Just By Looking At Him Novels & Stories

He is just walking while holding and leading the bicycle. I run towards him to ask if something is wrong. “Hi , do you need any help?” I ask when I stop in front of him. He also stop walking and looked at me. His eyes are ash gray I felt something unexplainable when he looked me in the eyes. His facial features is like a character straight out of action movies. He is just wearing a white shirt and a cargo shorts but his overall looks is screaming charisma. He looks different than the guys where I came from.

There was something about the way he looked at her like he could really see her, and not just glazing at her and looking over her like her parents and brother usually does. There was power in his gaze because it did things to her. When she was sure that she won’t freeze anymore, she turned to face him, looking at him and waiting for him to speak. As she waited, she studied him slowly, the way his shoulders spread wide, his lean torso and muscle, his right abs reflecting under his t-shirt, and even his face added to his beauty. His eyes were arresting.

There must be some mistake. My eyes widen as I take him in, he is breathtaking. He looks more attractive and mature now. His face is more defined, with high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a strong chin. It’s the first time I’ve ever looked directly into his deep blue eyes. His skin is clear, smooth, and glowing. I feel embarrassed just standing in front of him. His tousled hair has a shade of dark brown. He’s tall, athletic, with broad shoulders, he practically towers over me. In short, he’s perfect.

Look at me" he said. I stared at him. I gasped when we made eye contact. A myriad of emotions swirled within me at the sight of him. It was as if time stood still. His eyes were a mesmerizing shade of brown mixed with someone else. His amber eyes held a warmth and gentleness that captivated me. They sparkled under the chandelier lights. With the way they sparkled, you would think they held stars in them. With the way he looked at me, it felt as if he could see through me. He stood tall with confidence. Just by looking at him, you could tell he was royalty. He had a sculpted phsyque, just like Jax. His muscles bulged from his shirt. His presence alone exuded co

No grand entrance. But people notice. They always do. He moves through the crowd like something carved from darker material. Black suit. Crisp lines. Controlled stride. He doesn’t look at me immediately, which somehow feels worse than if he had. I do not want him to even look at me. Not when I’m nothing but a puppet to his father. He speaks to a cluster of men near the bar. His posture is relaxed but his gaze is sharp. Observing. Absorbing. And then, eventually, inevitably, his eyes find mine.

A pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he scanned the headlines, his dark hair slightly tousled like he’d run his fingers through it a few times. Oh my God… he looked so fucking handsome like that, like a demi-god who had stepped out of a myth just to ruin me. The morning light caught the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together in concentration, the quiet power radiating from him even when he was doing something as simple as reading. My stomach did a slow, dizzying flip. How could one man look that devastating without even trying? As if sensing my presence, he spoke without lifting his eyes from the paper, his voice low and teasing, laced with that fa

That annoyingly hot, totally smug look that says, yep, I saw that. And honestly? I don’t even care. Can’t blame me. A man like him standing a few feet away, shirtless, confident, like he walked out of a fantasy... that’s not something you just glance at and move on from. He’s literal art. And he’s mine. So, I can look all I want. I walk over to him, trying not to smile, but I already know my face is doing its own thing. That goofy grin is there and refusing to leave.

He said, “And I want you to look at me when you do.” The guy grinned, revealing a small set of his neat, white dentures. Lincoln couldn't help but wonder just how handsomely sculptured and perfect his face was “With all pleasure.”

Byron looked like a fucking storm. he didn’t have to say anything. didn’t even have to try. I just stood there, eyes catching on me like I was something worth looking at. like I meant something. He looked so good it made my stomach hurt. like i wanted to punch him in the face just for existing like that—perfect, golden, unreal. The kind of man you only saw on magazine covers or olympic podiums. He had his sleeves rolled up, collar loose, a smirk that made me want to throw myself off a cliff and let him catch me halfway down.

The kind of person who feels dangerous just by existing. He barely talks. And when he does, it’s always short, direct, like he’s allergic to unnecessary words. He looks like he could kill someone just by staring at them too long. And the crazy part is… he actually has. That’s not even a guess. That’s not imagination. That’s just a fact. He doesn’t smile. I’ve seen him almost smile once, and even that felt like spotting a rare animal in the wild. It wasn’t soft or warm either. It was brief, subtle, like it wasn’t meant to be seen.