Page 67 of Velvet Cruelty

“Really. You can move upstairs and sleep in a beautiful wing all by yourself.”

“Eli…” Adriano warns.

I wave a hand at him. Her defeat will be all the more humbling this way. Getting fucked knowing she’ll have to go back to her cage a horny, broken girl. “Do you agree, Miss Whitehall?”

“Yes,” January says. “I can do it.”

“Of course, you can.” I pour myself more scotch. “Now close your eyes and try not to think about me bending you over this armchair and fucking you like the good little girl you are.”

Her cheeks burn and she closes her eyes again.

“Just wait,” Doc mutters. “Eight minutes.”

“Five,” I say.

But five minutes pass and January doesn’t move. Another minute and Bobby loses the bet. Two minutes later so does Doc. Furious, he collects a bottle of JB from the bar and swigs from the neck. “This shouldn’t be happening.”

“Maybe the dose—”

“The dose would turn Mother Teresa into a porn star. There’s nothing wrong with the dose. There’s something wrong with her.”

January sits serenely. A smile is curling the corners of her mouth.

Bobby presses a palm to the front of his jeans. “I can’t take this.”

I don’t say anything, but I have no idea what to do. Doc’s right, this isn’t supposed to be happening. We’ve tested Orchard dozens of times, mostly on girls from Doc’s clubs. With their consent we lock them in an observation room. When the drug hits, they pound on the two-way mirror, begging whoever’s watching to fuck them. All of them masturbate, some of them hump the corners of the table, they’re so desperate for stimulation. How is she not already on top of us? Or at least touching herself? But as we watch, her movements grow subtler. Quieter. She’s breathing rhythmically, her thick hair covering her breasts. She looks supernatural, kneeling peacefully in her lingerie like a little goddess.

“For fuck’s sake, this doesn’t make any sense.” Doc slurs.

She’s humiliating us. We were supposed to be controlling her, corrupting her. Reminding her there’s nothing she can refuse that we can’t take. Now we’re circled around her, staring at her. Worshiping her almost. This girl who declined to be my mistress, to work for Doc, to marry Bobby or to beg Adriano for her life. This girl…

Doc blows out a hard breath. “If she takes much longer, I’m jacking off.”

“Coming on her counts as touching,” I warn.

“Fucking fascist.”

“Why don’t we just touch her?” Bobby suggests. “Not a proper touch. Just, like, a massage or—”

“Fuck this,” Doc pulls his T-shirt over his head. “Hey, Tesorina? Over here.”

I expect her to ignore him, but her eyes widen as she takes in his bare chest.

“Yeah, you see this?” Doc runs a hand down his tattooed abdomen. “All yours. Come get it.”

“Idiota,” I mutter, but January’s tongue flashes out, wetting her swollen lips.

“Yeah, you like that, Tits? You wanna get fucked into a screaming mess?”

January’s expression is tortured. “Stop calling me that!”

“No.” Doc grips his cock through his jeans. “Come on, you know you want to.”

Her face goes scarlet. Is this going to work? Should I take my clothes off?

Doc undoes the top button of his jeans and Bobby recoils. “No getting it out near me!”

“Or me,” Adriano rumbles.

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