#ciro ll

That quiet intensity. The way a sudden rush sparks through me, electric, like he’s touching places he hasn’t touched yet. Heavy. Charged.

An undercurrent of danger. A tension carved from silence and mystery. In my mind, he can be anything: A storm. A secret. A sin I haven’t touched yet.

I stay parked here longer than I should. Always facing her direction, because when her silhouette moves across the window, something primal awakens inside me. A flash of bare shoulder when she pulls her hair aside. The curve of her neck. It undoes me completely.

I stay… In the shadows. In the silence. Watching. Wanting. Wondering if she feels it too. In the quietest hours, I think of the look in her eyes when I finally get to gaze deeply into them. How she’d taste against my mouth. How her pulse would flutter under my tongue. How her scent would settle on my skin, haunting me like the memory of her mouth. The sound she’d make when I finally claim what I’ve been craving. How soft her skin would feel beneath hands that have done harder things.

This evening he was there again. Two hours, just sitting there. Headlights on, except when he gets out to smoke, then he kills them completely. He's become bolder. He leans against the car and looks up, unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be and nothing to hide. He wants me to notice. He's always wanted me to notice.

The air feels charged again, the way it always does when he's near. That current returning in the space between us, familiar now, after a year of days and nights just like this one.

When I'm outside on my balcony, I can feel his eyes find me before I find him. A slow, familiar tension tightening deep inside me. Neither of us looks away. He knows what he's doing. He's always known. He watches me, and he knows I watch him too.

Not just in sight, but in my thoughts. In the quiet spaces I don’t share with anyone. Seeing her changed something. Now her voice lingers in my head, her expressions replaying like fragments. The memory of her perfume awakens something primal in me.

Some nights, I sense her before I see her. My body reacts first, like it knows she’s close. I catch myself searching for her in the dark, watching from the shadows where she cannot see me. I look to her windows, wondering if she’s home. I can’t help it… I have to see her.

I have wanted before, but not like this. This is obsession. A craving. I’m not a man who should be distracted, but she makes it impossible. There’s danger in this, in me, in the life I lead. But now that I’ve met her I can’t stop. I wonder how her skin would feel under my fingers as I trace them from her face to her neck. How her breath would quicken when I pull her close, how she’d look up at me with eyes full of desire. I imagine pressing her against me, making sure she feels what she does to me, letting her know she’s the reason I’m this hard, how much I want to make her mine. I’d kiss her until she forgets where she is, my hand in her hair, pulling gentle but certain.