I stared at my eyes in the mirror, trying to understand what I just saw. Through my memory, the sight hit me anew. First, I noticed his hips. The eyes may be the window to the soul, but,a mans hips were his seat of power.I doubted he'd chosen those perfectly fitted jeans and that black T-shirt that belied the tautness of his stomach for the purpose of flattering his lower body, but he had and now I lose myself in the thought of caressing with my lips that exquisite hollow that lay between smooth skin and elegantly jutting hip bone.
I remember dragging my gaze to his face, as dignified and angular as the rest of him. Pale skin and dark razor-cut hair contrasted with eyes the color of ice. Glacial, I decided his eyes were—they spoke of hidden depths.
A stark beauty, he was a man made to be admired by intelligent women. Lean and tall but with the substantial mass of an athlete, he was utterly masculine. The world had fallen away in his presence and now that he was gone, I was left in the equally potent presence of his absence.
Fuck it, he's so gorgeous, he looked harsh. Sort of a stark beauty. The type that crept up on you and sucker punched your insides at the thought of a man being so fine.
Unfortunately, this is not a love story.
At least not for me.
He's Gay and currently single. Sigh. What a world.
I wonder if the power of my pussy can convert him?
Sigh, for the billionth time.
My prince charming, Gone.
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