Release: Davlova: Book One (15 page)

I picked up my wine. In my nervousness, I gulped it rather than sipping. He smiled indulgently at me as he refilled it. “One unpleasant topic out of the way. Now for the second. The drug I gave you, have you had it before?”

The change of direction surprised me, but it also set my mind at ease. Here, at least, I didn’t have to lie. Had I had the drug before? I’d wondered if it was the same drug Lalo had given me on that first night in order to make me come, but I wasn’t sure so I said, “No, sir.”

“Do you know what it’s called?”

“No.”

“Good. Then I won’t tell you.”

“It sounds like I couldn’t afford it anyway.”

“Probably not, but an addict will die trying. And believe me, the addiction isn’t as pleasant as one might guess. Taken recreationally, the drug obviously heightens your ability to feel pleasure, but overuse will decrease its effect. Even worse, when the drug fades, the real world becomes intolerable. Every touch is painful, to the point where even the softest clothes are torture. Every smell is noxious. Every bite of food tastes rank.”

“Is there any cure?”

“None. Even time doesn’t seem to erase the symptoms. I know a man who likes to give it to his female slaves until he tires of them, then he cuts them off.”

“What happens to them?”

“Most of them die by their own hand. A few waste away. At the very least, they go mad. They end up in the gutters, willing to trade any sin imaginable for a bit of their drug, but of course it’s useless. Most people who can afford something so extravagant don’t waste it on wretches living in filth.”

I thought of the trenches. I’d seen that kind of desperation there before. “You know this man?” I asked. “Yet you do nothing?”

“What would you have me do,
pet
?” The term of endearment took on a new tone. It sounded very much like the way he said “whore.” “They’re slaves. As deplorable as his actions may be, they’re legal.” His eyes had gone hard. There was a dangerous glint in them that I recognized. It made my heart race, partly with arousal but mostly with fear. “I won’t ask for your approval. I’m only trying to make you understand why I won’t tolerate you using it except with my permission.”

“I understand.”

“Good. I don’t use it myself. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m a weak man when it comes to such things. I don’t tempt addiction, especially knowing how little control I have over my own temper.”

It fit. When I thought back, I realized I’d never even seen him drink wine. Yes, he’d given it to me often, but he never drank with me. “That’s probably wise.”

He leaned closer and put his hand on my leg. He began to stroke my thigh. “I take that back,” he said. “I do allow myself one very important vice.”

I held very still, unsure if I should move or not. Yesterday, I would have leaned into his touch. I would have spread my legs and encouraged his caress, but I could see the edge of his anger now. I dared not tread wrong.

He stood suddenly. He began to undo his pants.

“The last thing I want to tell you is that I won’t see you for several days. I’m going out of town on business.”

“Where are you going?”

As fast as a striking snake he reached out and grabbed a handful of my hair, wrenching my head back. “Don’t let these last few days lure you into a sense of familiarity, whore.”

“Yes, sir.”

He let me go, but he smiled down at me as he pulled his pants open, revealing a half-erect cock. He pushed my chair back and straddled my legs, still standing, much as he had on the boat. He brushed his finger down my cheek. “I feel inclined to warn you, pet. I’m afraid this trip will be the end of this little interlude we’ve had. These meetings I’ll be attending, it’s a foul business. When I return, the beast is always tugging at his leash.”

“I’ll be ready.” Whatever that meant.

“Good.” He brushed his thumb over my eyebrow, then down over my lips. His cock stood at full attention now. “You understand what I was telling you on the yacht, about taking what you could when it was offered? About trying to make it hold you over?”

“Yes, sir.” My voice shook with the words. “You have a lot of credit right now.”

He laughed. “Good.” He moved his hand to the back of my head and pulled me forward. “Now let me spend some of that credit. Open that pretty mouth and give me something to remember you by.”

