There was never a moment I was left alone, my body not surging forward and back from whoever happened to be inside me at the time. I’d climaxed so many times I was nearly delirious; my hands clenching and unclenching the sheets in sweet rhythm with the spasms rocking my body.
At times I could hear cheers coming from the other room, followed by hurried footsteps as they rushed in and out during commercials. Sometimes they watched, sometimes they joined in, but even their combined libidos couldn’t hope to match mine. The more they fucked me, the more I craved it. The harder they went, the louder I screamed. Toward the end, I was swearing profusely and urging them on. I grabbed them by the hair so I could pull their faces to mine, where I’d whisper all the filthy things I wanted them to keep doing to me, and then some.
The boys were the unstoppable force. I was the insatiable object. We collided over and over again, until I’d physically and emotionally drained them of everything they had.
Then, and only then, did they shake their heads in surrender.
“You’re not even human, are you?” Carter asked me, leaning against the wall for support. Sawyer was mopping his forehead with a towel. Bodie was scrambling around for his clothing.
I laughed as I bounced from the bed, my ruined fishnets hanging in tatters. My legs were shaking so badly I could fall down at any moment, but I wasn’t about to give them that.
“I got dibs on the shower,” I called back, before blowing them a kiss over my shoulder.
~ 29 ~
BODIE
The place was warmer than usual, and not just going by temperature. A lot of it had to do with the furnishings. They were rich without being flashy, abundant without overly dominating the tremendous foyer. And they were from a dozen or so countries. Far-flung, colorful places, within Europe and beyond.
“Mr. Visconti will see you now,” a voice finally floated in.
Low and gravelly, I knew who the voice belonged to. It wasn’t a man I liked very much, or even respected. But it was a man who I couldn’t say no to, nonetheless.
We walked in silence along the smooth marble floor, down hallways that were unnecessarily wide. In the past, there had been conversation. One sided, yes, but Otto had at least tried making small talk; the first couple of times I was here.
Now, the echoes of our footfalls rang in stereo against the silence.
“I still don’t know why the boss needs to see you,” Otto grumbled. Maybe we were making small talk after all. “It’s not like you do anything that can’t be called in.”
It was easy to ignore him. I was getting good at it, actually. Besides, ignoring Otto completely tended to really piss him off.
Just another fringe benefit of working for ‘the company.’
“Right through there,” Otto pointed a grubby finger. “He’s in the study.”
I stepped forward and knocked on one of the elaborately-carved wooden doors. Almost immediately, a cheerful voice penetrated from within.
“Come in! Come in!”
I stepped through, and was blasted with a welcome heat and warmth emanating from a nearby fireplace. I’d been in the study several times before. I knew it better than most rooms in the mansion, actually.
“Hello Mr. Visc—”
“Marco!” the man cut me off. “Not Mr. Visconti!”
The little old man was seated before the fire, his nose buried in a book almost as large as he was. As I approached, he closed the book with a thin-lipped smile.
“Bodie… Bodie… how many times do I have to tell you?” he demanded, his smile turning instantly warm. “You are to call me Marco. Always.”
“I’m sorry,” I acquiesced. “Yes, of course.”
“Yes, what?”
I rolled my eyes internally. “Yes, Marco.”
“Ah, good!” he clapped. “Much better. And see? We are friends again.”
He stood, waddled over, and patted my shoulder. As he did, two nearly invisible figures shifted, ahead of us, in the darkness.
