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and a simple white T-shirt.
Somehow, seeing him casual was worse.
In suits, I could file him away as dangerous. Untouchable. The man my mother warned me about.
In sweatpants, he was real.
A man.
“Ready?” he asked.
No, I thought.
“Lie face down,” I said.
He approached the table, hesitated, then looked at me.
“Do I take off the shirt?”
“Yes,” I said, desperately continue reading …
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