The Gravity Of Her Gaze
A classic vintage tale, with a lovely unique twist. This story whispers masculinity throughout its many layers. Irresistible pulls of darkness, cling to the edges as secrets unravel to a love far too intense to contain. The threat of love lost lingers with this smoky tale of lustful aches. Exceptionally complex, and perhaps like the rarest of vintages, this tale only deepens with time.
Reading Pairings
Wine:
Cocktail:
Coffee:
Zero - Proof:
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A Note From Morgan Knight
Permit me to extend a simple, heartfelt offer, dear reader…
Before you lies a glimpse into one of my most cherished tales - a taste of the romance I have carefully curated with you in mind. It would only be fair, I believe, to offer this opening chapter with no expectations, no obligations - simply a gift from one kindred spirit to another. But should you find yourself intrigued, stirred, or quietly longing for more, I would be honored to continue the journey together.
All I ask in return is your calling card ~ your email ~ so that I may deliver the rest of this story into your private library, and perhaps, from time to time, share a whispered note or a secret meant only for those who truly understand.
Rest assured, I hold a deep disdain for anything resembling unwanted noise or nuisance, such as spam.
Should you choose to linger only for a page or two and go no further, know that you remain most welcome here, always. Consider this a quiet meeting of souls, if only for a moment.
Now then... shall we begin?
The Guy
“Just tell me,” Erin demanded, her voice sharp. I raised an eyebrow and teased, “Oh, now that’s a convincing argument. I think it was the word ‘just’ that really sold me.”
She lightly slugged my upper arm. “Just…you know what I mean!”
“I do,” I replied with a teasing grin.
She paused, pulling out an old reporter’s trick that was something like ‘good cop, bad cop’, except in this case, Erin was both cops. She had been trying for ages to get me to spill personal secrets, something juicy she could sell to TMZ or Entertainment Tonight. But I was a vault, an impenetrable lock that only frustrated her ego, unable to crack my combination.
“Would you tell me? Just me?” she asked, leaning in.
“Off the record?” I confirmed, raising an eyebrow.
She nodded. “Yes.”
I gave a dramatic pause, then smiled. “Perhaps.”
I’d known Erin for years. She was an ambitious entertainment reporter, probably 20 years younger than me, but she had a fire that could not be ignored. What I respected most about her was how she refused to let her figure, or the lack thereof, debilitate her ambition. This is Hollywood. The city of angels is tough on women, especially women with fuller bodies. Hollywood‘s brutal, dismissive even.
The hill that Erin was climbing seemed impossible. A reporter. On-camera. How could she sell it? But against the odds, she was doing so. Her candidness, honesty, and infectious sense of fun had earned her millions of on-air interviews with celebrities, writers, and athletes. Over the years, we’d developed a strong trust. I was her first on-air interview, and we’d had several more since that time. Over the years, watching her saunter through the fusses and skepticisms launched by the less talented, I could not help but feel a deep sense of pride.
Her crew was packing up at a distance as I packed my briefcase. Erin leaned over the table, throwing darts of personal questions, praying for one of them to land some points. “Ever had someone you lusted after? Ever had a crush? Ever been in love?”
I let her darts land, replying, “Kid, I’ve had all of those… with the same woman…simultaneously.” Erin’s jaw dropped. Bullseye.
Morgan Knight's Private Invitation
If you find your heart yearning for the rest of this story, I would be honored to share it with you.
Simply leave your calling card below, and you shall be granted passage into my private library - where forbidden pages and tender confessions await. I will say...this story becomes exceptionally steamy.