She looks exhausted.
It’s almost like she’s having a fitful sleep.
I can’t seem to move from the spot I’m standing like I’m to stay in place, held by a force greater than me.
I can’t seem to take my eyes off her.
She looks like an innocent angel with the body of a temptress.
I start to feel a familiar tingling sensation in my fingertips. I glance down at my hands in surprise and back up, still looking at her.
I haven’t felt this sensation in a long time. The urge to wrap my hand around a brush.
I snort quietly in surprise. What the hell is this?
Then, it hits me. The artist and the man in me want every inch of her.
I’ve never felt such instantaneous attraction for anything or anyone. My hands itch to run along the perfect lines of her pale, sleeping face. Everything in me suddenly wants to possess her.
The urge is so strong that I have to lower myself onto the chair by the bedside.
I lean in until my face is just mere inches from hers.
My eye roams her gorgeous round face, taking in all the details in a slow sweep. It doesn’t matter if I never see her face again after tonight. It’s committed to my memory for life.
I try to determine the confusing emotions clashing in my chest all at once, excitement, desire, and...lust.
Pure and raw lust.
Her lips reclaim my attention, they look so enticing, lush, and soft.
If I had the chance, I’d spend days just painting her full heart-shaped lips, every little detail, including the little lines, that little petulant pout, and even that slight distressed curve of distress.
She’s beautiful...and young.
She looks to be in her early twenties.
Too young to be coveted by a jaded older man like me, but I can’t seem to rip my gaze off her.
As much as I’m curious to know how this gorgeous stranger got into my bed, I’m content to watch her sleep.
All night.