I blink rapidly against the sight of the object hanging from between his fingers, suddenly unable to breathe.
Shit. Just. Got. Real.
My heart gallops in my chest, and the realization that this is actually about to happen comes crashing down on me like a thunderstorm. Up until this very moment, I hadn’t realized just how unprepared I was, how unready for the reality of this arrangement I still am.
I find myself backing away from him, moving toward the bed almost instinctively, but the action is one born of anxiety—of fear—instead of obedience. But the result is the same, silently resigning myself to literally lying in the bed that I’ve made. I climb on top, shaking uncontrollably as my knees meet the comforter.
“Face the wall,” he orders, the intensity of his eyes matching his voice.