Later that evening, I sit on the kitchen counter, holding an ice pack wrapped in a towel against my throbbing balls. The pain is nauseating, and I'm questioning my decision in allowing this to happen. Liam sips his wine beside me on a stool, reading through some statements and rolls his eyes as I whimper. "You're such a baby..." "I'm sorry, but do you want me to strike you across the nuts
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