My stepbrother kicked me out because of my skin hunger. By a twist of fate, I ended up with an elite hacker for a roommate. He was a man of few words, but a master in the kitchen. Life was deceptively calm, until one night, as I was savoring a dessert he’d made, a few lines of text flickered into existence before my eyes. [RUN! He’s a total psycho, the possessive kind. He’s got a pair of shiny handcuffs hidden under his pillow!] [He’s obsessed, constantly thinking about how to chain you to his bed forever!] [You silly girl, still eating? Once he’s done feeding you, it’ll be your turn to feed him!] And just as they warned, deep in the night, a pair of ice-cold lips pressed against mine. But instead of fear, a shiver of pure, exhilarating excitement coursed through me. 1 Before Mom and my stepfather left for their round-the-world trip, they told Andrew to take care of me. My skin hunger was acting up again, making every night an agony. To cope, I'd take scalding hot showers, one after another, until my skin was flushed raw. Hearing the water running in the bathroom yet again, Andrew knocked on the door. His voice was laced with impatience. "Elara, how many showers are you going to take? Are you that filthy?" I shut off the faucet, my voice laced with guilt. "I... I just don't feel well." My skin was screaming, a desperate ache for contact, for closeness. The hot water was a temporary balm, but it was never enough. Andrew's voice deepened. "What's wrong with you?" Wrapping a towel around myself, I opened the door. He stared at my crimson skin, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. "Are you trying to boil yourself alive?" My cheeks flushed, my eyes glistening. "The hot water on my skin… it feels good." "This isn't right," he said, tearing his gaze away. "Don't do this again." I caught a fleeting glimpse of red creeping up the tips of his ears. As Andrew turned to leave, I grabbed his arm. "Andrew, don't go. Can you..." I bit my lip, the words catching in my throat, too shameful to speak aloud. He stopped, his eyes fixed on my hand clutching his arm. "Can I what?" "Can you... just hold me?" The last three words were barely a whisper. I thought he hadn't heard me. He stood silent for a full thirty seconds before finally speaking, his voice cool and distant. "Elara, I'm your brother now. You need to respect that boundary." Summoning a scrap of courage, I argued, "But we're not related by blood." My voice grew bolder. "Besides, we used to hug all the time when we were dating, remember?" "Mom and Dad aren't even home. Just... please, just hold me." My plea became desperate. "My skin hunger is flaring up, and it really, really hurts..." Andrew cut me off. "Skin hunger? Elara, I think you're delusional." His tone was stern, self-righteous. "There is no chance of us getting back together. Stop using such a pathetic excuse to try and trick me." I froze. My hand dropped from his arm. "Okay," I said, the single word heavy with defeat. "I get it." 2 Andrew and I dated in college. After we broke up, my mom married his dad. Just like that, we became step-siblings on paper. But it wasn't a legal tie; we were family in name only. We’d made a silent pact to never speak of our short-lived, youthful romance. A year ago, Andrew had actually asked if I wanted to get back together. I turned him down. I had a thing for the possessive, obsessive types. He wasn't one of them. Back then, I’d used his own logic against him. "Andrew, I'm your sister. There's no chance of us getting back together." I never thought he'd throw those exact words back in my face. After graduation, Andrew started working at his family's company, Hayes Corporation. I'd heard from my mom that he was getting very close to his secretary, a woman named Isabella. Maybe that was it. He had someone new, so he didn't want my touch. Or maybe our past relationship had left a scar on him. I closed the bathroom door and turned the shower back on, cranking the heat to its maximum. But before the water could even hit my skin, it sputtered and died. Andrew had shut off the main valve. His voice came from outside, cold as ice. "From now on, one shower a day. If you try for more, I'll turn off the water." The craving was unbearable. That night, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to find a moment's peace. Andrew's room was right next to mine. A text from him lit up my phone: [Can you stop making so much noise? If you keep this up, you can just move out.] I stared at the message for a moment, then typed back: [Fine. I'll be gone by tomorrow.] 3 I found a two-bedroom apartment online, a ground-floor unit with a small garden. My roommate was a twenty-five-year-old man named Caleb. We lived together peacefully for two weeks, gradually falling into a comfortable routine. He was handsome in a quiet, brooding way, but he often cooked and would invite me to eat with him. Then came tonight. I was eating a slice of tiramisu he’d made when the text appeared out of thin air. [RUN! He’s a possessive freak. He’s got a pair of shiny handcuffs under his pillow.] [He fantasizes about chaining you to his bed every single night.] [Still eating? Once you’re full, it’s your turn to feed him.] I shot a covert glance at Caleb, unable to believe what I was seeing. Had I actually stumbled upon a real-life obsessive? A devastatingly handsome one with a perfect body, at that? A thrill, sharp and intoxicating, shot through me. The real reason Andrew and I broke up was because he thought I was a pervert. I’d told him countless times, "I want you to lock me up. Can't you just buy a pair of handcuffs?" He would just stare at me in horror. "Elara, are you sick?" Yes, I was. Once, we got stuck in an elevator together. While he was calmly trying to time the rescue, a