House of Silk

Naomi, the bored housewife, aches for her husband Marcus's touch. She slides her hand along his arm in the dim kitchen light, whispering promises of heat between the sheets. But he shrugs her off like yesterday's trash, mutters something about deadlines, and bolts out the door to his dead-end job. Left simmering in rejection, frustration boils under her skin. She storms outside, grabs her trowel, and attacks the garden beds, dirt caking her nails as she yanks weeds with vicious tugs. Next door, cocky little shit Trey bounces his basketball, eyes glued to her curves like a hawk on prey. He saunters over, smirking, tossing out lines about how she'd look even hotter in something tighter. Annoying brat—she snaps at him to beat it, but he just grins wider, unfazed. Then it happens. A shadow darts across the soil, and fangs sink into her calf. She yelps, swatting at the eerie spider scuttling away, its body glowing faint and wrong. Heat surges through her veins, a terrifying itch crawling under her flesh. Her body twists, swells, hungers—skin tightening, urges sharpening into something primal and insatiable. Soon, Trey's flirtations will trap him in her silken snare, and even Marcus won't escape the sticky pull of her venomous desire.