By the second full day the hotel room no longer felt temporary. The heavy curtains stayed drawn. The Do Not Disturb sign remained on the door handle. Room-service trays stacked on the desk. The sheets were a wreck of dried spots and fresh ones. The air itself smelled like skin and s*x and the faint salt of everything Marcus had left in Elena and on her.
She had stopped putting clothes back on between rounds. There was no point. Marcus wanted her marked skin visible at all times, wanted to be able to reach for her without barriers, wanted to see the slow leak of him down her thighs whenever she stood to stretch or walk to the bathroom. The collection of bruises across her breasts and ribs had deepened overnight into richer purples and reds. He had added two more that morning—one high on th
