Page 147 of Deep Cover

My stomach instantly turned to nothing but nerves and I wouldn't have continued my conversation with Chloe even if it had been allowed. I felt sucker-punched as the eyes of everyone in the room turned to me and I wanted to run, once again. But the instant I stood I felt the bite of the stilettos again and knew I wasn't going anywhere fast. They were beautiful shoes but they were hobbling and they buckled onto my feet – no toeing one shoe off with the other foot.

"Annie."

"Yes, sir." I kept my gaze down.

"Look at me."

He was standing right in front of me. For an instant I hoped, stupidly, that he would tell me that whatever I managed, that would be enough. Or that by coming here and lasting this long, it was the fulfillment of my part of the evening and now I could go back to my room.

Or that it had all been a joke, not a particularly funny one, but that of course there was no orgy.

Amazing that I could have that many fantasies in the space of no time at all.

"You've had a relaxing evening so far, Annie. Exactly what I wanted for you. But I think maybe it's time for you to play hostess now, don't you?"

His eyes gave nothing away. But he'd asked me a question followed by an affirmative so apparently that was what I was meant to do as well, so I agreed. Yes, sir, it’s time for me to act as hostess.

I had no idea what that might mean.

Cole moved behind me. I started to turn toward him and stopped myself, standing still but not beautifully, not the way Chloe was sitting, but in a jerking, just-caught-myself way.

I felt his fingers still for a minute, like he was judging whether I'd just tried to run or if it was an honest reaction of surprise. His breath was warm on my neck and I realized it was a little cold in the house.

Then he cut through first one spaghetti strap and then the other on the dress.

Instinct made me catch it. Instinct would have made me try to catch anything that slithered down my body like that. I managed to fist it before it passed my sternum, and with my arms both bent inward, fists together clutching the dress at chest level, I was covered.

"Put your arms down," Cole said. "Let go."

For a second, no more than the space of his count to five – thirteen, that puts me at thirteen and I don't even know what the count means – I couldn't force myself to let go.

And then I did. Spasmodically, all at once, letting it fall away before I could stop myself.

The dress instantly slid down the length of my body and pooled on the floor around my feet.

"Present," Cole said and though he'd never ordered me to do this before, he'd told me what it meant.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. My arms, the very arms he'd ordered me to drop, shook with the effort of being lifted again. I put them up on the back of my neck, lacing my fingers together under my hair like I was a perp being arrested. I brought my head up but kept my gaze down, and my back arched, jutting my breasts forward.

My feet were planted wide apart. Not how I wanted to stand when forcibly naked but there was no stance that would be significantly better. The thought ran through my head that being allowed to cower and cover, my hands in front of strategic parts of my body and my shame written plainly across my face, would feel even more naked than this.

I'd be willing to find out, really. Because this was horrible. It wasn't getting any better minute to minute. As I stood, I could hear the rough breathing of Vincent, and see just from the edge of my vision that Kie was staring at me with some mix of emotions on her face, all of them mean. Claude was watching also and Dr. Andrew looked almost predatory.

All I wanted to do was sink through the floor. Or shout, as if I could be loud enough to jolt all these people back to some semblance of what I'd always assumed was reality. If I shouted long enough, shocked them hard enough, surely they'd understand how wrong and weird and terrible this was and allow me –

Cole's hands started at my shoulders, touching me just under where my own hands were, then moved around to the front, fondling my breasts. His thumb and forefingers played with my nipples, erotic and slow, pulling them out, twisting them painfully, rubbing them with the palms of his hands, making me shiver within his grip, involuntarily and helplessly. He slipped his hands under them and held them out, as if offering them, weighing them, then went back to stroking, his thumbs moving on the nipples over and over until a small sound escaped me. Half protest.

Half not.

His hands dipped lower. This time I groaned in frustration and despair. I wanted to spin in his hold, hide the front of my body against his, beg for even the dress with all the panels and the lack of underwear. Please, I wanted to beg. Just let me cover up. Don't let them look at me like this anymore.

I did none of those things. And Cole's hands slid down my body, down along the inside of my hipbones, until he reached the juncture of my thighs and he slid his fingers down and in, opening me up, showing everyone how wet and anxious I was.

There was a general noise then, the others rising, and I tensed all over, unable to restrain it, terrified because I couldn't do this. I couldn't stand still and let them touch me. It was a test, it was a trap, it was obvious that it was and I was going to lose it, I was going to cut and run. There was no way I could bear to stand and let these men, Andrew and Vincent especially – no way I could let them do anything to me and Cole had said anything goes and he was offering me up like a fruit he was peeling to present the best parts.

But as the party took to their feet, the men to the women, each to their own, pulling them to their feet and moving together like it was some kind of bizarre dance, touching, kissing, dresses sliding off, fingers disappearing into orifices, suddenly the whole thing was so much more vile than I had expected. Suddenly my stomach was roiling with what I was looking at. I had never been even remotely interested in anything like this. I loved sex with Mark when he'd hold me down, I liked the barely restrained violence of Jesse and those times it wasn't restrained at all. Rage fucking, yes. Or that angry sex that Mark and I had when he'd handcuff me or hold me down, ignoring the inevitable disgust in his eyes when afterward he would ask if that was what I truly wanted.

Not anymore, I thought desperately at him. Mark, you don't know, if I can just get free of this and back to you, I promise you won't have to worry about any more of kinky anything, all I want –

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