Her "handlers" had been less than gentle with her, tearing shreds out of her white linen shirt. Still, she supposed it was partly her fault for puttin... up such a fuss. She recalled being walked through the adjoining cell blocks with her wrists bound behind her, the pathetic rag which had been her best blouse, hanging limply from her shoulders. She had fallen into an exhausted sleep, curled up on the stone flags, when a voice roused her, and she felt rough wool against her legs. She took the. " " But, John . . ." " And you enjoyed that elevator ride as much as I did. Didn't you?!" For emphasis, I pushed her face harder against the couch. Carissa is ashamed that the answer is yes, but she wasn't going to give me the satisfaction of admitting it under these circumstances. But I wasn't really looking for an answer, anyway. And the next thing Carissa knew, I lifted the hem of her dress and threw it up over her back, leaving only the tiny thong and her stockings below her waist. In. More

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