Blue Eyes

Her penetrating eyes were talons. Once they had him in their grip, he was helpless. Though he was a victim, he was willing prey. He treasured every glance, every sweep of her eyes across his face. She knew the power of her gaze and she used it with aplomb. When she looked directly in his eyes, he felt she was reading his thoughts. Or that she was planting ideas in his mind, ideas her husband mustn’t ever know were there. She controlled him with her beautiful blue eyes, those emissaries of longing that burrowed into his soul as easily as a hot knife slices through butter. Her stare could bring a smile to his lips. And just as quickly, her eyes could arouse in him a palpable desire so fervent he could barely control himself. But he had to. Her husband and his wife weren’t blind; if he allowed his stoic face to waiver, revealing molten desire, carnage would follow.

Trying my hand at writing a bodice-ripper paragraph.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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