*This is a slow burn work of fiction with a bit of mystery, horror, and of course… erotica. It’s my second time writing anything like this, I’m hopeful that people enjoy and curious if the story has any potential.*
Ethan loomed over the counter methodically scrubbing and stacking dishes in the cold, antiquated kitchen of his family’s Victorian farmhouse. The plates and bowls clattered against the chipped porcelain of the large apron sink as he stared out the rain-speckled window, the steam from the near-scalding water obstructing his view. He reminded himself he should check the boiler in the basement – the stark contrast between the cold house and the searing hot water required some attention, yet another to-do on his never-ending list. He huffed, unsuccessfully trying to blow the streak of brown hair away from his face – it was always in his face, tickling his nose. His old linen farm shirt was unbuttoned and hanging loosely at the neck, partially revealing his chest and prominent clavicles. The mud on his boots had dried and was leaving little crumbs of dirt on the floor, which he knew he’d get an earful about at any moment.