Booktok He Leaned Against The Doorframe นิยาย & เรื่องราว

For him? As I stood and slid the book back onto the shelf, a strange sensation washed over me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I wasn’t alone. Turning slowly, I scanned the room. At first, I saw nothing, only the flickering shadows cast by the dim lanterns. But then I saw him, standing in the doorway. Jackson. He leaned against the frame, his hazel eyes locked on me. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way he looked at me–as if he found peace.

He placed his arms casually on my shoulders. “I just needed some space.” “You keep repeating that answer.” I glanced sideways at him. “Maybe because people keep asking the same question.” “Fair enough.” Theo laughed softly. On reaching the front door my stomach dropped when I saw a tall figure in a black suit, leaning against the door.

came a voice from behind her. Jo yelped, slamming the book shut so fast it sent a cloud of dust puffing into the air. She lurched upright— —but the ridiculous pink chair clung stubbornly to her backside. She flailed, kicking and twisting, arms pinwheeling uselessly. A low, amused chuckle rumbled from the doorway. Jo finally freed herself with an undignified squeak and spun around. The man leaning casually against the doorframe was tall, broad-shouldered, with sun-roughened skin and a scar slashing through one thick eyebrow.

She stood at the door for another two minutes, and still no sound came from the room. Ruth took a deep breath and turned to leave. She stomped away heavily to show her displeasure. In the bedroom, Abel leaned against the bed. He wore loose pajamas that revealed half his collarbone. His slender and fair hand was holding a book, but he had not turned a page for a long time. When the footsteps outside the door went away, he looked up with a hint of surprise on his face.

Why my chest caved in every time I thought of Rino’s face. Why I still felt dirty, even after nothing had technically happened. A soft knock pulled me out of the spiral. “Come in,” I called out automatically. The door cracked open and my voice died in my throat. Antonio. He leaned against the frame, hesitant, one hand gripping the edge of the door like he was afraid I’d tell him to leave, “Am I allowed inside?” he asked, half a smile ghosting over his lips. I shut the book fast, flipping it face down on the nightstand like it was something obscene, “Yeah, of course.”

When he saw me standing there, he set the book aside. His gray eyes locked onto mine. They were intense. Hypnotic. He wore nothing but his faded Levis. His feet were bare, the jeans unsnapped though still zipped. A thin sheen of sweat covered his bronze skin. He looked impossibly masculine lounging against the white sheets of that large bed. My throat tightened. With an effort I forced myself to keep walking past the doorway. When I reached my own room, I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, breathless.

Chapter 2 The doorknob turns with a slow, deliberate click, the sound cutting through the thick silence like a blade. My breath catches, fingers still twitching against the slick heat between my thighs, the dildo half-buried inside me as I freeze mid-gasp. The door doesn’t just open it swings wide, the hinges groaning like they’ve been waiting for this moment. And there they are. All three of them. Liam leans against the frame, one broad shoulder propped like he owns the place, his dark eyes dragging over me with the slow, hungry confidence of a man who’s already decided how he’s going to ruin me.

How do we get out? “I have a back door” he said with a smirk ‘A back door? We’re 14 floors above ground what is this man talking about?’ I thought as he took my hand, pulling me to the side. “A back door?” I scoffed “Open..” he said. Just as we stood, the bookshelf that stayed at the corner had begun to move. “Mr Cawthorn! Why don’t you show us your wife?” We heard from outside. “Is she scarred?” Another asked.

And then, one evening—when the bruising on his cheek had finally faded to a yellow-brown smear and the dark exhaustion under his eyes had lightened—he stood in the doorway. That damn doorway. The one he always found me through. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed loosely, wearing that infuriating, heart-melting, lopsided grin—the one that always made my lungs forget what air was. “Come with me,” he said. I looked up from the book I wasn’t really reading. “Where?” He didn’t answer. Just held out his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. And of course, I took it.