“Ahhh!”

The sensation is too much. I can feel myself climbing, ascending higher and higher as an unfamiliar, unfathomable feeling builds between my legs. It unfurls in gentle pins and needles throughout my body, growing more and more intense…and then…

I’m screaming. Unintelligible screaming. I’d scream for God but I doubt He would approve of this situation right now, and I have no idea who this guy is so I can’t scream for him, either. I just scream for myself and the fireworks going off inside my head, the inferno licking over my skin, burning me out, leaving me hollow and spent. I fall slack, trembling as he continues to sweep his tongue over and over my clit.

“Stop, stop, please,” I rasp.

“Mmm, so selfish,” he hums into my pussy, making me clench. “Don’t forget. It’s my turn.” He fiddles around for a moment—condom? Fuck, I hope that’s a condom. And then he drops my hips and thrusts into me in one fluid motion, his hands tight on my pelvis, trapping me.

Oh…my…

The pain is almost crippling. An uncomfortable feeling, a build up of pressure and then a stinging release, let’s me know that it’s done. He stops.

“What…?” He inhales deeply. Exhales. “You probably shouldn’t have kept that from me,” he says softly. He sighs, as though he’s disappointed in me, which is the most messed up thing ever. “Are you ready?” he asks.

My voice is a faint whisper when I reply, “Yes.”

“Try to relax.” He fills me up, stretches me, makes me whole. He starts off slow, gentler than I think he would have done if he hadn’t just deflowered me. After a while the pain subsides, gradually transforms until I’m no longer tensing with every thrust, but leaning into it. By the end, he’s fucking me like a freight train—unstoppable and raw with need. He comes so hard, he practically roars.

I don’t, of course. It’s my first time, and the pain just about outweighed the pleasure. My mind is too fogged to understand what’s going on as he climbs off me and slides down my body. His lips caress the inside of my thigh, and I shiver as his fingers carefully stroke over my core. The touch isn’t designed to excite me—it’s more of an apology. He moves around in the dark, undoing my wrists, my ankles.

“You enjoy that?” he rumbles, and the depths of his voice make my legs press together.

“Yeah, I—I did.” The most startling thing, the thing that makes me most sick, is that I’m telling the truth. What the hell is wrong with me?

He grunts, unthreading his belt from around my neck. The release of pressure makes me feel like I’m floating two feet off the bed.

I’m immobile as he packs up his things. I can sense him next to me pulling on his clothes. Then, when he’s dressed, he stands beside the bed looking down on me. He brushes his fingertips against my cheek again, so soft it’s almost not a touch at all.

“Be seeing you.” He heads for the door, and the light from the hallway nearly splits my skull apart when he opens it. And there my mystery man pauses, and I catch the one and only glimpse of him I ever get. Wearing a worn leather jacket, his back to me, a black duffel bag in his right hand, he tips his head down to his shoulder. He’s doesn’t look back at me. He hovers there long enough for me to make out the silhouette of his profile, his dark, mussed hair, the bruised pout to his full lips.

And then he goes.

I never find out his name.

Eli isn’t answering his phone. I’ve been calling for three days, and Eli—lying, manipulative, disgusting Eli—isn’t answering his phone. I’ve only been to his P.I. office once, a dark, depressing studio above a liquor store in Ranier Valley that stank of stale Chinese food. I’ve skipped rounds at the hospital this morning so I can find out what the hell is going on. A small part of me has been going crazy since I left that hotel room.

You’re a stupid fool. He tricked you. You slept with a complete stranger, gave up a part of yourself you’re never going to get back. Ever. And, now what?

And, now what? I will only have an answer to that question once I speak to Eli.

The stairs up to his office are slick with hard-packed ice. I navigate them with the greatest of care, holding my breath as I take each step. His piece-of-shit car is parked in the lot below so I know he’s here. I just don’t know what I’m going to say to him. I can hardly threaten to go to the cops if he doesn’t give me the information he promised me. That wouldn’t work—I have zero proof that I have an arrangement with him, and besides, Eli’s a private investigator. Would the police even take my word over his?

I go straight in, knowing that if I knock I’ll only chicken out and run. I start talking as soon I see the man sitting in his chair.

“What the hell, Eli? I’ve been call—” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; my brain shorts out. This…this can’t be happening. “Oh….oh, my God.”

The smell hits me first. Oh God, the smell. I try to breathe in through my nose but the air actually stings my sinuses. I cover my face with my hands, trying to process the scene in front of me. Eli was a large man before but now his distended stomach has bloated to obscene proportions, pressed up against his desk. I’ve witnessed the same thing before on my rotation as an intern, primarily in the morgue. Bloating. All of that gas and bacteria wants out, and by the looks of things it will have it’s way sooner rather than later.