Two days had passed since that night, but his scent still seemed to cling to the sheets, to the skin of my bedroom. I was in the kitchen, the coffee steaming in the cup, when the doorbell broke the morning calm. My pulse accelerated. I opened the door and there he was, with the same worn black t-shirt, the tousled hair, and that gaze that cut like glass. I didn't expect to see him again, but my body reacted before my mind, a heat rising through my chest.

—"I forgot something," he said, his voice low, almost a growl, without explaining further.

I let him in, the air charging instantly, as if time hadn't passed. I followed him to the bedroom, where his black boxers were still crumpled in a corner, silent witnesses to that night. He crouched to pick them up, but didn't move towards the door. His eyes locked onto mine, and I knew he hadn't come just for the clothes.

He pushed me against the bed, my knees giving way under his weight. His hands were impatient, tearing off my t-shirt, my pants, everything that got in the way. There were no words, just the rough scrape of his beard against my neck, his fingers exploring my skin with an urgency that made me gasp. He was hard, his erection pressing against my thigh, and my body responded, opening up to him as if it had been waiting.

—"Give it to me again," I murmured, my voice trembling.

He didn't answer. He turned me over, face down, my hands grasping the edge of the mattress. The sound of his zipper ripped through the silence, and before I could prepare myself, he entered me with a deep thrust, filling me until he drew a moan from me. Each thrust was fierce, his body crashing against mine, the heat of his skin mingling with mine. The bed creaked, my screams got lost in the sheets, and his low growls were the only thing marking the rhythm.

It was more intense than the first time, as if he wanted to reclaim me again, erase any doubt. His hands gripped my hips, leaving marks, and his rhythm became frenzied. Then, I felt it: a liquid heat, scorching, spilling inside me. His body tensed, a rough gasp escaped his throat, and I knew he had filled me again, leaving more of himself, something that could take root.

He pulled away, the immediate emptiness, my body still trembling. I turned over, but he was already zipping up his pants, the boxers now forgotten in his hand. He didn't look at me. He didn't say anything. He walked towards the door, his firm steps resonating in the hallway. The click of the lock as it closed was all that remained.

I stayed in bed, gasping, the heat of his second mark dripping between my thighs. His scent permeated the air, stronger now, as if it refused to fade. And as the silence returned to envelop the house, a certainty settled: what he had left in me, for the second time, could grow, could stay forever.