I – Hungry Eyes

He stares. I shift. His eyes are piercing and they always make me uncomfortable. I guess not in a bad way, but it's like he's staring into my soul and reading my deepest, darkest, most-desperate thoughts. Anyone could become uncomfortable under such a gaze.

"What?" I finally ask, afraid that if I wait a second longer, I'll throw something at him.

"Am I making you nervous?" he answers, a smile tugging at his lips. I scowl.

"Yes," I am direct: "you are."

"Well, I'm sorry. I won't look anymore," he says, but I know that is a lie—there he is, looking again, like that conversation didn't just happen. My anxiousness grows.

"You're still looking." I state the obvious.

"I know," he shrugs, "can't help it."

"Am I that fascinating?" I retort.

"In a way." And suddenly he's in front of me, his deep eyes screwed hard and tight on mine. His stare is boring into me and I can't help but squirm. His intense energy claws at my personal space, invading it, tearing it aside like paper. "You are amazing," he continues and I can't suppress the red-hot blush that flourishes up my neck and blossoms on my cheeks. The warmth makes me annoyed. "You are astounding." He's not stopping. "I am in love with you."

"I know that," I say and try to turn my head away. His strong fingers catch my chin and keep my face aligned with his. My whole body is crawling with discomfort. So intense…

"Do you love me?" he asks.

"Of course," I answer, now feeling ashamed.

"Say it, please?"

"I love you."

"Now you're just saying it to get me to leave you be." He rises and the interlocked stares snap like a strip of weak wood. I bite my lip. He's angry now. Upset. Something. I sigh.

"You asked me to say it and I did," I touched his hand softly. "Don't get upset."

"So then, do you love me?" he doesn't look at me again.

"I don't know how to answer that," I frown. "If I say 'yes', then I don't care enough and if I say 'I love you', then I don't really mean it."

Silence. And then…

"Do you know why I was staring at you?" he asks.

"No," I answer. I think for a moment, then add: "It was a bit uncomfortable, though."

He turns back to me and I quiver under the returned intensity. He leans his face into mine, until my vision can only clearly see his eyes, the whites around the irises, the flecks of random spectrum colors reflected from the sunlight pouring over us through the room's single, tiny window. "That's because…" he pauses, "I am looking at you with hungry eyes."

"Hungry eyes?" I can't say another word; I'm tightly under his spell.

"The eyes of one who wants something," he gives a careless half-smile. "So, you'd better get used to it."

"What…do you want from me?" I whisper; I still can't manage much else until his finger hooks into my shirt and tugs it down slowly, revealing the line of my neck, my collarbone, the faintly-scarred flesh. His finger brushes me. I suck in a surprised breath. He chuckles.

"What else could I want with a look like this?" he says as he leans down to kiss me. His eyes swallow me whole and all I can do is hold on to him as I begin to fall victim to his hunger.