Page 14 of A Dance Macabre

“You’re both acting as if you’ve never taken Molly before,” Aleksandr says, avoiding my question.

Mercy scoffs, standing up. “Hardly the point,” she spits, then turns her head to her right. “Belladonna?” she adds as if wanting support for her outrage.

Belladonna jumps slightly at her name, her eyes hooded when she looks up. Her slow, sultry smile is response enough. I’m horrified to realize that the only other person who seems to care about any of this isMercy.

She lets out an enraged groan and storms out of the room.

“You’ll miss the croquembouche!” Constantine yells out to her, then pouts when she ignores her.

I listen to the sound of Mercy’s heels receding down the hallway before looking back at the four remaining heirs. Gemini hasn’t yet resurfaced from his kiss, the servant now half-naked and full of breathy giggles.

Belladonna looks like she’s searching for prey to hunt, and Aleksandr is too busy staring at Constantine like she hung the moon—and not a bone chandelier—to care.

Slowly, I push back my chair and stand up, smoothing the front of my burgundy suit jacket before clasping the two front buttons. I can feel the warm familiar buzz of MDMA getting stronger as the seconds tick by, a dull throb of lust pulsing through my veins. An urge begins to coil itself slowly around my heated thoughts.

I need to leave.

Giving the table a final glance from down my nose, I mutter, “This was certainly entertaining.” I turn on my heels leaving them to whatever hijinks they have planned for the night.

I enterManor from the back. Although I’m dressed to kill, tonight is not the night for a photo op with the vultures campednear the front door. I’m damn near delirious with drug-induced lust as I make my way through a darkly lit corridor, feverishly wondering how much Molly I ingested during dinner.

A woman in a black suit stands in front of a nondescript door, and she opens it as soon as I approach. I give her a curt nod and walk in. The entrance leads into another hallway with doors on either side. To my right, there’s a reception desk, manned by a mousey-looking redhead.

“Door number six, Mr. Vainglory,” she says with an assured tone, barely a glance my way.

I can hardly hear her through the blood pounding in my ears, my heart beating wildly in my chest. Stalking through the hallway, I find the proper door and barge in like a bull seeing red. The room is small with warm, soft lighting but it could be a cold, damp cell and it wouldn’t make any difference to me right now.

Shrugging my suit jacket off, I throw it on the couch lining the wall. My attention zeroes in on the pair of naked legs to my left. I roll the sleeves of my dress shirt as I lick my lips, reveling in the anonymity of this type of service.

I can’t see her face and upper body, hidden behind a glass divider and red curtain. The hole in the wall is only large enough for her waist to slide through, her legs strapped up with harnesses to keep her splayed open for my pleasure.

Her bare cunt is so damn inviting, I immediately fall to my knees in front of her.

I’m panting like a fucking dog, lust-ravaged and practically snarling.

The first taste of her would have brought me to my knees if I wasn’t already. I give her slit a long, greedy lick and the soft muted gasps from behind the glass divider only fuel the lust throbbing through me like a supernatural force.

I tongue her swollen clit while I urgently unzip my trousers, shoving them down my thighs while I fist my painfully hard cock with desperate tugs.

Using my free hand, I circle her entrance with two fingers, her cunt wet and quivering under my touch while I continue to devour her some more, my mouth watering at the taste of her heady arousal.

Fuck.

How can she taste this fucking … divine?

It’s the drugs. It must be the drugs.

Her near imperceptible whimpers tickle my ears, urging me on. In a frantic carnal act, I spit on her cunt, dragging the spit over her clit with two fingers before pushing it into her, as if I have a feverish need to sink myself into her very pores. The wet glide of my fingers inside of her has me doubling over as I desperately fuck my own hand.

The woman behind this curtain is like no one I’ve ever experienced before. She’s the best thing I’ve ever fucking felt. It’s otherworldly. Hard to grasp or describe with any earth-bound word. Suddenly I don’t care if itisthe drugs in my system.

I need to feel her bare cunt around my cock—it’s a matter of life or death.

Standing up, I have half a mind to start fucking her hard and fast, the urge to come just as strong as the need to sink into her perfect pink cunt.

But something stops me, like a force outside of myself whispering for me to take my time, to remember exactly how this feels.

Howshefeels.

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