9: Locke.

It's raining. The sky is an eerie shade of gray, the air rife with electricity.

The hair on my arm stands on end. A sick feeling weighs down my stomach.

I haven't been able to think straight since walking out of Harriet's office yesterday morning. I alternate between feeling like a stranger in my own skin...and feeling at home there. The name I called her is unconscionable. I've never said those words out loud in my entire life, never even thought them about someone. And yet, when her perfect mouth was panting against mine, my thumb stroking the slick flesh of her pussy, those words felt like the most natural thing in the world. When she said, "Tell me what I am," it was as though someone whispered the answer in my ear, telling me what she would like, what would finish her.

That whisper was right.

As soon as I called her a little slut, she started shaking, moisture rushing around the spot where I touched her. During those moments where she panted through her orgasm, it was very diffic