Stolen Glances Novels & Stories

The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. My eyes fell to the images, our images. Sterling and I on the penthouse balcony. Stolen kisses beneath the city’s neon glow. Someone had been close enough to see us, close enough to capture what was supposed to be untouchable. The staff? A spy? I picked one up between my fingers, turning it slightly so the light glinted across the glossy surface. A small, amused smile curved my lips as if I were admiring a piece of art rather than staring at my own undoing.

I conclude. I heave and smile in relief. We exchange glances. Rowan and I. We both exchange glaring and love exempted glances. Glances habouring every imagined negative emotions and hatred between ourselves. Glances extremely powerful to kneel any pack member and force deeply hidden truth off their once reluctant and hardened heart. Such glance do we currently share. He sigh deeply. I smile. He certainly gets my narration. His expression proves it all. Their darkness is relentless. He understands every mentioned details within the narration.

His striking looks and captivating gaze had ignited a spark of intrigue within me. Lost in my thoughts, I couldn't help but replay the stolen glances we shared, the brief moments where our eyes met and a silent understanding passed between us. It was as if the world around us had faded into the background, leaving only the two of us in that enchanting bubble of connection.

I think he noticed that I zone out a little bit. We ordered our food and dug in. We had a very good conversation while having and I was able to notice a few small things. He had a dimple showing everytime he smiled. He stole glances of everytime I wasn't looking at him and pretended like he wasn't once I caught him. **

The two of them glared at each other as they fought over the poor scroll. For a few minutes, only the heavy tension lingered around them and if only it was possible, electric shocks could be ignited with their intense glare at each other. And neither of them dared to talk as if they knew that if they start speaking, it would only lead to yelling at each other.

I grabbed my notebook and started working on it, I like writing better than just sitting here doing nothing. Suddenly, Anthony appeared. I knew I'll meet him here. I kept glaring at him, he avoided looking at me. What a jerk!! He's the reason i got this detention. He took a seat and grabbed a copybook, he started writing something on it. Maybe drawing. Out of sudden, he closed his eyes and closed his copybook ,he turned his head towards me, he shot me a deadly glare, saying 'you’re such a stalker'. Oh my god. "i didn't...mean...i" yes i was stealing looks at what he was doing.

It was as if he was silently trying to convey something to me through those stolen glances. A mix of curiosity and nervousness filled my mind. I wanted to understand why he was staring at me so intently. Did he feel the same way I did? Or was I merely fabricating a connection that wasn't there? These questions gnawed at my thoughts, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

Knowing she could not dally anymore, she shouted, "Okay, okay! I will tell you the real truth now! Just stop!" Laura's dark skin now seemed to sag, weighed down by the crushing burden of her secret. Her grey hair appears dull and lifeless, like a veil of shame cast over her face. Her brown eyes, once warm and loving, now filled with tears, brimming with a deep remorse that threatened to spill over. Her voice trembled, a barely audible whisper, as if the words themselves were toxic, poisoning her very soul. "Tristan, I, I stole you," she stammers, the words hanging in the air like a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down, daring him to confront the truth.

During meetings, where everything was supposed to be strictly professional, we exchanged glances that promised far more. One particular afternoon, I glanced up just in time to see him watching me from across the conference room. There was a mysterious glint in his eye, a promise of something unspoken. I could almost hear the words he left unvoiced as if he were silently pleading with me for another chance.

Every time he enters the room, I see that look, that sharp, lusty glint in his eyes that makes my skin crawl. He doesn't just stand and watch me. He stands right between my splayed legs, his eyes roaming over every inch of me, and he touches himself. He brings out his length, and works himself with a sickening act intensity, staring at me until he cums, the sound of his heavy breathing filling the small space. I never close my eyes. I can’t afford to. I don’t know what he would do if I looked away, if I showed him I wasn't watching the horror he was creating. So I stare. I stare until my eyes burn, until my soul feels like it’s being rubbed raw with sandpaper. It is disgusting, degrading, an