“Were you … hurt?”

He sucks in a breath.

There’s a pause which feels like an eternity.

Then he whispers into my ear. “Is that what you want?”

I hold my breath as his tongue dips out to lick the rim of my ear.

“No,” I reply, my voice shaky.

“I don’t believe you … I know you hate me,” he whispers, planting one hand above me on the wall. The other snakes up my arm. “You don’t have to fear me. I won’t hurt you.”

I don’t know if I can believe him.

If he’s really washing out blood … whose is it? Did he get into a fight with someone?

Or is he lying to me?

A soft moan leaves his mouth and he whispers, “It’s hard to resist … So hard.”

Hard to resist … what?

Me?

“Keep pushing me,” he adds.

Is it a threat or an invitation? I can’t tell.

Until he opens his mouth. “I like it.”

What kind of person says that?

After being caught doing … this?

“Who … who are you?” I ask. The question just slipped out of me.

But I can’t stop wondering why he’s cleaning in the middle of the night.

He smiles, his hand moving up my neck … all the way to my cheek, where he caresses me. His fingers leave a slick trail on my skin.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to…” he says, as his tongue dips out to lick his lips. I can hear him smile. “Like I said … it’s none of your business. Trust me when I say, you’re better off not knowing.”

My lips begin to tremble.

His fingers brush down my chin and then let go.

I feel like he just slid his tongue down my throat.

Like he just groped me.

Tongued me.

And I let him.

Even though none of that really happened.

It just played out in my mind.

And it’s so fucked up, that the moment he lifts his hand off the wall, I bolt.