Page 26 of Vicious

“And how is he doing?” Drake asks after taking a sip of wine. “I doubt he’s changed his ways much. Might’ve gotten a scare with Pavone and all, but people like him?” He shakes his head.

“I sent him a care basket in the hospital, but it felt a bit gauche to visit him.” I chuckle darkly. “I’ve heard he’s a total mess now, between losing his job and losing May.”

Giulio Pavone had reached out to me soon after the incident, and it hadn’t seemed prudent to visit Simon in person after that. I probably should at least find out how he’s doing, since I’d promised May.

It’s sweet, how much she cares about her Baba. I wouldn’t have given up anything for my parents, that’s for sure. They never doted on me as much as Simon dotes on May.

I’m not so naive as to think May had it better than me, though. I’ve seen what a dump the house she lives in is. I’m much happier with the wealth I grew up with.

“What a shame,” Drake says sarcastically. He pauses for a moment, then lowers his voice. “So what’s it like, man? Hunter blew it when he fell for his girl or whatever, but you… You’re not gonna fall into that trap, right? I know you were sort of obsessed with her, but that’s not going to be a thing.”

What’s it like, to have the object of my desires in my grasp? I think about it, ignoring his jab about my obsession.

“It’s good,” I finally settle on. “To know that she’s mine. To wake up and be able to touch her and fuck her. To listen to her moan and cry, exactly like I imagined—no, better than that, even.” I shrug. “I don’t know how to describe it. It’s not whatever pink-fogged haze Hunter is in with his girl. I don’t want to coddle her. I just want to touch her, and hurt her, and…”

I trail off. It’s what I’ve wanted since the first moment I laid eyes on her. There’s something about May that calls to me, and the way she’d rejected me, over and over, had only convinced me that I had to have her.

I don’t need her to love me back.

Drake takes a few more bites of his steak. “I want one of my own,” he says after he swallows. “But I don’t know. I can barely keep plants alive.”

I look at him in surprise. “Why not? I mean, I knew you were a plant murderer. I’m just surprised you’re on the fence.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I know. But what kind of chick am I going to get from there? She’d be a total slut. I don’t know if I want goods that have been that heavily used.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Really? You love sluts. I believe your words were, ‘the looser the pussy, the better.’”

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he replies, “I know, I know. But considering what that place is like? Between diseases and everything else, I just don’t know.” He grimaces. “I just don’t want anyone completely washed up and broken, completely diseased from giving ‘private performances.’”

Well, that euphemism is clear enough. But Pavone had negotiated for extra pay to ensure May wasn’t sullied by Ntimacy’s customers, and that had been even without knowing she was a virgin.

She wouldn’t have been one if she’d been working in the back.

I don’t know why this is so important to me now. I would have taken her either way, but knowing she was essentially untouched by other men gets my cock throbbing.

“I say go check the girl out, and if you like her, it’s probably a decent investment.” I smirk at him. “The returns will come in orgasms, not cash.”

“I’ll think about it. I still have a few things to do around the house, first,” Drake says. It’s been at least six months since he lost interest in the yacht he’d bought, and he’s already gone through at least a dozen hobbies in the past few years. He’s running out of projects, and training up a woman for his use sounds right up his alley. I’d be surprised if he doesn’t reach out to Pavone within a few months. He lifts his wine glass to clink against mine. “Cheers.”

We turn the conversation to less spicy topics. Drake gives me some investment advice; I let him know about a few companies that might be working on a merger. It’s a business meeting as much as it is a social one, and by the time we’re done, I’m exhausted.

I check my phone and browse the email notifications, but none of the new emails are actually urgent, not even the ones labeled as such.

Which means I get to finally go home and relax.

I hail a cab and plan out what, exactly, I’m going to do to my sweet May tonight.

* * *

When I step into the basement room, May is sitting up on the bed with her arms crossed against her chest. I can tell she’d just hurried into the position of nonchalance, though, because her cheeks are a little flushed.

I arch a brow, looking her up and down, and I notice how she’s turned the fine sheets into a makeshift dress that hides her body from easy view. I notice a sash around her waist, which means she must have torn some of the fabric.

“Cute,” I say with amusement. “Do you always play dress up with your bed sheets?”

“Actually, yes,” she says, not moving from her position even though she fidgets with the sash. “It’s too bad I didn’t have scissors. I really could’ve done something interesting with that and ribbon. Don’t suppose you’d bring me some?” Her voice is sweet, but edged with uncertainty that I luxuriate in.

“That was your hobby, wasn’t it?” I say, stepping closer to the bed. “Sewing. Your father mentioned it.”

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