Amanda, CIA Agent Ch. 09

Amanda let a soft cry escape her lips, as she lowered her eyes and tried not to think about the other Marines pressing closer, craning their necks. The heat spread up her forehead toward her hairline.

His weight lifted from atop her thighs, and she thought, he's going to do it now. Sure enough, he fumbled at the snap securing her skirt. It came apart easily, and he cast aside the leather garment, revealing her panties. She heard a collective intake of breath.

His fingers found the elastic of her panties, and she closed her eyes, unable to risk a glimpse of the faces of those watching, unwilling to acknowledge their reproach, contempt, and scorn.

But there was no escaping her own self-disgust.

The lace slid down her shins and past her ankles. Arnold's body no longer hid her from view, yet she laid there limply, eyes squinted shut, face turned away, trying in vain to deny reality, to ignore the fact of Arnold's hands on her shoulders, pushing her down, flattening her back against the sofa cushion.

There were his hands again, beneath her knees, lifting her bottom, centering it, letting her calf rest atop his shoulder. Grasping her opposite ankle, he held it low, out to his side, turning it, opening her to his view, and everyone else's.

Displaying her pussy. Her private place, made freshly immaculate, washed, shaved, tweezed, moisturized, powdered. Her beautiful flower, perfection made more perfect for presentation to Arnold. Her grudging gift to him on his special day.

But you didn't hang a Botticelli in the closet. You featured it prominently, beneath a spotlight, for guests to admire.

Of course, he was showing everyone your pussy, pridefully, letting them watch while he spread you open, pushed his stubby fingers inside you, smeared your shameful wetness over your labia, and made you suck the excess from his fingers.

She felt his hip against the inside of her thigh, felt the urgent probing of the head of his cock as he inexpertly sought her channel, searching high and low like Columbus trying to find the New World.

Finally, he slid inside her. She stretched to accommodate him as his tip plumbed her depths. He wasn't as small as she'd imagined.

When he put his hand between their bodies, and began to rub her with his thumb, she raised her eyebrows. His execution was artless, but his strategy was sound. Eventually, he found her clitoris, and her breath caught in her throat.

In the background, the others clustered, some crouched close enough to touch her, others crowding in, necks craning. At intervals, they clapped and spurred him on with crudities.

But Arnold didn't need encouragement. Grinning, he moved his hips with force and enthusiasm, demonstrating staying power. Her own breathing quickened, and as her eyes played over the attentive faces around her, she thought, I'm going to climax.

Dirty, shameless slut, said the voice in her head.

Grant whispered in Arnold's ear, and he moved his thumb more quickly, holding her breast, squeezing it roughly. Cliff called out, "Fuck her harder," and Arnold clamped his hand around her throat as he slammed into her. His rapid thrusts steadily marched her across the sofa. Releasing her neck, he slapped sharply at her breasts, forehand and backhand, then reached down to squeeze her labia.

Aroused as she was, the effect on her most sensitive nerve endings was both painful and delicious. Contractions began inside her, and she snarled as she clamped her thighs around Arnold's waist and dug her nails into his arm. Arnold yelped, went rigid, and emptied himself inside her. Before he could even climb off her, the others congratulated him, pounding his back.

Grant put his lips to her ear. "I'll go settle up with Kelsey and Mallory. Get dressed, we leave in five." He cupped her breast and kissed her. "Nice work."

Clearing her throat, she closed her legs, feeling Arnold's cum begin to ooze out of her pussy, and wondered if there was time to clean up first. The men still stood about, eying her body, and she put an arm across her breasts as she scanned the room for her clothes. They were nowhere in sight.

Cameron sat down by her feet and put his hand on her leg, and as she sat up and drew her knees to her chest, Cliff stood behind her, running his fingers through her hair.

She tilted her head away from him. "Um."

Cliff unzipped and pulled out his cock, then grasped her wrists and pulled her back until her shoulders rested on the arm of the sofa. Cameron bent over her, using his weight to push her thighs apart.

She spotted Grant standing in the doorway. His easy grin had vanished, replaced by the same expression of disgust he'd worn earlier that day in Fallujah. By the time she reacted, he was already turning away.

Mallory was behind Grant, and when she saw Cameron trying to mount Amanda, he froze. She ran at him in a blind fury, beating him with her fists. Cliff took a step backward, holding up a palm as he tried to stuff himself back inside his pants.

Amanda found her top and leather skirt beneath the sofa, but there was no sign of her bra or panties. With a sigh, she put on what she had. As she ran toward the door, she heard the roar of Grant's truck and the chirp of his oversized tires biting into the macadam. By the time she reached the porch, she could only watch his taillights fade into the gloom.

* * *

As she traveled home the next day, Amanda couldn't shake the sadness that loomed so large, it threatened to block out the sun. She kicked her wheeled suitcase whenever it caught on something and cried when the airport vending machine failed to dispense a Coke.

Later, on the long flight to Washington, she had time alone with her thoughts, and she reminded herself of her success in capturing Abu Rehman Marhoun. He was already on his way to Guantanamo to be interrogated. He was sure to provide a trove of new intelligence.

In the near term, his arrest would also throw the local Al Qaida forces into disarray, disrupting another planned attack. Furthermore, she stood to receive another commendation from the Director.

It was almost worth the trials she'd endured.

She gave up trying to read the Harlequin romance she'd purchased. She needed a real-life romance, not a fairy tale.

She decided not to be discouraged by Grant's refusal to answer when she'd called, and his failure to return her voice mail. She would persist until he let her explain.

He was due to be rotated back to Fort Bragg soon, and if necessary, she'd use some of her accumulated leave to drive down. She'd camp outside his door if she had to. Or she'd ask Admiral Lowell for help.

No, she decided, Grant had no idea who he was dealing with, but he was about to learn.