Flames lick at your skin, searing through your flesh and bone. Every cell in your body feels like it’s on fire, each one burning brighter and hotter until you’re sure you’re going to spontaneously combust. Your heart pounds and swells like it’s about to bubble out of your chest. The words Frost just spoke echo in your head, bouncing off the inside of your skull.

Welcome. To. Your. First. Session.

Dread. An all-consuming dread. It fills your belly like a lead weight. Twisting and turning it in a tight knot.

Your first session.

A distant, cynical part of you is incredulous.

Your first session?

Then what the hell was that upstairs? Or in the dining room this morning, for that matter? Fucking you for shits and giggles?

You don’t doubt he has some sick, twisted sense of humor, but you can’t even remotely conceive the idea he has a single funny bone in his big body.

Your eyes unwillingly scan the room, roaming over things you wish they didn’t have to behold, taking in details you wish you could unsee. And you are suddenly very aware of your own nudity. It’s then, you realize, in utter mortification, that you really are just getting started. That this morning was nothing more than a little warm-up for him—even if it was the first major sexual experience of your life.

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