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The heat of Hanoi at midnight was a living thing, thick with the scent of roasted coffee, exhaust, and blooming jasmine. I had returned to my boutique hotel room in the Old Quarter, eager to peel off my damp clothes and wash away the grime of the day.
I stripped down to a pair of black lacy underwear, tossing them onto the unmade bed, before slipping into the bathroom for a cold shower.
When I stepped back into the bedroom, towel wrapped tight around my chest, the air felt different. Thicker. Charged with a sudden, wild electricity.
Standing by the balcony doors, was my private guide from the afternoon. The polite, buttoned-up man who had navigated the bustling streets had vanished. He stood in the shadows, his shirt half-unbuttoned, revealing a broad, golden chest that gleamed in the ambient streetlights. Across his skin, faint, dark tiger stripes beneath the surface, pulsing with a life of their own.
But it was what he held in his hand that made my breath catch.
He was holding my discarded lacy underwear.
His eyes, now a brilliant, glowing amber with slit pupils, locked onto mine. He didn’t look ashamed; his gaze was fierce, predatory… Continue reading “Panty Sniffing Weretiger”