What do you think of my story?

note-this is not the beginning of it:

Even though the light was dim I could see you were handsome. Beautiful, even. A timeless kind of beauty. The luminescence of your skin, your thick Romanian eyelashes; a perfect artists model.
Which you were for every sculpture that I made. My inspiration.
I don’t know how long I stood there watching your breath rise and fall. But I was in a moment all to myself, and-god, this is so wrong-but you’ll never know, right?

The moment it took to walk over to you seemed an eternity, but I slowly, deliciously, faintly brushed my lips over your cheek and into the hollow of your throat-the very touch of you sent a thrumming through my skin. I could feel it throughout my body, bolts of electricity making my mouth go dry and my world was spinning. Just one kiss, just one touch, right?

You hadn’t even woken up.
Now we are sitting together eating strawberries, and each stinging bite feels like that one kiss I stole from you.
“I’m going to take a nap” you announce.

“Yeah,” I reply as your breathing slowly becomes rhythmic and the only way I can tell you’re alive is by the slow rise and fall of your chest, because you are almost colorless, but for your eyes and lips you are not a statue. My very own sleeping beauty.
You bastard. Why do you have to be so breathtaking? You drink up the sun, you drink up my heart until the only thing I feel is you. You drink up everything.
Why does your touch make my heart stutter? My mouth so dry?
Why is it you?

i dont care if you say i am a horrible writer, i just need some constructive criticism.