My World of Random!

Guessing Game!

Okay, guys. I'ma play a li'l game with y'all! The objective of said game, is to guess who the guy is in this little story “clipping”. Have fun! It should be fairly obvious.

His pale eyes gazed into my own, as if reading my thoughts, trying to unlock my every secret, studying every feeling and notion that passed through my head. It was almost like he was searching for some untold truth, hidden behind the windows to my very soul. My cheeks flushed bright pink as his face inched closer to mine, the tip of his nose nearly touching my own. I wanted to melt into a puddle of goo under that overly intense stare of his. There was nothing I felt I could do, except gaze back into his eyes; his beautiful, piercing eyes.
     He cupped my face in his hands, now studying the rest of my features, glancing at my eyes, my nose, my cheek, my eyebrows, my lips-
     My lips . . .
     His eyes locked onto my lips for a moment or two, either to carefully observe their size and shape, or in desire for his to meet them. You could never really tell what he was thinking. He just always seemed so detached from reality, and never really bothered to tell anyone what was going through his head-
     He looked back up into the bright blue orbs that served as my irises. My heart began to thump loudly at the shrinking distance between our lips. And just before they met, before I could enjoy the feeling of a tender kiss, he desisted.
     “You shouldn't let sentiment get the best of you, you know,” he said.
     “Who says it’s sentiment?” I asked.
     “Can’t you feel your heart thumping in your chest, or the heat of your cheeks?”
     I was instantly silenced.
     He looked at me with a smirk, and leaned in once more. My eyes fluttered shut in preparation for a loving kiss. Our lips very nearly touched when he stopped once again.
     “You can feel it, can't you?”
     “Feel what?”
     “A mix of things. The anticipation, the tension, sentiment, desire; these emotions, pulling you toward me. You know you want this; you want me. To you, I feel so close, and yet, so distant,” he said, our lips almost impossibly close, “You desire to have me; you lust after me. You long to touch me, to feel me, to claim me as your own, but I always seem to slip just out of your grasp. Love or lust, you just want me . . . don't you?"

To be continued . . .

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