DERNIER

Consciousness hits you like a big bag of bricks, bashing into your brittle body so that your limbs are suddenly heavy and unresponsive. Even as you comprehend, it’s hard to think straight. Frost’s cold eyes continue to stare, all the way into your brain matter, and you can see the calculation in his gaze, the way he’s assessing you. Like he’s capturing your reaction. Weighing your value. You can do little else but mimic as you watch him retrieve yet another item from his impeccably-organized, seemingly endless archive of tools:… Lire la suite

Patent fear rolls down your spine. Like ice water. No, straight up ice. You can’t even swallow. Geese erupt across your flesh like an allergic reaction, hot spots abruptly forming beneath your skin. You can’t tell if it’s your body’s acute recollection of the previous crop’s parting gift or the anticipation of what’s to come with this new one. The one you fear the most. The image of the appropriately-named slapper crop sits in your direct line of view, displaying the crown from which it begets its cruel title. Oh… Lire la suite

Frost’s mammoth wall shelf looms in the distance like a living creature in its den, so large it feels like it’s right next to you instead of tens of feet away. Frost himself stops in front of a column of shelves that stretches all the way to touch the ceiling, like an onlooking giant and his beanstalk. In ominous silence, you watch as he reaches inside one of the compartments, retrieving something. An object. Your eyes dart to the label lining its resting place at the same time he draws… Lire la suite

Mortification grips your neck with far more force and intensity than Frost had, fighting for and easily winning the top spot in the tournament of emotional warfare ensuing within you. Your eyes close against the treacherous sound. Against the conflicting sensations his irritatingly sexy fingers evoke. Against the exhausting knowledge that your body refuses to side with you. It’s like they have a mind of their own, his fingers; separate beings in their own right, competent and confident in their execution of his will. They slide down the curves of… Lire la suite

Crazy. You feel like it was just last week. The way your windshield wipers would falter. How they would hesitate and stutter before finally making a weak pass over the glass. But unlike the wipers you needed—still need—to replace, Frost’s sure thumbs move with precision. Boldness. Creating heat with their strokes instead of clearing moistu— A sigh escapes you before you can stop it, the following inhale just as audible as you do your damnedest not to think about the gradual, growing collection between your thighs that now hurt from… Lire la suite