Silas stood before Mirabelle at the edge of the training grounds.
The light of the setting sun cast a golden shimmer across his dark skin. He had rolled the sleeves of his black shirt up to his elbows and the fabric stretched tightly across his biceps. The black tattoos winding along his arms almost seemed to move whenever his muscles shifted beneath them.
The shirt had originally been laced closed near the collar.
At some point during the day, however, the knot had loosened.
Now the dark fabric had fallen apart in a dangerously distracting way, exposing much of his chest and even more tattoos beneath.
He stood there in dark suede trousers with his boots discarded beside him, his bare feet pressed firmly into the warm arena sand.
His toes curled slightly into the grains for balance.
He had beautiful feet.
Mirabelle blinked.
She wasn't entirely sure she had ever thought that about a man before.
Or about feet in general.
'Does this body secretly have a foot fetish?'
