"A reminder that the Student Library will close in thirty minutes. Please make sure you have all of your belongings as you leave, and that you throw away any rubbish in the designated bins. If you need to speak to anyone at the reception desk, please do so now."

"What the fuck?" I muttered, annoyed. I directed my glare towards the speaker in the corner of the ceiling, as if whoever had spoken could see me. "Why is it closing? It never closes! I have so much shit I need to get done tonight. I have at least four hours of work to do."

It was a Friday evening, and after a long week of bullshit at uni and idiot customers at work, I was ready to crawl into bed and sleep the weekend away. But instead, one of my stupid module leaders had decided she wanted to see a first draft of an essay that wasn't even due until the end of term, this Monday.

"Just take out the books you need and do it at home," Markus suggested, frowning at the giant stack of books I had only just finished assembling. I'd only sat down two minutes ago to start my essay, and I'd already set up everything I needed ready for a long evening of work, from snacks and drinks to my notebooks and the research I'd already done. Just my bloody luck that I'd have to pack it all up again in the next twenty minutes.

"Sarah has friends over for drinks tonight. It's someone's birthday. I'll be lucky to get five minutes alone to concentrate on this."

I groaned again, slumping in my chair like a sad, deflated balloon. I knew if I didn't get this done now, there was no chance I would get anything done until late Sunday night. Then I would be sleep deprived and irritable for the following morning.

"We can work at mine," Markus offered simply, and the unexpected statement had my brain stuttering to itself.

"What?" I asked, needing another few seconds to process his words.

Work at Markus' apartment... Work at the apartment where we'd had sex... Work in his living room, sat on the leather sofa where he had fucked me to within an inch of my life...

"I'll be up late working too," Markus added with a shrug. "My place will be quiet. You can work there, if you want?"

"Uh..." No, no, no. "Sure."

What the fuck, Daisy? That was not what you were supposed to say.

Markus nodded and immediately began packing up his things. He slipped his laptop into his bag, along with his phone and ear-buds. When he noticed my wide-eyed stare, he explained, "We should just go now, then."

To my dismay, I wasn't able to bring all the books I wanted with us; not when only five fit in my backpack. Still, I had stupidly decided to try to carry another six (very thick and heavy) books in my arms - as if that wasn't going to become tiring on the walk home.

Already I was feeling stressed about the direction this evening had taken, and it didn't help that I was also freaking the fuck out about going back to his place. It was impressive how well I hid my internal panic, though, as I packed my things away, checked out the library books I needed, and followed Markus towards the entrance of the library.

"Hold my card for a second," Markus uttered, handing me his student card as he took most of my library books from my arms and shoved them into his bag. How sweet.

If he had done that earlier, I probably could have checked out more books.

I kept my ungrateful thoughts to myself and examined his student card instead. He was, unsurprisingly, glaring in his ID photo, and unlike every student card photo I had ever seen, he somehow still looked insanely attractive. He was also wearing his signature plain black hoodie in the photograph - the hoodie that was currently still draped over the back of my desk chair. Oops.

"Your last name is Reaper?" I asked in surprise.

"You followed my Instagram. Did you not see my name there?"

I shook my head. I'd spent a good ten minutes looking at all his posts and - as creepy as it was - zooming in on his face. I hadn't paid any attention to the name of his account. "Well, the nickname makes sense now. I'd had some wild theories about it. Grim Reaper; should I be scared?" I gave him a wide-eyed look, edging back from him in feigned fear.

He laughed as he zipped up his bag. "And your theories were?"

That you were some kind of dangerous gang member whom I should avoid.

"We'll, obviously my mind immediately jumped to murderer." I bumped my shoulder against his and scanned my student card before I pushed through the exit turnstile. Holding his card once again, Markus followed suit.

It was dark outside, and I was immediately aware of how late it was and how tired I felt. Thankfully, the library was right at the edge of campus, and we didn't have to scale the ridiculous bridge on our way back to Markus' flat. I didn't have enough energy for that. The cold outside helped wake me up a little, though, and it made me regret not wearing something thicker than my sweatshirt. It was probably time to crack out my big coat now that it was the middle of autumn and only getting colder.

"Obviously," he snorted. His delivery was dry as he joked, "My body count is five so far. The first one was an accident, but I developed a taste for it."

God, I loved his sense of humour.

"That makes sense." I nodded sincerely, biting my lip to hide my smile. "Do you have a type when selecting your victims?"

"Usually I lure nineteen-year-old women back to my flat under the guise of studying." The over the top leer he gave me as he looked me up and down pushed me over the edge. I covered my eyes with my hand, my shoulders shaking, unable to look at the ridiculous expression on his face.

