“Yes. I’ll escort her to the east wing. Go.”
He leaves the room as quickly as he can without running. Probably to fuck his fist somewhere.
January’s fight with the Orchard has drained her. Curled up on the carpet, she seems smaller and even more delicate.
“The competition is over,” I tell her. “You keep your virginity.”
Her mouth puckers like a little rosebud. “Oh… I’m sorry, I guess.”
“So am I,bella. I’ve never been a good loser. Come here a second. Sit with me.”
She doesn’t move. I roll my eyes. “I’m a man of my word. I won’t touch you. Sit on Doc and Bobby’s couch, if you like.”
She still looks nervous, but she does as she’s told, wrapping herself into a ball on the leather. I can smell the warm heaven of her cunt. I want to peel off her soaked panties, stuff them in her mouth then shove my cock deep inside her.
Instead, I head for the bar. If anything calls for a martini, it’s this evening. I pour gin into the cocktail shaker. “Doc is too proud to ask,bella, so I will. How did you resist the Orchard?”
“Um, I think ballet, maybe. Learning how to hold uncomfortable positions for a really long time.”
So, Parker is to blame for all of this. Fucking asshole. I remember the video recording. I’ll have to make sure Bobby deletes the footage. I never want to relive this experience.
“Mr. Morelli…?”
I drop three ice cubes into the cocktail shaker. “Yes?”
Her cheeks burn red. “That wasn’t the first time I’ve felt that way.”
I smile. “Wet and horny?”
“No.” She gnaws at her puffy lower lip. “I… I think I’ve been given Orchard before.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s true. When I was fifteen, I was at a ball, and I got…sickthe exact same way.”
I put down the cocktail shaker. Her expression is steady, her eyes clear. She’s not lying. My stomach knots. “Parker. Was Parker there?”
“I… Yes.”
In two strides I’m beside her, pulling her to her feet. “Bobby?”
“What?” A strained voice calls from down the hall. He’s probably in the bathroom masturbating into the sink.
“Get Doc and Adriano and meet me in the east wing. We have a problem.”
Chapter Thirteen
Bobby Bassilotta
Velvet House isn’tan easy place to navigate drunk. Brass busts and stupid vases lurch out of the darkness at me and I’m so full of booze and horniness and second-hand panic, it’s like the place is on a tilt. I find Doc in the kitchen, an unlit cigarette between his teeth, pulling a six-pack from the fridge.
“We need to go to the east wing,” I tell him.
He doesn’t turn around. “No.”
“Eli needs us.”
Doc’s back stiffens. The two of them are always sniping at each other, but Doc knows Eli doesn’t overreact. He slams the fridge door shut. “I’m bringing the beers.”
