My teeth bite into him. But suddenly, I pull away. His usual lavender scent is mixed in with something else. Something that is too sweet, too bitter, too ugly. My instinct is screaming that I should not mark him. That there is something rotten in him.

I wipe my mouth as he lifts himself. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Is it done?”

I glance at his neck. I have not even started yet. “Your smell…” I whisper, “It’s preventing me to mark you.”

“Then, I will wash first.”

He gets up from the bed. He’s about to enter the bathroom when he returns and lifts me off his bed.

“How about...