The bell over the door jingled when I pushed it open, loud in the nearly empty butcher shop. The smell hit me instantly— raw meat, iron and smoke.
It was late. I knew he was closing soon, but I wanted to catch him. Wanted to see him.
The butcher.
He was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, forearms streaked with blood he hadn’t bothered to wipe away. His apron hung low on his hips, stained, and when his eyes lifted to mine, I felt it all the way between my legs.
“Cutting it close, sweetheart,” he said, voice gravelly, deep enough to vibrate in my chest.
I smiled, pretending innocence even though my body was already betraying me. “Couldn’t resist.”
His gaze dragged over me—slow, careful, like he was deciding which part of me to carve first. I shivered under it, clenching my thighs a
