As soon as he heard the door close, the need returned. That itch only he could scratch. The hollow he could fill.

That need. That craving. He hated himself for it. So fucking weak. So needy.

But even as he felt the evidence of “this time” seep onto his thigh, all he could think about was the next time.

He would be back. He would. Definitely. He had to come back. Of course he would. Right?