Ivory's Ruin | 𝘈 𝘉𝘢𝘥 𝘉𝘰𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘺

⁀➴ 3

⇥ Aძɾίᥲᥒ ⇤

There are certain things in life we want that we can't have.

She was one of those things.

At first, the brunette blended in like any average college student, albeit a cute one with a particularly sweet laugh, but she did nothing to stand out. In fact, he wouldn't have singled her out at all if those jade eyes hadn't locked onto him, almost as if a target had been placed on the center of his forehead.

You could tell so much about a person from the way they looked at you.

In particular, adequate experience taught him when a woman wanted to hookup. They each had their own way of preening their feathers, of highlighting what they thought was their most desirable asset. He found it interesting to see what they assumed he might be attracted to, even though his interest was always drawn to their eyes.

Most importantly he'd learned to feel out their desire, whether they sought immediate gratification or had a greater need. He started to pick up on what kind of things they wanted, what turned them on and all the things they fantasized about. Things other men had obviously missed.

Yet when this girl studied him, he got the impression she'd want more than to be alone together in a dark room. As if she actually wanted to figure out who he was, instead of sharing a quick moment of mutual indulgence.

She looked at him like she saw something more, and that's why he wouldn't return her gaze.

Whoever she thought he was—whoever she assumed he might be—he wasn't.

They all found out some way or another.

But stubbornly, her eyes returned every time.
Every night they ended up at the same place, she'd spot him.

He wondered if she recognized him from somewhere, or somehow remembered his face from the news five years ago. The latter was unlikely, since he long outgrew his boyish features, but her attention unnerved him, so he started keeping a tab on her, developed the habit of sensing her before she noticed him and picked up little details along the way. Like how she wasn't keen on flaunting herself, the kind of girl who didn't notice all the attention she got from other guys, because she was too focused on everyone else, and how she liked to spend more time listening than talking.

Between glances at him, her eyes would search out her friends. She hardly drank, whether out of preference or forbearance he didn't know, but she had an uncanny ability to be where she was needed the moment others needed her. More often than not, she was the one who tended to others when they got drunk or needed a ride home.

Above all else she was kind, and deserved to be cared for as much as she cared for others.

So he left. His heart wasn't soft like hers; it was hard and jagged, and would only cut into those who touched it. A fair relationship wasn't something he could offer.

Better she moved on, because he wanted nothing to do with her. Or that's what he told himself.

He wanted everything to do with her.

Another trait stood out about her nature, and it was written all over those round doe eyes and sweet smile, even when her lips were painted in sinful plum.

No, especially then.

It was in the way she migrated to dominant energies without shying away, but keeping herself reserved. She was waiting, fully capable of taking control, but chose not to. In the bedroom she'd be a natural submissive.

She'd want to be tied up, to be put on display for her master like a pretty doll, and told what a good girl she was. Her pleasure lay in serving someone else as they drew out her hidden desires. She'd crave a little bitterness to balance out all that sweetness inside her.