Honey

Roman devoured my mouth, his hand leaving sticky, bloody fingerprints against my cheek. He should have scared me, walking into his room looking like a murderer fresh from a crime scene. It seemed like second nature to him.

How many times had he come back drenched in someone else’s blood? There was a metallic quality to how he smelled on a normal day as if that scent of blood clung to him. I couldn’t find it in me to be afraid of him.

Because once ...