We're at the bar together and I'm feeling a little tipsy, my body naturally gravitating toward his as we stand among the crowd. The music pulses through the floor, vibrating up my legs as I accidentally grind against him, feeling his immediate reaction through his jeans. He catches my eye across the dimly lit space and smirks, that cocky grin that always makes my heart race.

The ride home in the back of the taxi is filled with electricity - his hand resting on my thigh, fingers slowly creeping higher as the city lights blur past us. When we stumble through the door of our apartment, he pushes me against the wall without hesitation, his lips crashing into mine in a kiss that's equal parts passion and desperation.

His hands find their way under my shirt, fingers teasing my nipples until I'm moaning into his mouth. I can feel his erection pressing against me, hard and demanding, and I grind against him shamelessly. He leads me to the bedroom, gently pushing me onto the bed before stripping off both our clothes with hurried hands.

Afterward, as we lie tangled together in the sheets, my eyes drift to his wrists. There, faint but unmistakable, are the marks of cuts. I freeze, my heart suddenly heavy with realization. Wilder notices my gaze and quickly pulls his arm away, but it's too late - I've seen them.