THE CLOSET (sample)

The closet was warm, the air carrying the faint scent of cedarwood and his cologne, a blend of spice and citrus that clung to his skin. His body stretched out across the polished floor, muscles tense and rippling as he rested his weight on his forearms. His reflection stared back at him from the glossy tiles, defiant yet vulnerable, a portrait of desire laid bare.

Behind him, the door creaked open, soft and deliberate. He didn’t turn his head—he didn’t need to. He could feel him. The weight of his presence was unmistakable, commanding and electric.

“You’re already on your knees for me,” the man’s voice purred, low and dangerous, each word sharp enough to draw blood. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”

A flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips, but he kept his head bowed, fingers curling against the cool floor. He could hear the soft shuffle of bare feet, the whisper of fabric as the other man stepped closer. The air between them sparked, charged with unspoken promises.

The dark-haired figure crouched behind him, his fingertips grazing the dip of his spine before tracing a slow, deliberate line downward. He shivered, the featherlight touch igniting a fire that burned straight through his chest.

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