Bound by Ink and Hunger: Marked by Desire. Claimed Without Mercy

I ran from him once. Thought I could outrun the pull, the way his hands felt like they owned my bones before they even touched me. But the city got loud, the nights got cold, and my own pride started tasting like ash. So I went back. Knocked on his door like a stray dog hoping the master still kept the porch light on. He answered in a faded tee, ink staining his knuckles, eyes dark enough to swall...