I hear him unfasten his belt. I hear a zip. He turns on a light above the bed, then roughly pulls the sheet down and my gown up. “Look at all that filthy hair,” he says, and repeatedly flicks his finger between my legs. “You used to wax when we were students, used to make an effort. Look at the state of you now. I’m doing you a favor, really. You better be grateful.”
HOLD ON
