The Monster Beneath My Skin

The storm cracked open the night sky, but it wasn’t thunder that made my heart race. It was him. I found him half-buried in mud and blood, breathing like a cornered beast. A man-shaped monster — towering, brutal, and beautiful in a way that felt wrong to even think. His skin glistened under the rain, stretched tight over bulging muscle, veins pulsing with barely contained power. His eyes locked onto mine — hungry, wild. I should have fled. But I stepped closer. I whispered to him, coaxed him like a wounded animal. My voice shook as I touched his face, fingertips brushing sharp cheekbones and cold, damp skin. His head leaned into my hand with a low growl that rumbled through his chest and into mine. He followed me home. Quiet at first. Watching. Breathing me in like I was the one thing he needed more than air. I fed him raw meat — chicken, birds, anything dripping and fresh. He ate with a feral grace, licking crimson from his lips while his gaze never left my body. His tongue darted out, slow, deliberate. The way he watched me became unbearable. Heat pooled inside me, as if some part of me wanted him to do more than stare. He could crush me. He could tear me apart. But he didn’t. Instead, he circled me like a predator studying its prey, his massive frame closing in, breath warm on my neck. His claws ghosted over my skin, never breaking it, but threatening. Testing me. Testing us. “I could ruin you,” his voice rasped, voice deep and unused. My breath hitched. “Then do it.” And that was how it began.