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I knew the sheets were going to be perfectly crisp except for the bit I lay on I didn’t feel anybody climb into bed with me

All I kneas that someone was in here, in the same room as me

But was that so?

“Are you PuppetMaster?” I ask, shooting straight to the point

Luca’s sitting in front ofan expression I can’t quite decipher Half his face is covered in shadows, giving hily sinister look

He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt, as usual Like stark white gallery walls, his simple outfit allows the artwork on his body to shine Luca wears a white shirt and a pair of jeans most days, even if they invite stares from curious small-towners who don’t often see heavily tattooed men

(He wears a different white shirt every day I checked He has a bunch of that same shirt in his wardrobe)

Luca’s tattoos normally look like beautiful works of art But now, they’re all kinds of crazy colors, their original greens and reds dyed by the yellow light

His eyes, darker than usual, are the color of wet ht atme

Luca sighs He’s scarily sober tonight—and not good-scary either (as in when a guy is obviously about to do me real hard), but the kind of scary that sinks heavily in my stomach and makes me sick

“There is no PuppetMaster,” Luca says flatly

“What do you mean? I chatted with someone online Was that you? That was you, wasn’t it?” I ask question after question In ive him a chance to speak if I want answers

“Yes,” he says in his baritone voice

He admits it!

What’s going on? Is this part of the role play? Are we still fucking? Do I want to do it with Luca?

I mean, he’s still the hottest,if not a sucker for a guy like hie on me, too Except I know Luca’s a sweetheart inside

“So you are PuppetMaster?” I ask again

“No” Luca shakes his head slowly “PuppetMaster doesn’t exist It was just a naet you to confess”