dark thought bloomed in my mind: I want to be stuck in here with him for a little longer. If the rescuers never came, we could die together. That thought terrified him. He broke up with me soon after. I didn't fight it; his possessive streak was far too weak for my taste. Snapping back to the present, I pushed the last bite of tiramisu into my mouth. I smiled at Caleb. "I tend to take long showers. If you're in a hurry, you can go first." "No need," he said, his voice a low murmur. "I'm not in a rush. You go ahead." "Oh, okay. Thanks." I stood up and went to my room to grab my towel. The moment the door clicked shut, another comment flashed before my eyes. [You should peek through the crack in the door. You won't believe what Caleb is doing right now.] My hand froze on the doorknob. Through the narrow gap I’d left, I peered back into the living room. Caleb was sitting where I'd left him. He dipped a finger into the swirl of leftover cream on the plate, brought it to his lips, and slowly licked it clean. As he looked up, his eyes—dark and intense—met mine. In their depths, I saw a flicker of raw, hidden excitement. He was like a panther, sleek and predatory. I quickly shut the door, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I couldn't calm down. Every time Caleb made tiramisu, he’d watch me eat it without ever taking a bite himself. I never imagined he would lick the cream I’d left behind. It was so twisted. I loved it. 4 Towel and nightgown in hand, I walked out of my room. As I passed the living room, I saw Caleb in the kitchen, washing the dessert plate. His back was to me, his frame tall and lean. The handsome face, which had held such a dark intensity moments before, was now back to its usual cool indifference. It was like the man who'd licked my leftover cream was a different person entirely. I slipped into the bathroom, and as the door closed, more comments appeared. [Do you know why he always waits for you to finish showering before he goes in?] [Because he takes the clothes you leave behind and...] [You have skin hunger. He has an addiction.] [You two are a match made in heaven. Or hell.] My face burned. No way. That was too depraved. Could it get even more depraved? Another comment popped up: [His phone is filled with hundreds of your selfies, by the way.] I stopped dead. What? Where would he get my selfies? [He's an elite hacker. Every move you make, he knows.] [He can break into your phone in seconds. He’s backed up your entire photo album.] [He knows your search history, too.] [Okay, this is getting terrifying. I think you should seriously run.] The more I read, the more excited I became. What others found terrifying, I found absolutely thrilling. I was a pervert, after all. My most frequent searches were things like: [What's it like to date an obsessive man?] [How to relieve skin hunger?] [I keep dreaming about being tied up, what does it mean?] [How to get an obsessive man's attention?] If Caleb could get into my phone, did that mean he knew I was into men like him? Did he know about my skin hunger? [Of course he does. Even the rental ad you found was a carefully laid trap he set just for you.] [He's been obsessed with you for a very long time.] [Do you have any idea what he’s been through these last few years?] [He whispers your name in his sleep every single night.] Wow. I liked him even more now. In the shower, I turned the water temperature as high as I could stand it. The skin hunger was back with a vengeance, and the heat alone wasn't cutting it. I wanted... I wanted to be close to Caleb. The thought of the handcuffs under his pillow sent another jolt of excitement through me. I wondered what it would be like, for someone with skin hunger and someone with an addiction to get together. [You two probably wouldn't leave the house for a week.] [You’re a fish gasping for water, and he’s your ocean.] [He’ll never let you go thirsty. Whatever you want, he’ll give you more than enough.] As the steam filled the air, a soft moan escaped my lips. "Mmm..." From just outside the door, Caleb's deep, husky voice rumbled, "Miss Collins? Do you need any help?" 5 My skin finally adjusted to the searing heat, and a sense of calm washed over me. "Could you grab a face mask for me? It's on the vanity in my room." "Of course," Caleb replied, and I heard his footsteps heading toward my bedroom. The comments flared up again: [Elara deliberately left her bra hanging on the vanity chair. Caleb will see it the second he walks in.] [She’s totally teasing him.] [Caleb’s about to have a nosebleed.] Two minutes later, Caleb knocked on the bathroom door, mask in hand. I opened the door just a crack, hiding behind it as I reached out for the mask. I deliberately let my fingers brush against his. I heard the distinct sound of Caleb swallowing hard. The comments were relentless: [Tsk, what a flirt.] [He just managed to calm himself down, and you’ve gone and lit his fuse all over again.] After my shower, I went back to my room and tossed my clothes into the laundry basket, except for one thing. I purposefully left a small camisole I'd worn hanging in the bathroom. As soon as Caleb went in to take his shower, the comments started. [You’re so calculating. He loves the camisole you left for him.] [Are you going to go eavesdrop?] It was like the comments could read my mind. I was dying to listen in. But I had to resist. I managed to hold out for half an hour before I finally caved. