His eyes are blank, teasing, alluring. He looks as if he were smirking only seconds earlier. The wild hair and loose strands accentuate the look of his face. Thick eyebrows hood his eyes in a way that oozes sexiness, desire, a masculinity like no other.
You wonder what he's thinking to keep that visage. Just minutes earlier he was joking with the rest of the crew, laughing, while you watched from the same corner you're in now. His name was called, he nodded, he walked onto the set. Just like that, he turnedchangedalwayswas so sensual. Mysterious.
His eyes are lurid, predatory, inviting, leering. You wantneed him to look at you that way. To have his eyes staring atintothroug you, a dark heat burning a hole through your very core, shaken, not stirred.
You barely hear the camera snapping away, capturing that character for so long as the photos remain. Your eyes work to do the same. Suddenly he isn't standing there anymore. A blur passes by you and you glance up, startled. It's him, jogging to get his bottled water. When he turns around he brings the clear plastic to his lips and drinks, you watch his throat bob as he swallows. You wish this were a dance rehearsal, because if it were he'd pour the remaining contents over his shirt after he had his fill. You know because you watch, stare at him then, too.
You hear a popping noise, because you can't let him see you staring, and a sharp intake of breath signaling that he's taken the bottle away from his mouth. You want to put your lips in its place. You blush and duck your head when he sees you, but you still catch his smile. Seconds later he blurs past you once again, in front of the camera. More flashes, more commands, more of that look that's making you writhe in your seat.
