Clothes have stayed on for weeks, even when the kisses get heavy.
But tonight, this level of intimacy feels different than before.
Our conversations and texts have unfurled layers of closeness and desire that go far beyond touch.
Every time this man reaches for me, whispers to me, holds me… something inside me blooms.
And somehow I can’t get enough.
Marco turns to hoist himself over the side of the pool, taking a sip from his water bottle.
That’s when I notice the marks.
Small round burns scattered across his back.
So many of them.
A few thin raised silver lines too.
They look like cuts, but not from any recent incident.
These scars are subtle, faded.
They tell a dark story, just as tattoos etch their silent voice upon skin.
I didn’t notice them that first night, in the studio.
Too caught up in a whirlwind of lust and urgency.
Marco had stolen my attention, guiding my hand to the heated mound inside his underwear.
The way I wanted him then was nothing compared to how I feel now.
But tonight as he turns his body away, a hint of the past emerges.
I lift a hand to brush my thumb across the ridges.
“What happened here?” I ask.
A car accident perhaps? A fire?
Marco’s body stills.
“Nothing,” he murmurs. “It's from when I was a kid.”
His voice is cautious, eyes shifting toward the skyline.
Then he changes the subject.
“Have you been here before? At night?”
I nod gently.
And then a memory surfaces.
When I was a kid, I knew a boy at school with marks like this on his arms. Small round burns.
The boy’s father had been a heavy smoker.
