Dreamboat Eye Contact Novels & Stories

My vision narrowed until there was only one point of focus: the altar, and the man waiting there. Damien. He was breathtaking. Dressed in midnight blue, standing ramrod straight, radiating a mixture of powerful confidence and raw vulnerability. His eyes, the beautiful, expressive hazel brown I had fallen in love with all those years ago, were entirely fixed on me. They were already swimming with unshed tears, and the sight of his emotional turmoil threatened to break my own carefully constructed composure.

My husband, shall we ask night to extend even after sun rise? In my dreams, I saw this daily, living you with happily. In just our looks, we will share many stories, my many promise. (Angel opened her eyes and we held each other's gaze.) Looking and treating women straight, I loved your sweet honesty. The way you talk, with eye-to-eye contact, I love it. Seeing you from far, it starts raining in my heart and my lips will start murmuring in your name. (We never once we broke our eye contact and I can see some unreadable emotions in her beautiful big doe eyes.)

Through Rory's contacts, Cleo quietly tipped off a reliable elder in the Joubert family about Damian's condition—just enough to keep things from falling apart. When Damian finally pulled through and opened his eyes, all he saw was white. Pain ripped through his body—sharpest in his chest. Every breath dragged. His dry eyes shifted. His vision cleared. Cleo stood by the bed, pale, worn out. Their eyes met. The air went still. Her eyes held concern and relief—but mostly calm. No love. No hate. Damian parted his lips, trying to speak. Only a rough rasp came out. He saw it in her eyes.

I think I'm going to stay for just two days at this school. I was about riding off when my eye caught a passenger in the front of the bus. the only passenger there actually. Her head was leaned on the window and her eyes were closed but I could tell she wasn't sleeping cause she kept smiling and scrunching her nose and I could have sworn I saw her pout her lips for a split second. As if she had just kissed somebody. It's like she's day dreaming and In that moment She looked so peaceful like nothing could harm her.

"She's still a Princess, and you have to respect her even if you hate her, because you serve her now!" She made a disgusted sound. "Not like the bitch can hear me anyways," Gods help me. "I wouldn't say that, Emilia," I spoke, before opening my eyes. "If none of you want me to... Do what I do... I suggest that you don't look me in the eye!" Then opened them, trying to get used to the light of the room. The doctor came closer. "Don't worry, kid, I came prepared. I'm using dark glasses. Now look at me, let me see your eyes," he held my chin and I looked up.

All I could think about was Cher's tear-streaked face. Did she get beaten up? Did Samson starve her? She must be super scared right now. Heck, she'd definitely wail while looking for me. "Cher…" I sobbed to the point I couldn't even breathe. My phone vibrated at that moment. It had received a notification. I jogged over to find my phone without bothering to deal with the blisters on my feet. It was a message from Sylvia. There weren't any captions on the message. All it encompassed was a photo.

My breath stuck once more when those hazel eyes look into my brown orbs, I couldn't myself from looking at her. She looked shocked at the sudden push, but seems relaxed when she knew she was safe, and then she made a mistake of looking in the eyes of her savior. That eye contact was somethng I don't know I have craved for so long. Finally she saw me, finally she looked at me. She was looking at me without blinking and who am I to complain, when I am doing the exact same thing. Man, can't ever get enough of these eyes.

After Jamie's rescue, after Elara had collapsed from empathic exhaustion, after we'd returned home with enhanced security. E-2 stood in the street again. But this time, something was different. She looked directly at the camera. Not accidentally. Not peripherally. Direct eye contact through the lens. Like she knew we were watching. Like she wanted us to see her. Her expression in that frozen frame was disturbing. Curiosity mixed with something else. Hunger maybe. Or longing. The look of something incomplete recognizing what it lacked. Then she smiled. Not warm child smile. Mechanical approximation of expression she'd observed but didn't understand. Teeth showing but no joy reaching her eyes.

My pussy was overflooded with juices, lust bled through my veins. He lowered his eyes to look at me. Our eyes met and an electric current surged through me. He was eyeing me with so much longing, as though he would die if I walked away from him. Our gaze locked, he bent lower until our faces were inches apart. His labored and heavy breathing hit my face as he looked deeply into my eyes. His pace increased as though fueled by our eye contact. I gasped in pain but he didn't let up. He just continued to stare at me, entranced.

I refused to break eye contact as I pulled my club from my bag. It was studying me with pale, clouded-over green eyes before its attention jerked to the left again... mine momentarily shooting up the hill to where we rolled from. The zombie and I made eye contact again as it jerked and snapped at me like a cornered dog, mangled and destroyed...