia de uma jovem tem a serenidade, o polido, o frescor da superfície de um lago; a das mulheres só se revela aos trinta anos. Até essa idade, o pintor só lhes acha no rosto róseos e brancos sorrisos e expressões que repetem um mesmo pensamento, pensamento de mocidade e de amor, pensamento uniforme e sem profundidade; mas, na velhice, tudo na mulher fala, as paixões incrustaram-se-lhe no rosto; foi amante, esposa, mãe; as mais violentas expressões de alegria e de dor acabaram por alterar-lhe, torturar-lhe o rosto, formando aí mil rugas, tendo todas uma linguagem; e uma fronte de mulher torna-se, então, sublime pelo horror, bela pela melancolia, ou magnífica pela serenidade; se se permite desenvolver esta estranha metáfora, o lago seco deixa então ver todos os traços das torrentes que o produzi ram; uma fronte de mulher velha já então não pertence nem ao mundo, que, frívolo, se assusta de ver a destruição de todas as idéias de elegância a que está habituado, nem aos artistas vulgares, que nada descobrem por aí; mas, sim, aos verdadeiros poetas, àqueles que possuem o sentimento de uma beleza independente de todas as convenções sobre as quais repousam tantos preconceitos sobre a arte e a formosura.”
“I don't want her thinking about the baby right now, but I can't pass by the hump without paying it homage. My lips press against it once, reverently.”
“We all attach things to our hearts, the things we value, the things we need, the things that make us who we are. But maybe. . . maybe its only when our hearts are broken, that those things can fall inside.”
“Is that not what a commander must do, earn respect, give them discipline and . . . love them?”
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