Paul and I stood in the doorway of my walk-in closet staring at the c*****e that our passion had left behind. We were both nude and smeared in blood—both his and mine. Most of my clothes still hung on hangers except for where the shelving units had been crushed or wrenched from the walls. I grimaced at the amount of blood smeared on my clothes, my wall, and my once pristine white carpet.
I reached out unconsciously to touch the love bite on my shoulder … one of the love bites. There had been many.
Paul's eyes were hooded as he weaved on his feet completely sated. When we turned to meet each other's eyes, I saw my blood on his lips. I licked my lips tasting his blood on mine.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I nodded. "And you?"
He nodded.
Despite our desire to do so, we had never ripped
