I am who I am, and I won’t apologize for it.
I don’t know how to be…
I have my reasons.
I’ve been through hell.
I’ve touched the flames themselves and I’ve danced with the devil.
Damnation torched my soul until it was black.
Then I see her.
I’m enthralled, but I can’t speak to her.
She’s too pure.
She doesn’t need to see my torched soul.
She doesn’t need to taste my damnation.
I watch what I can’t have.
I swear I’ll protect her.
Even if she doesn’t know I’m there.
I get more…
She loves books.
I wonder if I could love them too.
She loves wine.
I imagine us sharing a glass.
Imagination. What a tease.
She feels me there.
Sees me out of the corner of her eye.
I’m the reason the hair on the back of her neck is standing up.
But I stay in the shadows where I belong.
Until I can’t.
Until the day I see her cry.
Those tears feel like open wounds.
I want to heal them.
But all she does is run.
So I follow.
I won’t stop until she no longer has a reason to cry.
Even if it means I have to ride through the fires of hell one more time.
They write about gritty, alpha males, sometimes their dark sides, and the women they love.
If you have the same itch, their alpha males should fix that.