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3
Annie
Too late. I'd caught myself too late.
Once upon a time when I was a cop in Seattle, good enough for them to let me go undercover at the age of twenty-three, young enough looking I could go into high schools and places teens might be running up against dealers, once upon that time in my life my commanding officer sent me to a shrink.
Nothing had happened, really. I didn't have PTSD because so far my assignments had been tame. The Lily persona who took down a couple gangs was in the future. The Annie persona was already a cop, daughter of a cop, a hardass of her own right.
They didn't tell me why they were sending me. I thought it was a pre-undercover thing. For all I knew I'd also get a round of shots like I was going off to Africa or somewhere they had diseases I had no immunity to. I was that naïve.
But the actual visit to the shrink – a guy, which was a bad choice to begin with if they wanted me to just do as I was told – was because my CO had decided I had an "anger management problem."
Gee, y'think? I was a cop. I was the daughter of a cop who raised me and my sisters hard. He was hard. I was hard. My sisters were a bunch of giggly, bubbly wives with children.
The shrink pushed me. He pushed me and pushed me and waited for me to explode and I obliged him, coming unglued at the tactics.
Then he made the mistake of trying to explain things to me. How I could control this. Get a handle on my behavior and myself.
Ha, ha and fucking ha.
I didn't break his jaw but I certainly bruised it.
Surprisingly, that's what my CO had wanted, even if it wasn't anything close to what the psychologist wanted.
Only now I wished I'd listened a little longer.
Because I'd lost it with Cole. I was just so confused. He didn't seem to understand that coming out to yourself as a twenty-five year old and suddenly understanding you've got the masochist gene is a surprise. It's a surprise and it's hard to get used to and admitting it to him and then telling him I kind of sort of maybe wanted all the things he'd been doing to me? Damn! And he didn't seem to get that.
Alone, untouched, I hungered for the slap of his hand on my ass. Or the belt across my breasts. Or his cock in my mouth, no questions asked, no protests accepted. I dreamed of things I didn't think he'd ever do. I loathed the things he did to me that were purely control – fish for breakfast, fish any time of day or night, fish ever – and a tiny curling sneaky part of me, it still hated the fish. But it loved being forced to eat it.
Or suffer the consequences.
Only now I was here and the consequences were coming and what the fuck, Annie, are you mental?
There were times I saw red and there was another time, sort of a pre-red, because seeing red is a real thing. I think it has something to do with capillaries in the eyes breaking from – I don't know, blood pressure sailing up too fast? The rage itself?
It wasn't that I felt most of the time. It was a need to push and push and push, a need to needle at someone who wasn't going to let me win.
With Cole, I had the option of walking away. Even back when I was a strung out junkie he had purchased from a dirty cop, really I could have walked away. I was locked into the suite back then but there had been times he'd flat out told me I could go.
There'd even been one time I had.
And I came back.
No. More than that. I didn't just come back. I searched through dungeons and my own demons to get back to hm.
The fact that I could walk away now made me all the angrier. Because I felt like we were working together and we should be on some kind of different footing now. He should be my partner, albeit one who could sometimes order me to strip my clothes off in the middle of the desert.
Cole didn't see it that way.
Sir doesn't see it that way, a part of me tried to remind myself.
But I was still angry. This was my world. Law enforcement. Undercover. I'd kept him from getting taken down in that first Clean UP Sin City sweep. I knew what I was doing. All the research he was paying people to do, all the stuff I'd read upside own on his tablet that he hadn't shared with me yet? I could be and should be doing all of it.
So I sparked anger. Like a shock I'd find myself going from the girl running through the desert mostly naked and being switched for fun (his), and accepting it (because I wanted it, just a little) to a furious spitting rage where I spoke loud and fast before I could tell myself not to.
I wanted it all. I wanted him to take me in hand, to control me and force me to new experiences I'd never have the – gall, balls, honesty? – to ask for. I wanted him to hurt me, at least before and after he was doing so.
At the same time I knew what I had to offer. I knew I was smart and good at my job and there was a trafficking ring right here in the city and I'd had two shots at them. How many more before the either packed up and went to some other big city or they figured out who I was and did something about it?
I should be part of Cole's planning.
He was keeping me out of it maybe because he wanted to keep me safe.
And definitely because he wanted to keep me in my place.
And now I was. In my place. Or in his. I waited in his play room, my hands loosely open on their backs, resting on my knees. My legs were spread, open, my already punished ass resting on my heels. My head was up but my gaze down and I knelt on the cold, hard floor.
Naked, and waiting.
