Victoria Sobolev Quotes

Well, and the fact that I find it unbelievably difficult to control my hormones when Alex is next to me; it's like I'm being pulled in. The pull is not just strong, it is overwhelmingly powerful and so unbearable that it feels as if the decision has already been made – the sooner the better – and to hell with pride and good manners; to hell with all of it.

Today is his birthday and my gift to him is warmth and cosiness. Today, on his day, his home will have what Alex craves so badly – a family, albeit an illusory one.

Sometimes, we supposedly grown-up people are as blind as newborn kittens. Our vision is inevitably obscured by someone else's negative experience – an unwanted opinion, the moralising of both those close to us and indifferent strangers – and we are prevented from seeing the shortest and straightest road to the unlimited happiness put aside for us by a higher power.

Holding me tight, he kisses me, saying over and over: 'Be mine... Be mine, I'm begging you! Be mine... I'll place the world at your feet if you'll only be mine! I promise! You will never, ever regret it, believe me! Be mine... please! Be... mine...'

His smell infuses your body with lust, his eyes drive you crazy, his hair begs to be touched to feel its softness, and his sensual, tender lips crush your willpower and make you his slave forever.You, but not me.

A hot damp touch on my stomach, another kiss. Then it's my shoulder, my neck. I feel myself soaring upwards, literally, this time, because Alex is lifting me up. He does this often; he loves carrying me in his arms. It is at moments like these that he probably feels I belong to him and him alone.

Intelligent, artistic, hard-working, well-mannered, educated, decent... good! Strong! Masculine! What else... Oh yes! Good-looking, sexy, experienced, exceptionally knowledgeable in bed, always fashionable, stylish, fragrant, flawless, faultless, I'm-just-perfect Alex!
And me? I'm just like everyone else: a cocktail of virtues and shortcomings served with a couple of flaws. And that's why this superhuman is starting to infuriate me. I desperately want to hurt his feelings or at least offend him in some way. This seems like an unhealthy reaction at first glance but is actually completely healthy, because next to people like him – if others like him even exist – you feel more awkward, more flawed, more stupid, and more subhuman than ever.

Holding him tight and kissing his lips, I am suddenly struck by a strange, inexplicable feeling, as if I have rediscovered something lost long ago, something familiar and of the utmost importance.

But the fact remains: in terms of physiology and anatomy, we fit together like two jigsaw pieces, much as our voices merged into one, complementing each other, when we sang the song that later became 'ours'.

One cold February day, I arrive, Alex opens the door, and we immediately embrace without saying a word, not even hello – rules are not for us, everything we do is against the rules. Then, as always, I get lost in his eyes. Even when they're sad, they are still inexpressibly beautiful, deep, warm, loving. His eyes are what I love the most... and his hands... his lips... his hair... I have no idea what I love the most!

I have just one selfish goal – to take what's mine while receiving as much pleasure as possible.

What do you love the most?' he asks.
'Dark chocolate and coffee. You?'
'Looking at you and kissing your lips...

My ice-cream is melting just as quickly as Danny's and is dripping down my chin, across my wrist, and onto my thigh. I laugh, throwing my head back and covering my eyes so as not to be blinded by happiness, and it is in this moment of weightlessness that I am suddenly aware of the lightest touch on my skin, like the wings of a butterfly. It flutters against my thigh then lingers on my wrist, but before its delicate wings reach my face, I force my eyes open and see only fragments: pink lips, a tanned cheek, the features and lines of a face silhouetted against the bright sunlight. My nostrils draw in his scent for the very first time and it is so strong that he is not just next to me but intimately close. His smell instantly takes me prisoner, overpowering me to such an extent that I have forgotten who and where I am.
I know that, moments before, Alex was using his lips and tongue to clean the melted ice-cream off my thigh and wrist and inadvertently treating me to the most ecstatic experience of my life. My body and mind are adrift in a sea of bliss, the sounds of the park suddenly fade away, and the world and everyone in it cease to exist. All I can see is a blindingly bright light and all I can feel are a man's moist lips touching mine. Alex's hot, passionate mouth is kissing me greedily as if there is finally enough air; as if he had been suffocating, but now he can breathe.
I know that a kiss like this is neither flirting nor dating and can sense with every fibr

Don't hurt those you love, because such hurt will never be forgotten. It will grind your feelings into dust and you'll either spend the rest of your life walking in it or waste what little time you have on earth searching for something else. And there's no guarantee you'll find it.

You know, there are things that can be done easily and simply and there are things that are very difficult. When it comes to the important stuff, I always seem to take the most difficult path, for some reason. You can buy the most amazing ring and get down on one knee or write a message in the sky or go up in a hot air balloon, but all of those options are for people who do everything on time, and that's not me. I made my choice a long time ago... But how can I tell this girl that I want to live a full and happy life and that that's only possible with her when she's not available? Somebody beat me to it, but it's so much more than that. How can I tell her that I'll never hurt her, never cause her pain? That I'll dedicate my life to protecting her from all the bad, from every possible harm and danger? That I want to have lots of babies, but only if she is their mother? That I can't imagine my life without her? How can I tell her all this if she has already given herself to someone else?

The thought flits through my mind that dozens of women have probably been here before me, but it is countered by another: 'I drink from the same glasses as everyone else when I'm in a restaurant and eat from the same plates using the same forks, so what the hell is the difference?' Especially as restaurants are very careful about cleanliness and these snow-white and perfectly ironed sheets exude the kind of freshness that even newborn babies would envy.