June
"Ghk!!!"
The store room door creaks open—same way it did a week ago. Déjà vu, except this time it's twisted.
This time he’s in that sharp suit, trousers on, belt straining, the thick bulge outlined shameless above his zipper, before I know it, his shirt is gone, showing his bare chest, flexing muscle. His gaze is darker, hungrier, like a shadow made flesh.
"Go backwards," his voice rumbles, as usual deep.
My chest heaves, as I stumble back into the stuffy little store room, feeling my own pulse go thump-thump-thumping in my ears.
Clnk. The door slams shut behind us.
I can’t move. My back brushes the shelves, and my breath comes in sharp bursts—hahh, hahh, hahh—and he stalks closer, each step heavy, and, predatory.
I whisper, "You’re here again." but he doesn’t answer, instead
