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

Welcome. To. Your. First. Session.

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

My first session.

A distant, cynical part of me is incredulous.

My first session?

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

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

My eyes unwillingly scan the room, roaming over things I wish they didn’t have to behold, taking in details I wish I could unsee. And I am suddenly very aware of my own nudity. It’s then, I realize, in utter mortification, that we 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 my life.

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