Jenkins
After showering and getting dressed, I return to the bedroom and find Zeldric in the exact same position I left him in. He’s lying face down, occupying three-quarters of the bed. His head is turned to the side, with dark strands of hair partially covering his face. I take a deep breath and tilt my head as I look him over, from his broad shoulders, down his V-shaped back, to his firm, round ass—the same one I was digging my nails into just hours ago as he buried himself inside me over and over again. I lost count of how many times we did it, though I do remember most of the positions.
I step closer, trying to read the single tattoo stretching across his upper back from one shoulder blade to the other. "Blood and Death," I smirk. What else did I expect? A poem, maybe? That would be
