Taeryn stepped out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips, another draped over his hand as he scrubbed lazily at his damp hair. Water slid in thin trails down the firm lines of his torso, highlighting the faint red marks Rihan had left. His gray eyes swept the bedroom.
"Detective?" he called, his voice low, curious.
No answer.
He moved toward the closet, noticing the door was closed. But the other door, the one he never bothered locking, was cracked open. Taeryn exhaled quietly. A part of him had known Rihan wouldn't be able to resist it.
He pushed the door open.
There Rihan stood, frozen in front of the largest sketch in the room. The one of him tied up, wrists bound, glaring like a cornered wolf.
"You found my drawings," Taeryn said softly.
Rihan let out a sharp scoff. "Yeah. Yeah. Your drawings."
He turned to him fully, disbelief twisting across his face. "How long have you been stalking me again?"
