Osvaldo Adkins was dressed in a sheer dark green silk shirt, clinging to his defined chest like a lover. His pants, perfectly tailored, accentuated with long legs and sharp hips. Tattoos coiled down his arms like ancient spells, his skin so pale it gleamed. Milk kissed by moonlight.
He blinked at the light, the golden sun stinging his eyes. His long tongue flicked out, tasting the morning air like an animal newly unchained.
He looked up. The sky, blue and vast, was a new world to him. A limitless world outside the prison of his penthouse. His gaze shimmered, raw with wonder.
Even the air around him seemed to tremble.
Ariana clutched Chris's arm, lips parting. Her pupils dilated, her mouth dry. Her ovaries were screaming for this man.
"What… the hell," she whispered, jealousy consuming her like fire licking gasoline.
Though this man was mad, he looked even much better than Chris who has been normal all his life.
