3Rddegreefilms
Leila Rae, Mike Mancini Pic(s)
The silence of the sleeping house was a thick, heavy blanket, broken only by the frantic rhythm of my own heart hammering agat my ribs. A floorboard groaned in the darkness upstairs, a sound that was not part of the familiar nightly chorus, and a cold dread began to pool low in my stomach. I felt a presence before I saw it, a subtle shift in the air that raised the fine hairs on my arms, a sensation as intimate and unwelcome as a stranger’s breath on the back of my neck. The shadow that detached itself from the deeper blackness of the hallway moved with a liquid, predatory grace, its form suggesting a masculine silhouette that was both terrifying and strangely compelling. My breath hitched, caught in my throat as his scent reached me—a mix of night air, clean sweat, and something metallic and sharp, like ozone after a lightning strike. He was close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, a furnace in the cool gloom, and the sheer size of him seemed to swallow the space around me. One large, warm hand, surprisingly gentle, came to rest on my shoulder, its weight both a threat and a paralyzing caress that sent a shiver of pure, electric fear down my spine. His other hand moved to my waist, his fingers splaying possessively agat the thin fabric of my shirt, and I could feel the hard strength in them, a promise of immovable force. In that suspended moment, trapped between the mundane safety of the living room and the terrifying unknown he represented, a forbidden thrill coiled hot and tight within me, a dark awakening to a danger I could not name.
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