My Landlord's Midnight Lips - Chapter 6: Chapter 6
You are reading My Landlord's Midnight Lips, Chapter 6: Chapter 6. Read more chapters of My Landlord's Midnight Lips.
My entire body convulsed as an electric current of desire surged through me, leaving me trembling like a leaf in a storm.
Vincent Lowell's strong hands steadied me as we stumbled into the bedroom.
I was powerless to resist him—not that I wanted to. Every fiber of my being craved his touch, his love.
Then—knock, knock—the sharp rapping at the door shattered the moment like glass.
"Sophia, open up! I forgot my keys."
Daniel. My husband.
Reality crashed over me. Teeth clenched against the fog of lust, I shoved Vincent away. "Hide! Now!" My whisper was frantic, desperate.
Panic flashed in his eyes. He dropped to the floor, scrambling under the bed just as Daniel's impatient voice rang out again.
"Sophia, what's taking so long?"
"Coming!" I forced my voice steady, though it still wavered.
Instead of heading straight for the door, I bolted to the kitchen, bending over the sink to gulp down icy water straight from the tap. The cold shock barely dulled the fire inside me.
I couldn't stall any longer.
Wiping my mouth, I rushed to the door and yanked it open.
"What were you doing? Took you forever," Daniel grumbled, stepping inside. His frown deepened as he studied my face. "Why are you so red?"
I pressed a hand to my burning cheeks. "That cheap face mask you bought. My skin's on fire." The lie slipped out too easily.
"That's ridiculous. I'm returning it tomorrow." His face twisted in irritation—the wounded pride of a man duped by a knockoff.
I waved him off. "Forget it. It was, what, twenty bucks?" My pulse hammered as I changed the subject. "Why are you home so early?"
"Power outage at the factory. Shift got cut short."
He strode past me into the bedroom, flopping onto the bed and flipping on the TV.
My stomach lurched. One glance under the bed, and he'd see a full-grown man hiding there.
Fear prickled my skin—but so did a dark, twisted thrill.
Damn that turtle soup. The heat still pulsed through me, relentless.
First things first: get Vincent out.
"Daniel, go shower. You just got home, and you're already dirtying the bed," I snapped, layering my voice with exaggerated annoyance.
"I didn't even work today. I'm clean." His eyes never left the screen.
"Ugh, you reek of machine oil. Go wash up." I grabbed his arm, hauling him toward the bathroom.
He lifted his sleeve and sniffed. "Do I? I don't smell anything."
"Just go!" I shoved him inside, slamming the door behind him.
The shower hissed to life.
I bolted to the kitchen, gulping more water until the fire inside me dulled to a simmer.
Then—heart pounding—I crept back to the bedroom and kicked the bed frame. "Get out. Now. He's showering."
Vincent slithered from beneath the bed—and lunged.
In an instant, he had me pinned, his fingers clawing at my skirt with reckless hunger.
Vincent Lowell's strong hands steadied me as we stumbled into the bedroom.
I was powerless to resist him—not that I wanted to. Every fiber of my being craved his touch, his love.
Then—knock, knock—the sharp rapping at the door shattered the moment like glass.
"Sophia, open up! I forgot my keys."
Daniel. My husband.
Reality crashed over me. Teeth clenched against the fog of lust, I shoved Vincent away. "Hide! Now!" My whisper was frantic, desperate.
Panic flashed in his eyes. He dropped to the floor, scrambling under the bed just as Daniel's impatient voice rang out again.
"Sophia, what's taking so long?"
"Coming!" I forced my voice steady, though it still wavered.
Instead of heading straight for the door, I bolted to the kitchen, bending over the sink to gulp down icy water straight from the tap. The cold shock barely dulled the fire inside me.
I couldn't stall any longer.
Wiping my mouth, I rushed to the door and yanked it open.
"What were you doing? Took you forever," Daniel grumbled, stepping inside. His frown deepened as he studied my face. "Why are you so red?"
I pressed a hand to my burning cheeks. "That cheap face mask you bought. My skin's on fire." The lie slipped out too easily.
"That's ridiculous. I'm returning it tomorrow." His face twisted in irritation—the wounded pride of a man duped by a knockoff.
I waved him off. "Forget it. It was, what, twenty bucks?" My pulse hammered as I changed the subject. "Why are you home so early?"
"Power outage at the factory. Shift got cut short."
He strode past me into the bedroom, flopping onto the bed and flipping on the TV.
My stomach lurched. One glance under the bed, and he'd see a full-grown man hiding there.
Fear prickled my skin—but so did a dark, twisted thrill.
Damn that turtle soup. The heat still pulsed through me, relentless.
First things first: get Vincent out.
"Daniel, go shower. You just got home, and you're already dirtying the bed," I snapped, layering my voice with exaggerated annoyance.
"I didn't even work today. I'm clean." His eyes never left the screen.
"Ugh, you reek of machine oil. Go wash up." I grabbed his arm, hauling him toward the bathroom.
He lifted his sleeve and sniffed. "Do I? I don't smell anything."
"Just go!" I shoved him inside, slamming the door behind him.
The shower hissed to life.
I bolted to the kitchen, gulping more water until the fire inside me dulled to a simmer.
Then—heart pounding—I crept back to the bedroom and kicked the bed frame. "Get out. Now. He's showering."
Vincent slithered from beneath the bed—and lunged.
In an instant, he had me pinned, his fingers clawing at my skirt with reckless hunger.
End of My Landlord's Midnight Lips Chapter 6. Continue reading Chapter 7 or return to My Landlord's Midnight Lips book page.