Chapter 12 - 13 Runaway Libido
The hallway outside was still pitch black, so I used my phone’s torch to sweep the walls like I was on a ghost-hunting show.
Eventually found the storage room, which was basically a hoarder’s fever dream. Tools, nails, screws, boxes—an entire DIY graveyard dumped in a single corner.
The pliers were buried somewhere in the back like they owed someone money.
I stretched up, teetering on my toes, reaching for them like I was auditioning for Swan Lake: Apocalypse Edition.
Just as I grabbed them, my foot rolled over something suspiciously round and untrustworthy. I yelped, lost my balance, and flailed like a human car dealership balloon mid-windstorm.
There were nails all over the floor. Actual nails. Pointy and plentiful. The sort of thing that would absolutely ruin my chances at open-toed heels ever again.
But the pain never came.
Instead, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist and hauled me upright like I weighed less than a bag of crisps.
‘Careful,’ he muttered, voice low.
My heart was still trying to yeet itself out of my chest.
I couldn’t see him—he was behind me—but every one of my senses had dialled up to a hundred in the dark.
His breath skimmed my neck, warm and low. The heat of his hands burned through the fabric of my top, fingers firm against my waist like he was built for catching wayward women in stairwell accidents.