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On top of all that, he’d admitted he was a murderer.
Fuck, and now he’d scarred me. I’d never be able to go shirtless again—not without having to explain away the marks. I was going to need a believable cover story.
As I frowned at the marks on my chest, my dick stiffened.
Confused and conflicted, I strode to my hamper and fished out the sheer shirt he’d been wearing. The fabric slid through my fingers like water. The thing probably cost more than my television, for fuck’s sake. Furtively, not sure he was really gone, I returned to the bathroom and looked in the mirror at the marks he’d left, and allowed myself to touch the tender skin below them. I wrapped his shirt around my humiliating erection and jerked off with it, then used the garment to catch the mess.
As soon as I’d cleaned up my new, not entirely wanted body modification, I fell back into bed. I would probably need the antibiotics.
The scent of male satisfaction was strong in the room. His scent lingered on my bedding, and I had to force myself not to bury my face in it and inhale.
Shit. I needed to call Tarryn and tell her what he’d done now.
My feelings about Loïc Leduc were a Pandora’s box I was afraid to examine too closely. He was exciting, and that had to explain the effervescent buzz currently running through my veins.
Maybe I got off on him dominating me because I had to be in charge in every other part of my life.
It wasn’t anything more than lust and excitement, right?
The man had killed his own mother. Even without all of his other red flags, that one should have been a dealbreaker. When I’d told Tarryn he’d said he was a murderer, she’d believed he’d been fucking with me.
Now, I believed him.
Tarryn and I should break things off with him now, before things went any further.
Even if we did, though, would he go away?
Did I want him to?
Fuck.
