Page 131 of Malicent
Iris,I send,Kalix is one deep breath away from combusting. Stop swaying your hips so much. He’s about to cum in his trousers.
Her laughter flickers into my mind.Cage, I’m simply walking.A pause.But if you insist ….
The vixen doubles down. Her hips sway even more exaggeratedly, prompting a low, guttural growl from Kalix’s chest.
Millicent glances back, brows raised. “Did you just…growl? Like a dog? Is that your secret talent?”
“You’re the one wearing a collar,” he snaps, voice tight with sexual frustration.
Millicent’s eyes widen. Wisely, she turns around.
Iris ignores Kalix entirely, even as he shadows her steps so closely he’s practically walking on her heels. His eyes scan the crowd for threats or anyone daring to look too long.
“We should split here,” she says, reaching for Millicent’s hand. “The building is just ahead. It’s better if we’re not seen together.”
Kalix’s arm snakes around her waist, halting her escape with a firm tug back against his chest.
“Don’t forget who owns this perfect little body.” His voice roughens at the edges of restraint. He leans down and bites her shoulder, not gently.
Iris smacks him. Hard. “Kalix! Right now? Seriously?”
Her slap barely registers. Still he lets go, stepping back, leaving the imprint of his teeth on her skin. A mark of possession.
“Asshole.” She flips him off without looking and storms off with Millicent in tow.
I step closer, lowering my voice, “Have you taken your dose this week?”
Kalix nods. “Last night. I’m level. Even with the high doses not everything is blocked.”
“We’ve got back up, yeah?”
He taps his breast pocket. “Right here.”
Relief drapes over me like armor. The last thing I need tonight is Kalix spiraling.
THE VISCOUNTESS IS PACKED BUT surprisingly spacious. The two-story structure features an open upper floor; its balcony feeds into the grand chamber below.
Massive crystal chandeliers glitter above, casting a soft ambient glow that flatters the patrons. The dim light makes them appear far more attractive than they likely are.
Velvet floor cushions surrounding plush tables create cozy smoking stations, leaving a constant haze drifting overhead.
Around us, men and women drink heavily, their laughter and moans intermingling with the low thrum of a sultry tune. Some indulge openly in carnal acts while harlots drift between crowds giggling, flirting, and targeting men with the heaviest purses.
Cheers and jeers erupt from gambling tables spaced along the walls. Silk-clad dancers undulate across an open stage, their hips rolling in time with the musicians performing behind them. Multiple bars frame the room, imported liquor gleaming on the shelves.
“Shall we?” I mutter, pushing through the crowd toward the gambling tables.
Kalix’s eyes continue scanning the floor, clearly searching for a flash of red hair streaked with white.
The girls know what they are doing. We need your focus here.
The reminder is enough. He nods, his attention finally snapping back to me and our task.
Drunk men love to talk, especially while gambling. Our hope is to catch wind of something useful, some whispers about certain working girls or rumors of women who aren’t quite what they seem.
While we work this angle, the girls mingle as though harlots. Perhaps one of the women we’re after is embedded among them.
We sit at a card table and are dealt in. It doesn’t take long.