I did, and he slid his moist tip past my lips. He used his hand in my hair to keep me still and had his way with my mouth. At first, his movements were slow and purposeful, sliding carefully in and out, stalling as my lips pinched against his foreskin, but it wasn’t long before he was thrusting faster, panting as he did. I’d taken an ildenaaf during dinner, but I didn’t need it. I would have risen for him anyway. The smell of him was all tied up with my memories of the night before. With the way it felt to be caressed by starlight and fucked by a man I might have loved. My body yearned to be used. I inched my fingertips toward my fly.

“That’s it,” he said as he continued to thrust. “I want you to touch yourself. Undo your pants. Let me see your pretty cock.”

I hurried to obey, my hands shaking, fingers fumbling. I moaned into his cock as I finally closed my fist around my aching erection.

“My beautiful fucking whore,” he said. “Such a gorgeous warm mouth and a tight little ass and a perfectly shaped cock. Open your eyes and look at me.”

I obeyed.

“Shall I fuck you now?”

I nearly came at the thought. I whimpered pitifully.

In one quick motion he pulled away, hauling me out of my seat by my hair. He swept dirty dishes out of the way and pushed my face to the table. He struggled with my pants, and I raised my hips and helped him push them out of the way. Only to my thighs, and then he spread my cheeks and slammed into me.

I didn’t last a single second. Penetration made me come. It was glorious. My cock rubbed against the tablecloth and I bucked and screamed as I climaxed, barely aware of him panting behind me, of him pulling my hair, of him emptying himself into me. I lay gasping on the table. A bright red stain on the white tablecloth filled my view. I might have thought it was blood if I couldn’t smell the tart, vinegar odor of my spilled wine. I waited, wondering if Donato would turn tender or more violent. Either one was a possibility.

He pulled out of me but didn’t move to let me stand. He kissed the top of my spine.

“I’ll be thinking of you often, little whore,” he whispered. “I bet the sheets still smell like your hair and your sex. I’ll dream of you every night. Will you be thinking of me?”

“Every moment.”

He chuckled, and his weight disappeared from my back. I stayed bent over the table until he touched my hip. He helped me stand up. He waited while I pulled my pants back into place. When I looked up at him, he was smiling at me, although I could see the shadow of that beast in his eyes. He stepped forward and lifted my chin. He bit my lower lip, causing me to whimper.

“The best whore I’ve ever had,” he said. “Not just because you’re such a good lay, but because you so often seem to know what I want.”

I didn’t have to fake my smile. “I try, sir.”

He kissed me, still forceful. Still hungry. “I wish I could fuck you again.”

“You can.”

He shook his head. “I have to leave.”

“I wish you didn’t.” I wasn’t even lying. That was the crazy part.

“I wish I could love you all the time and only use you on occasion.”

“Why can’t you?”

He shook his head. He reached down to squeeze my groin. I was still hard because of the il, but his caress was uncomfortable so soon after my climax. I squirmed, and I noted the way my discomfort caused his smile to grow. There was a sadistic gleam in his eye. “It’s not in my nature, pretty little whore. I’m afraid it will always be the other way around.”

Loved on occasion and used all the time?

At the moment, it seemed like an arrangement I could live with.

***

Less than two hours after leaving Talia’s, I was back. My cock was still hard from the il. My ass ached pleasantly from being fucked. My head swam with the way it felt to be used by him. I could admit to myself that sometimes I loved it, but now that I was away from him again, my feelings began to waver. I thought about the boy. Had Donato ever whispered words of love to his slave like he did to his whore?

The first thing I did when I got back was track down Talia. She listened with obvious amusement to my cover story about Anzhéla wanting a child.

“I don’t know if Anzhéla will find that story funny or offensive,” she said when I was done.

“I’m not sure either.”

“Do you think he believed you?”

“He must have, because he let the matter drop. If he truly suspected me of spying on him—”

“You’d be a bit worse for the wear.”

“Exactly.”

