It’s easy to overlook it, but he’s handsome in an intense sort of way—those intelligent eyes, that firm jaw, and his well-toned body moving with such deadly precision underneath the perpetually casual ensembles.
He’s lethal and sexy—like a clandestine crocodile, dressed in discount clothing, playing itself off as an iguana for the benefit of the world around him.
I know who he is.
I know what he does.
And I want to him to notice me.
I need those strong hands on my body, grasping and stroking. Those laser beam eyes looking into the depths of my soul as he plunges into me, over and over, and I scream out his name.
—For the record, I mean fuck me, not kill me.
Of course, you never know…
*Because I’ve always had a thing for Michael C. Hall as Dexter.