Darry Curtis Physical Description Novels & Stories

Henry turned to the last guy, ‘This is Kurt, he will take you up to Alaska.’ She turned, expecting to see another similar male to the ones she had already met and looked into the ice blue eyes of a Nordic God. He was everything the other guys were not. For a start, he wasn’t as old, she estimated he was in his late twenties, early thirties. He was well over six feet tall with thick white blonde hair, a broad chest and powerful arms. His body was toned and muscled; he clearly worked out, and when he stood to introduce himself to her, he towered over her tiny frame.

He gives Dash a knowing look but doesn't say anything further. A young man of no more than 22 years of age arrives at the table and proceeds to seat in the empty seat beside Lenny. She recognizes him as the last Behrt-Lehman boy. They all look unmistakably similar with firm cheekbones and hollow cheeks but, they have a few distinct features. Dustin, the youngest of them, has a lighter shade of black hair and it’s in a much curlier texture, his eyes are a bit lighter as well. Darius’ hair is cut very low and accompanied by a pair of surly, brown eyes and a trim beard. But, it is Dash that took the darker end of everything. His hair is completely jet black, his eyes such a dark shade of brown

But I’ve always found it to be comfortable. I gaze back at Darren as he sifts through the bottles and runs his gaze over the shelves. He looks cute with his skinny jeans, blue Chive t-shirt, and white all-stars. Darren is the opposite of Micah. He’s the epitome of a party boy, with his blond, shaggy faux-hawk, blue eyes, and body-builder physique. Darren’s on the football and wrestling team, which means he’s in tip-top shape. He’s about an inch shy of six feet and stocky. His voice isn’t as alluring as Micah’s, but he’s sweet in an immature way.

Ashlyn I knew the knock before it came. How could I not when I heard it most of my life. Not because I was expecting anyone, but because fate had a habit of warning me too late—just enough to brace, never enough to stop what was coming. I opened the door and there stood Curt. Except… it wasn’t the Curt I remembered. This Curt had bulked up in all the right places—arms like tree trunks, shoulders wide enough to carry half the pack’s pups. His jaw was more defined, nose slightly crooked like he’d broken it in a fight and never bothered to fix it. He wore the Sentinel uniform like it had been built around him—black, tight and he looked brutal.

Curtains drawn on the upper windows. I knocked. Waited. Nothing for a moment. Then footsteps from inside. Unhurried. The footsteps of someone in their own home with no reason to expect anything unexpected. The door opened. Dave Harrison was tall. Broader than me across the shoulders. The kind of build that came from actually using your body rather than a gym. Dark skinned, clean shaven, with sharp eyes that took in information fast. He was dressed simply. Casual. Like a man who had been sitting at home with no plans for the morning.

A real one where we were both just grinning at the phone and looked genuinely happy. We were genuinely happy. She was reviewing the photos when someone appeared at her shoulder. He was tall. Dark hair. Wearing the kind of effortlessly fitted shirt that suggested he had thought about it while appearing not to have thought about it. One of the hockey players — I had seen him at the wall earlier with the rest of them. He looked at Bri with the direct easy confidence of someone who had made a decision and was acting on it, the kind of confidence that came from being tall and good-looking and used to people saying yes.

It was both dark, yet not bad. I stood before the bed, while Ray crossed the room and slid the curtains back to let some light fall inside the room. Once the light from outside lit up the room, I could clearly see the face of the man who had gained my interest. Darius Dawson had dark burgundy hair that was combed neatly, his facial features sharp like a knife. It was hard to tell if he was sleeping or if he was just pretending to sleep. It felt like he was conscious of our presence and would wake up any second.

His eyes looked at me with surprise, then his face showed a look of displeasure and disapproval, but those strange emotions quickly disappeared as if they had never existed; he looked at me with a very bright smile. I thought I was mistaken, so I ignored him and looked at Darian in front of me. He's wearing a luxurious suit and exudes a noble aura like a regal. Only now did I take a closer look at his appearance? His hair is a brown color similar to Alpha Harold's hair color, he has deep blue eyes that make anyone looking at them feel engulfed, and his face is as beautiful as a delicate sculpture. There's nothing wrong with his figure; he's about 6'3, well-proportioned body, long straight le

Darlington, a nice name for a scumbag like him with a height of 5 '6, bald hair, and a round belly. He tends to drink alcohol when alone and most importantly he likes women. His hands trace upon my shoulder, sliding downwards. He pulls the strap of my bra far enough and allows it to slap on my skin. It's painful, I'm pissed and irritated but I know he wouldn't try anything funny, and the reason is that he knows I'm not like the rest of his victims, I'd drag his *ss to court if he tries such, after all, I have nothing to lose.

She was quickly reminded when the door swung open. Darius had one hand on his waist, holding up a bath towel that was draped around his lower body. His torso was exposed, and Amanda was immediately struck by how impressive it was. He had gorgeous musculature, defined and large, but also proportionate with his height. He had a clearly distinguishable six-pack, which she recognized as an atypical thing for a man in his mid thirties. "Hey there." Darius smiled, thrilled that Amanda had stopped by. His ego immediately began to swell as he noticed her eyes roaming his body.