The second he’s done, he tucks himself away and presses his knee to the edge of my bed, lowering a little to inspect the mess he’s made on my chest.
Dipping his finger into one of the pools of sticky spunk, he begins writing something. Something that I soon discover is his name.
Fuck.
He’s claiming me in the most primal way, and fuck if it doesn’t make my cunt wet for him all over again.
“No one touches you, Hellcat. Not even your own fingers. I’ll know if you do.”
I want to ask how, but all words vanish the second his eyes find mine.
Instead, I just nod like a fucking puppet who’s happy to follow his instruction.
“Good girl.”
Before I know what’s happening, he’s standing in front of the window, ready to climb out.
Scrambling to sit up, I flick the switch on my lamp, filling the room with soft white light.
I gasp when I take him in, or more so the blood that’s covering him.
“Theo, what—”
“See you soon, Hellcat,” he says, cutting off my concern over the fact that he’s fucking covered in blood.
“Wait,” I cry out, a thought slamming into me.
He turns back and looks at me through my open window.
His brow quirks impatiently.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve been here in the middle of the night, is it?”
The smirk he gives me is all the answer I need.
Motherfucker.