“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, turning her head away. The candlelight glows against her hair, creating a golden halo around her head. “How am I looking at you?” This is sheer insolence on my part. I know precisely how I’m looking at her, and I’m not planning on dialing it down one iota. I want to devour her. Claim her. Bind her to me any way that I can. And if she can read that in the burning fire in my eyes, then so fucking be it. I’m not ashamed of how I’m feeling, and I sure as fuck won’t be hiding it from her, either.