"Ah," I said, my voice strained. "But I'm twenty-three. Will that be an issue?"

Markus stopped walking abruptly. "You are?"

I nodded, and that only seemed to perplex him more.

"But you're in second year with Roman?"

To be fair, Roman was nineteen, so it was understandable that he thought I was just as young. I certainly didn't act much older than him, and I hadn't ever told Markus or the others my age. "Well, Roman's birthday is in June, so he's essentially a baby, anyway. But I did a foundation degree before uni, took a year out after that, and my birthday was early September."

"I'm a year older then." So he was only twenty-four. He was younger than I thought, and that made the fact that he co-owned a gym even more impressive.

"Is that a problem?" I asked, noting how surprised he still seemed.

He shot me a strange look, readjusting his bag full of my heavy library books. When he started walking again, his pace was a slower. "Why would it be a fucking problem?"

"You know, like, are you one of those creepy guys that's only into women half their age?"

It wasn't a totally absurd question. How often did you hear about some forty-year-old man dating a young twenty-something girl? The media was rife with stories like that. Not to mention the number of DM's I got from perverse older men on literally every social media platform I had that wasn't private.

Markus narrowed his eyes. "Well, that would mean I'm into twelve-year-olds, which would make me a fucking paedophile. So, no. It's not a problem that you're an adult woman."

"Hey," I said, holding up my hands. "These are things a girl's gotta' ask."

"Do you just go around assuming everyone is terrible?"

"I don't assume everyone is terrible. I believe everyone could be terrible. And I don't think that's unique to me. I feel like this is a universal experience for most women. There's danger, like, everywhere. A guy literally assaulted me on the night we first met."

Sarah's friends, that I'd hung out with at our flat or at the pub, had shared many horror stories over the past year of their experiences with men. That, combined with my own experiences, and the countless stories of harassment that were posted on the Thorpefield Girl's Gang Facebook page I followed, and it was understandable to be apprehensive around men.

"And yet you tell me I shouldn't walk you home when it's dark," Markus scoffed.

"I-" I gaped and struggled to find a defence. "Shut up," I eventually grumbled, shoving against his shoulder as if to push him away. Except my shove had very little effect. He didn't move away from me at all. Instead, he laughed and swung one of his humongous arms across my shoulder, pulling me into him.

I was immediately assaulted by his fragrance, that delicious, clean smell that reminded me of our first meeting. I didn't try to get out of his hold, subtly sinking further into the heat of his body.

His arm tightened around me. "That's a strange way to say, 'I'm sorry, you're right', but I'll take it."

***

"Where's Bisto?" I asked as Markus unlocked the front door to his flat. I shuffled inside behind him, my eyes immediately taking in every inch of the room that was visible to me. It felt a bit like a slap in the face to be back here. The last time I had been sneaking out early in the morning, I had never expected to return. But here I was. Five metres away from the sofa we'd had sex on.

"Room at the end of the hall if you want to let her out." He nodded toward where I assumed the bedroom was and quickly made his way into the kitchen, moving a pile of dirty plates into the sink. "Sorry," he said, the tips of his ears growing a little pink.

If he thought the sight of unwashed plates bothered me, he needn't. I'd lived in a student flat with six strangers in first year. A few dirty plates were nothing. At one point last year, there'd been a day when we just threw all the plates away and bought new ones instead of attempting to clean the mould that had grown.

"The last door?" I confirmed, pointing in the hall's direction with a small smile, amused as he continued to straighten the smallest things out. Maybe this was another anxiety thing, and he was worried I was going to judge him.

He grunted, clearly too busy with picking up the puppy toys lying around everywhere to form proper words. When I reached the end of the hall, I could hear Bisto's whining from the other side of the door.

It would have been smart to take a moment to prepare myself before I released the hyperactive puppy from her confinement. As soon as the door was open, Bisto was all over me, sniffing me while her tail wagged in wild, erratic movements. I crouched to pet her and, though small; she had enough power to push me onto my arse as soon as she jumped up and rested two paws on my shoulders.

I was laughing as she tried to lick my face and I laughed even harder when I felt something wet on my leg. Had she just pissed from excitement? Poor little baby.

"Markus?" I called out over my shoulder, still fussing with Bisto. "You got any spray and kitchen roll?"

There was a beat of silence where I thought he might have not heard me. "Why?" There was unmistakable apprehension in his voice.

"Someone had a little accident."

"You?" I heard him call out from the living room. I couldn't tell if he was joking, but I sure as hell hoped he didn't think I liked to piss myself.

God, I hope he didn't have a pee fetish.

