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He closed the container and looked down at what he’d done to me, then sighed longingly. “Do you think Tarryn is going to be angry?”
Her name woke me from what felt like a trance.
This man was dangerous. He was like a wet dream that dissolved my common sense and destroyed my self-control every time he entered a room.
He was watching the uncertainty flash across my face as he swung his leg off of me and rose from the bed—fully dressed, smirking, covered in my bodily fluids.
He strolled to my closet and slid it open. Without hesitation, he pulled down a T-shirt and a pair of track pants. Right. He’d gone through my closet before, the day he’d stolen my pocket square, and apparently knew where things were.
As he stripped out of his clothes, I caught sight of the telltale wet splotch on the front of his jeans. I’d gotten off on him cutting me, but he’d gotten off on it, too.
A jolt of lust made my throat bob as he got naked, his strong body and beautiful scars on shameless display.
“Are you leaving?”
“Do you want me to stay the night?” he asked dryly. “Were you hoping to be my little spoon?”
I opened my mouth, wanting him to stay, wishing I didn’t—wanting to tell him to fuck off, but then have him not leave. I was so conflicted, I shut my mouth and watched him drop his clothing into my hamper as though we lived together. He dressed in my T-shirt and track pants, looking far better in them than I did.
“Thank you for tonight.” He looked sheepish. Was he still drunk?
“If you were feeling lonely tonight, I’m surprised you came here instead of calling Tarryn.”
“There are parts of me I don’t want to inflict upon her.”
“But it’s fine to unleash your sadistic tendencies on me?”
“It’s different with you. I know you like it.” His slow smile did funny things to my stomach. My cock was awake again and more than willing to go another round.
“Goodbye, Leduc.”
“Don’t count on me being gone long, Davenport. Oh. Check your nightstand.”
When I was relatively sure he was gone, I got up from my bed. Now that the adrenaline had cooled, my chest felt like hamburger.
Curious, I checked my side table drawer. There was some disinfectant, antibiotics, a package of wrap, and an aftercare scarification sheet.
He’d been here before I got home and planned all this.
He’d never planned to kill me.
In the bathroom, I studied the cuts in the mirror. There was also a nick on my throat that was too big for a shaving incident. That would be fun to explain away at the office. As for my chest? The marks he’d left seemed random, which I found strangely disappointing. Letting such an unhinged man cut me when he was drunk had been reckless—especially after he’dadmitted to fantasizing about killing me. My dick had been in charge and not listening to reason.
However…
Fuck, it had been hot.
I studied the marks again, trying to imagine how they’d looked to him. Duh…mirror. I flipped my reflection in my mind.
The marks weren’t meaningless. There were two capital letter Ls on my chest, but one slightly lower and overlapping the other.
Loïc Leduc.
He really had marked me as his property. And what was rubbed into the wound? I’d thought it was antiseptic, but it was dark rather than clear. I went hunting for the bottle and found it—he’d put black tattoo ink in the cuts. The scars would probably be permanent.
I—I wasn’t sure what to think about that. Why would he claim me as his own? The man didn’t even like me.
I didn’t like him either.
