Eric closed the door to the girl's room and locked it, then put the key in his pocket. He rested his forehead on the closed door. The image of her body reappeared, lying face down on the mattress, the criss-crossed whips on her back stretching from shoulder to ankle. He wanted to run the tip of his tongue over every red mark, leaving no part of her untouched. Through the door, he could hear her muffled cries, and a strange shiver ran through him. Tension welled up inside Eric, showing itself through Eric's body, causing his muscles to tighten. He stopped stretching and then clenched his hand, knuckles creaking then letting go. Loosening his body even more, he forced himself to relax. It's three o'clock in the morning. He was drugged, sweaty, and in need of something, anything—a woman, perhaps. He looked away, the soft colors of the lights were not very bright but still bright enough. He likes this house. With each passing week inside it, he liked it more and more. From what is known
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