"Yes," I huffed, sarcastically. "I just got so excited to see Bisto again. Bring a spare pair of pants while you're at it."

When he appeared at the end of the hallway, I saw his both his eyebrows raise towards his hairline just a little.

"I didn't think you were serious about the pants." There was indeed a wet patch all over the left leg of my joggers, one that was warm and undoubtedly disgusting. I couldn't hold that against Bisto, though, not when she had seemed so happy to see me.

"How long has she been in there by herself? Do you just leave her all day?" I asked, a little disapprovingly.

We'd been at the library for at least an hour before leaving, and I had presumed he'd come straight over from work. I couldn't imagine how upsetting it would have been for Bisto to be alone for that long.

Markus looked mildly horrified. "My aunt watches her while I'm at work. Dropped Bisto off ten minutes ago. This way, she gets used to being on her own for short bursts. She's got training mats, toys, and her bed in there with her. I even leave the TV on."

That was maybe the most I'd ever heard him say in one go. And, now that I focussed, I could hear what I was sure was an episode of Friends from his bedroom. It didn't seem like he was lying. And beyond the wee soaking into my leg, Bisto didn't seem to be distressed. In fact, she was now jumping up onto Markus' legs, yipping excitedly.

With far too much ease for her size, Markus scooped her up with one hand, cradling her against his hip. "I need to take her to the balcony before she does anything else." He jerked his chin towards one of the closed doors. "You can take a shower if you want. I'll bring you something clean to wear in a minute. Use whatever you want. There's clean towels under the sink."

To my surprise, his bathroom was tidier, and more organised than I expected. I was so used to my own bathroom that I shared with Sarah - one that was cluttered and overflowing with countless toiletries. Between us we owned enough skin-care products and cosmetics to open our own shop.

I was also delighted to find that he had more than just an All-In-One shower gel thing I knew some guys used.

There was a selection of shower products to use and because I had serious issues, I'd taken the time to smell each one and chose the one that smelt most familiar - the one that Markus used.

Now I was standing in the middle of his bathroom, naked, smelling myself.

This is why you have so few friends, Daisy, I thought to myself, reaching for the clean, lime green towel I'd laid out five minutes earlier.

Five more minutes passed, and Markus had still yet to appear with clean clothes. I must have been feeling brave, because the next thing I knew, I was stepping out of the bathroom with a too-small towel wrapped tightly around me and my soiled joggers bundles in my hands. Why Markus even had towels this size was a wonder, considering he was bloody huge. What did he use it for? To dry his feet?

I could just about hear his voice from the living room, his words growing clearer as I softly padded barefoot down the short hallway. "Jesus Christ Bisto, baby. You're a little monster. Why are you trying to embarrass Daddy, huh?"

Someone has shot me in the chest. I'm bleeding out. I'm dying.

Markus was speaking to his dog in the softest voice - a voice I hadn't known he was capable of. When I turned the corner, and found him on the floor with Bisto between his spread legs playing tug of war with a plush toy, I nearly keeled over at how adorable it all was.

My hand clutched tightly at the towel over the place where my heart was trying to burst out of my chest from the cuteness of it all. I almost didn't want to disrupt the moment. I'd give a month's wage just to sit and listen to this scary looking, muscular, tattooed man talking to his puppy like she was the most precious fucking thing in the entire world.

Oh, what I would do to be Bisto right now.

Truthfully, if it hadn't been so cold in his flat, I would stay silent for a few more minutes, happy to watch this adorable interaction. But as it happened, my nipples felt like they were about to jump off my chest and there were goosebumps rising across the full length of my arms.

Perhaps it would have been smart to have put my sweatshirt and underwear back on before coming out here. God, I was such a fucking idiot. Why did I never stop to think things through?

"Hey-"

"Fuck!" Markus jumped about five feet and whirled around, eyes wide as they scanned the length of me. He swallowed heavily, and his lips parted in a soft exhale that rendered me frozen under his attention.

I might have felt uncomfortable under such an intense stare if, after I readjusted the towel, he wasn't so quick to tear his gaze away, turning his head in such a violent manner that it could almost be mistaken as disgust. Except that hadn't been disgust I'd seen in his eyes.

There'd been a fervid heat in his gaze so all-consuming that I barely felt the cold breeze from the open balcony door against my still partially damp legs.

Markus' tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, the movement proving far more sensual than necessary. I tracked the movement with rapt attention, shifting in place in an attempt to distract myself from the warmth blooming within me.

"I'll go get you some shorts," he said in a tight voice. His movements were too stiff to be natural as walked towards me, and the tips of his ears were scorched red. His eyes were on me again, on my legs. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat and muttered, "Joggers... I'll get you joggers."