She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. She suddenly looked ten years older. “Somebody in my house is leaking information to him. We’ve been careless. I guess we should count ourselves lucky that he doesn’t seem to know any more than he does.”

I’d been thinking much the same thing. Everybody was suspect. At that moment, I wasn’t sure I even trusted Talia completely.

“I’ll work it out,” I assured her, getting up to leave.

“How?”

“Whether Donato knows it or not, I still have a clan.”

I went to my room and got ready, dressing in my flashiest jacket. I tracked down a pencil and a scrap of paper and spent several long minutes laboring over the message I wanted to write. I could tell them everything and risk having it fall into the wrong hands but save us all a second covert meeting, or I could specify a meeting point and then hope we didn’t get caught later. In the end, I opted for the latter. I put the note into a wallet, along with a coin for whoever stole it. I put my real wallet in a pocket inside my jacket, where it couldn’t be lifted so easily. Finally, I went out into the streets.

First, I merely strolled, looking in windows, stopping at a cart to buy a bite of fried cheese and later for some ale. I made my way toward the plaza, keeping an eye out for familiar faces. I could have been a lot more casual and convincing if I’d had a friend to chat with, but I didn’t. Not one I could trust. Even Lalo was suspect at the moment.

The city itself felt hostile. Yellow leaflets littered the ground, insuring that nobody forget Benedict’s most recent raid. The eyes that watched from the alleys seemed more feral than ever. I found myself unwilling to meet the gaze of those desperate wretches. Not so long ago, I’d been one of them. Now, I was clean. I had tailored clothes and a pocket full of money. I’d intentionally dressed as much like a rich nobleman as I could, but now I felt like a traitor.

I slowly worked my way past the vendor carts, sticking to those on the edges of the market. I’d never paid much mind to their wares before. I’d always been too busy concentrating on the potential marks. I paid more attention now since I actually had money to spend, but I kept my eyes on the periphery of the plaza. I needed it to be somebody from Anzhéla’s clan. Somebody I knew. Somebody who wasn’t stupid.

I saw several of them but each time, they looked away before I could flash the sign of our clan. I puzzled over why there weren’t reading my signals until I finally realized I was dressed too well. I’d hoped they’d see me as a mark and then recognize me as one of their own, in that order. Instead, they saw a shopper who was keeping one eye on them at all times—not somebody they wanted to rob. Without the ash in my hair and the brown lenses in my eyes, they didn’t know me. And seeing somebody they didn’t know trying to give them clan signs only made them more wary.

I was beginning to get frustrated when I finally caught one watching me, obvious puzzlement in his eyes. It was Lorenzo, the boy who’d been snagged with Jabin. He was younger than me by several years, but like me, he’d been in the clan since he was a mere boy. I didn’t know him well, but I knew enough. He was smart. Reckless, at times, but street wise. I watched him, and he didn’t turn away as the others had. He also seemed to know better than to approach me outright.

I broke eye contact, but I reached up with my right hand and pointed to my eye. We all knew this sign. It meant, “watch.” Then I turned my back on him, reaching back briefly to touch my back pocket. I moved to the next vendor, walking slowly around his display until I could see Lorenzo again. He wasn’t looking at me. He was leaning lazily against a wall smoking a fag. He seemed to be looking up the clock tower, half a block to my right, but he reached up and touched the brim of his hat.

Finally, things were going as planned.

I went back to shopping. Or at least, to pretend-shopping. I listened to the angry grumbling of the vendors while trying on gloves at one cart and sampling colognes at another. Lorenzo took his time, but finally I heard a quick low whistle behind me and to my right.

My biggest worry was that he’d think I only wanted him to lift the wallet. That he’d actually pickpocket me like I was a real mark, too fast for me to get the message to him, but as it turned out, I needn’t have worried. He did it exactly the way we’d all been taught, except at about half-speed. I had just enough time after he pulled my wallet free to reach around and grab his wrist.