Forbidden

The day I met Caelian Valentino was a normal day. No, it didn’t rain a storm and the weather wasn’t so breezy that it made my gown rustle and tempted me to dance. None of that nonsense happened and the scowl on his handsome face when he turned to meet my gaze held no softness or emotion that romance books make us hope for. I had stared at his sharp jawline that had made everything about his facial features that would have passed him as beautiful too sharp and have forgotten what words were. He looked like what was sculpted by a god scared of making even the tiniest error else his head was up for the chopping block. His chin was stuck in the air like it belonged there because it did, he was a proud man and it showed. He had Grey eyes that were piercing and have the authority to make you wallow in him and dangerous desires. He looked like every part of him was photo-shopped by horny teenagers from his cupid bow pillowy red lips that were slightly lifted as he finished what I knew was a harsh and vulgar curse since It ended with ‘cunt’ and ‘f**k’ to his mannequin-like body that is so tall and masculine to a point where even what I was guessing was a custom made suit couldn’t hide how broad his shoulders are and how muscled his arms were. I had gawked at him while he had barely given me a once over that had made me dash for the mirror the moment I entered the house. He had looked at me in irritation, his eyes held mine in a glare that told me he thought of me as an annoying lingering presence he wanted to get rid of and that was it. Two years later and I wonder if my life would have been normal if I didn’t have a headache and had to go home earlier which consequently led to running into him as he exited my house while cursing under his breath. I couldn’t believe that a celebrity had stood on our front porch and I had been so caught up in my obsession that I hadn’t asked father what had happened and how he had winded up in our house even though father was so pale when I rushed in but the damage had already been done because although I have only glimpsed the infamous Italian s*x on legs once and he hadn’t uttered a word to me, my erotic dirty dreams have seen more of him than public decency can stomach. It was dirty, it was wrong, depraved, and f****d up but it was mine. The part of me that no one knew because it didn’t quite fit the bill of my projected goody-two-shoes image.