I twist off the cap. I should clean up. I should stop. A satisfied smirk tugs at my lips as I dip my fingers into my own mess and let a few large drops slide inside the bottle, swirling it into the pale golden liquid. When she wakes up, she’ll have no idea what she’s rubbing into her skin. But I will. And every time she touches her wrist, every time she catches a whiff of that sweet, familiar scent, she’ll be wearing me. Carrying me. Marking herself as mine
