Longing Look Novels & Stories

FEDORA’S POV The tension in the air was palpable, thick like an invisible shroud that seemed to constrict around everyone in the entire battle field. Lorcan's eyes, usually warm and inviting, were now cold, searching for something that eluded him. It was evident that he wasn't looking for me; his gaze bore into the distance, and the fire of determination flickered within his irises.

Nipple clamps, check, handcuffs, check, the Tornado, the Thruster, the Twister, mm-hmmm, the willow-the-whip, and an assortment of other goodies weighed the table down nicely. I imagined the familiar tease of his blue eyes sparkling at me. My abs quivered, knowing his gaze would soon hook and sink with lazy amusement on my pinkening face. While I’m no shrinking pansy—I’m five-feet-ten—I always blush when he gives me the Eye. The look is a cross between a GodI’d-love-to-bang-you-so-hard look and a Damn-I’m-afraid-to-ask look. It felt intoxicating to have a man look at you with hunger and dread.

When I pulled back to look at her, it was with an expression of longing. “Tell me about them.” Amelia blinked. “Are you sure?” “I am.”

longing, desire, and an undeniable sense of closeness. Zayren leaned in towards me, closing the distance between us. His breath fanned against my face, sending a shiver down my spine. I held my breath, my heart racing in anticipation as he slowly moved closer. I could see the desire in his eyes, the way they darkened as they locked onto mine. His lips were mere inches from mine, and I found myself frozen in place, yearning for his touch. My eyes flicked down to his lips, watching as they parted slightly, as if he was struggling to restrain himself.

* The lyrics stopped and only tunes continued; we stopped moving and stayed frozen in our spot, our eyes boring into one another until I could see the waves and waves of fire inside his eyes, blasting wide and foreshadowing. Begging to be free, the sensual tension building in the air and If anything it only grew as the melody continued. We looked at each other’s eyes, and it was as if we were speaking with words. He gave that look, the look a guy gives you when you know he’s about to kiss you. A perfect blend between sensual and charming. The look that makes your heart flutter and your lips tremble.

Miranda was walking, but her gaze was fixed on her phone as she was texting a co-worker when she collided with someone. If it hadn’t been for that person, Miranda would have surely fallen down and embarrassed herself at this party. “I am sor—” The words were caught in her throat when she saw the person with whom she crashed. How can she ever forget him? She has longed to see him for many years.

The gates of the city jail opened with a groan of iron and concrete. Daniel stood outside, leaning against his car, his jaw tight as his eyes searched the shadow beyond the gates. When Lena appeared, a hollow ache filled his chest. She looked smaller than before, thinner from weeks of confinement. The clothes she wore were plain and loose, the color drained from her face. But her posture was still stiff, her eyes sharp, carrying the same pride and defiance that had followed her into prison.

It was wrong that it felt so right. We sat on the couch, close but not touching at first. The air between us vibrated. Each breath was amplified. Each heartbeat racing. I fixed my gaze on my hands because if I looked at him, I wouldn’t be able to bear it. “I never stopped thinking of you,” I said softly, the words spilling out before I could catch them. He turned to me slowly. “Neither did I.” That was all it took. I looked up, and the look in his eyes made my throat constrict. There was no anger in his eyes now. No strategy. Only longing. The kind that had been building for years, hidden beneath pride and hurt.

He looked up and saw me but then he smiled. “You made it,” he breathed, hips still thrusting, fucking into the thing like he wanted to put on a show. “Fuck. Look at you. You always look at me like that, y'know. Like you might eat me alive.” My throat was dry. He kept going. Fucking into it, slow now, deliberate. Like he liked being watched. Like the idea of me standing there, seeing him like this, did something to him. Made him louder. Needier. “Am I good for you like this, Aiden?” he moaned, hips picking up speed again. “Tell me. Do I look good for you?” My hands clenched at my sides. I felt like I was carved out of static.

His eyes searched mine, and for a heartbeat, the mask slipped. I saw it the raw, unadulterated hunger, the possessive pull of a man who wanted to mark me, to scent me, to weave his very essence into mine until there was no distinction between where he ended and I began. It was a look of such profound longing that it made my breath hitch.