His smile widens, darker now, hungrier.
“Get on your f*****g knees.”
I kneel on my own living room carpet, still fully dressed, four men circled around me like wolves around prey.
My husband is watching. My cheating, lying, pathetic husband is watching, and I want him to hurt.
“Strip,” Vincent says. “Slow. Like you’re auditioning to be our whore.”
I reach for my zipper.
You want to sell me? Fine. Watch me be worth every penny.
I slide the dress off my shoulders slowly, letting it pool at my waist before pushing it down over my hips. No bra – the dress didn’t need one. Just black lace panties that cost more than Derek’s poker buy-ins.
“Those too,” Vincent says. “But throw them to your husband first.”
I hook my thumbs in the waistband and pull them down. The lace is already damp – I
