Only glances and breath. Van watches from afar.
Hidden among the shadows, Van Helsing remained still, his back pressed against the cold wall of the hallway. The faint light of the moon spilled through the cracks in the shutters, stretching across the floor like silver blades. He had followed the trail to this house—isolated, surrounded by mist and silence—and now he could finally see the creature he had come to confront.
But the sight before him was nothing like what he had imagined.
The man stood in the center of the room, completely naked. His body, sculpted and strong, seemed carved by moonlight itself. Muscles flexed subtly beneath his skin, moving with animal grace. His shoulders were broad, tapering to a lean waist, every line defined, every breath accentuating his physical perfection. His skin gleamed faintly with sweat, giving him a raw, almost divine aura—half man, half something else.
Van’s breath caught in his throat. He shouldn’t be watching, and yet he couldn’t look away. The man’s chest rose and fell slowly, his heart visibly beating beneath the firm flesh. His hands ran absently through his dark hair, damp and disheveled, while his eyes—wolfish, gleaming gold in the dim light—seemed to sense something in the air.
Van pressed closer to the wall, trying not to make a sound. But every breath he took felt heavy, burning, as if the silence itself was accusing him of his desire.
The man turned slightly, giving Van a full view of his body. His thighs were powerful, his stance confident, the outline of his cock—thick, heavy, resting between his legs—impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just physical attraction; it was something primal. A pull that defied logic and training.
The hunter watched, consumed by curiosity and temptation alike. The air seemed charged with tension, with the faint promise of danger and sin.
Comments
Post a Comment