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I pressed my ear against the door. Through the sound of running water, I could hear a faint, strained gasp. I listened, captivated, for another ten minutes. Just as I was getting completely lost in the moment, the door suddenly swung open. I stumbled forward, right into a cold, hard chest. Contact. The sensation was incredible. Caleb had been taking a cold shower. He had a towel wrapped low on his hips, his torso still slick with water droplets that traced paths down the sharp lines of his abs. I looked up, and his handsome face was so close I could feel his breath on my skin. It was intoxicating. I had no desire to pull away. I stayed pressed against him, stammering an excuse. "I... I wasn't trying to... I just came to get my camisole." The camisole in question was clutched tightly in his hand. He quickly tried to hide it behind his back, a flush of red coloring his ears. "It got... dirty. I'll wash it and give it back to you." "Oh, okay." I still wanted to be closer. My mind raced for a reason. "Caleb, I think I'm running a fever. I feel a little dizzy." Caleb set the camisole aside and gently placed the back of his hand on my forehead. "You're burning up. Can you walk?" My legs felt like jelly. "I don't think so..." The next thing I knew, he had swept me up into his arms and was carrying me toward my room. It was only a few steps, but I couldn't stop myself from snuggling deeper into his embrace. My scorching skin against his cool flesh was pure bliss. I wanted to stay like this forever. He gently laid me down on my bed and placed a thermometer in my mouth. "I'm going to get dressed. I'll be back in five minutes to check your temperature." "Okay," I murmured, knowing full well I wasn't sick. This was my skin hunger, and only one thing could cure it. 6 That night, long after I’d fallen asleep, I felt someone kissing me. I recognized Caleb's unique scent. I’d seen the cologne bottle in his bathroom—Shadowfall, it was called. I’d even secretly dabbed some on myself once. The top note was like icy pine from a remote glacier, cool and distant, but the base note was a primal, intoxicating blend of wilderness and sharp edges, whispering of intense possession and fatal attraction. He kissed me so carefully, so reverently. I trembled with excitement, fighting the urge to respond. Being kissed in secret like this... it was its own kind of thrill. I stayed perfectly still, letting him do as he pleased. When he paused, I deliberately mumbled in my sleep, "More..." Caleb froze for a second, then lowered his head and left a dark, possessive mark on my collarbone. The next morning, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring. My fingertips traced the love bite on my collarbone just as Caleb emerged from his room. His gaze instantly locked onto the mark, and his cool, calm eyes seemed to ignite with a hidden fire. I picked up his bottle of Shadowfall, turned, and leaned languidly against the edge of the sink. "Can I borrow your cologne?" I asked. His throat worked. "Sure." Right in front of him, I spritzed the cologne onto my wrist, then slowly rubbed it over the mark on my collarbone. His ears turned a shade of crimson. I wondered if he was remembering last night. "I had the weirdest dream last night," I said nonchalantly. "Felt like a ghost was pinning me down." A comment flickered into view: [He's waiting for you to call him out, and you’re playing dumb?] Calling him out would spoil the fun. The most skilled hunters often disguise themselves as prey. Caleb’s voice was laced with a deeper meaning. "And were you scared?" A slow smile spread across my lips. "Not at all. The ghost was actually quite handsome. I hope he comes back tonight." 7 That night, after I was asleep, Caleb came again. He kissed every inch of my skin, soothing the relentless craving. My skin hunger was finally sated. A new comment appeared: [Well, you’re satisfied, but he’s holding back so much it’s killing him.] [An obsessive man can’t handle being teased. Every night after leaving your room, he has to take another cold shower.] For several nights in a row, he came to my room, his secret touches the only cure for my affliction. I never let on that I knew, and with each passing day, I found myself anticipating the night's arrival more and more. But one night, he didn't come. I was tormented by my skin hunger, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. The comments began to egg me on: [If he won't come to you, why don't you go to him?] [He's fast asleep right now. You can do whatever you want.] [It’s only fair, right? A little give and take.] I couldn't resist the temptation. I slipped out of my room and crept to Caleb's door. It was slightly ajar. Peeking through the crack, I saw him lying in bed, fast asleep. I slowly pushed the door open and tiptoed to his bedside, studying his handsome, sleeping face. He looked so refined, so self-contained. It was hard to reconcile this image with the man who secretly kissed me in the dark. I leaned down and pressed my lips to his. He was like an exquisite dessert, and with every taste, I became more addicted. But it wasn't enough to satisfy my craving. I wanted more. My hand slipped under the covers, my fingertips brushing against the hard planes of his abs. He wasn't wearing a shirt. I swallowed hard, the need for contact becoming an urgent, desperate ache. I was on the verge of tears from the sheer intensity of it. Suddenly, a large hand clamped down on my wrist. Caleb's eyes snapped open. "I... I..." I tried to pull my hand back, scrambling for an explanation. But he simply pulled me down into his arms, his other hand stroking my back. His voice was a low, rough murmur in my ear. "You're wearing my cologne again, aren't you?" A shiver ran down my spine. "Yes," I whispered. "It smells so good..." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "You’re hurting, aren't you? Do you want me to help?" I couldn't hold back any longer. My eyes glistening, I looked up at him. "I do."
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