I stumbled out of the arcade into the humid night air, nearly knocking Taylor over. My legs didn’t want to work, and my clit was overstimulated to the point that every rub of fabric was jarring. I had no idea where Junior had learned to do that, but I felt like I should send the person who’d taught him a nice bouquet of flowers.
“Woah,” Ryan said, grabbing my shoulders. “You okay? He didn’t drug you or anything, did he?”
Walter pressed close, too, and I had to dodge sideways to keep his nose out of my crotch.
“I’m fine,” I said, grinning.
Taylor snorted. “Oh, she’s been drugged, all right. With sex hormones.”
I wrapped my arms around my roommates’ waists and turned them away from the arcade. “Come on. Let’s go home, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Back at our brownstone, we gathered on the couch with a bottle of wine, a Love Island rerun playing quietly in the background.
“So,” Taylor said. “Did you fuck?”
I shook my head. “He didn’t even let me touch him. Just carried me into the photo booth and went down on me.”
Taylor’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “And he paid you seven grand to do it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’d feel guilty, but it’s his money. If that’s how he wants to spend it, who am I to tell him otherwise?”
Ryan nodded. “That’s the spirit.”
Taylor tipped her head sideways. “You look different. Something’s changed.”
I had to give it to her; her intuition was killer. “I may or may not have invited him back to Velvet.” Quickly, I caught them up on the conversation we’d had post-hookup and the fact that I was considering giving Junior a chance to redeem himself.
Taylor listened with wide eyes. “Wow, you must really like him if you’re breaking your one-strike policy.”
I stared into my wine, trying to find the right words. “It’s complicated. Yes, he hurt me, but I believe that he thought he was doing the right thing, and, more important, I believe he’s sorry. And I can’t deny the way I feel around him.” I shook my head. “There’s this . . . pull between us, this connection. I felt it a decade ago, and it’s still there. It’s not just physical, either. I want to get to know him more, find out who he is now.”
Ryan set their glass down and turned to me. “I’m not trying to be a Debbie Downer about all of this, but Junior’s still in the Mafia, doing god knows what. And isn’t his father, like, the devil himself? Are you really okay with that?”
I sighed. “I’m not okay with it, but I don’t think Junior is either. You should have seen how scared he was as a teen, knowing he was about to graduate and go into the family business. He tried to hide it from me, but I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice whenever he talked about his dad. I spent half our time together trying to make him laugh just so he’d have a break from all the doom and gloom. I don’t think he would have chosen this life for himself if given the chance. And this might sound kind of fucked, but growing up in the old neighborhood, the mob was just something you accepted as part of life. Nonna and Nonno Bianchi owned the corner deli, and I used to do my homework at the counter while they worked the store. Every other Friday, some big goon would come in, and Nonno would hand him a brown paper envelope full of cash.”
“Protection money?” Taylor asked.
I nodded.
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “Protection against them breaking their kneecaps if they didn’t pay on time.”
“That’s the cliché,” I agreed. “But the reality is more complex. Everyone in the neighborhood knows each other. Their kids go to school together, they sit next to each other at Mass every Sunday. If people can’t pay, the mob is good about letting it slide. Within reason. And that protection money is actually protection money.”
“What do you mean?” Ryan asked.
“The store was broken into once when I was in middle school,” I said. “Someone smashed out the glass on the rear door, took all the cash from the register, and trashed the place. Instead of calling the cops or their insurance broker, my grandparents called the man who collected their money. By the next afternoon, the store was cleaned up, all the cash was replaced, and the new back door was practically a bank vault. My grandparents were promised it would never happen again, and even after they retired and my older sister took over the store, it hasn’t.”
“Shades of gray,” Ryan said.
I nodded. “Nothing is ever black and white. Not even the mob. All that to say, no, I’m not okay with what Junior does, but it’s not enough to push me away either. And it’s not like I plan to marry the man, so in the long run, I won’t have to go through an existential crisis about it.”
Ryan studied me. “So it’s just going to be a casual hookup?”
“This feels more like . . . I don’t know. Maybe making up for lost time? Exploring the spark between us that we didn’t get to before?”
“I get that,” Ryan said. “As long as you’re being careful.”
Taylor grinned. “Double wrap it if you have to.”
Ryan swatted her. “I meant be careful emotionally.”
Taylor swatted them back. “I know that. I was talking about her heart, not his dick.”
Thwack. “Why are you like this?”
Thwack. “Because if I wasn’t, you’d never laugh, you goth-ass bitch.”
I leaned forward and smacked Taylor’s thigh.
“Hey!” she cried. “What was that for?”
“I felt left out.”
She hit me back. Ryan hit her. I hit Ryan. Why? No idea. It just felt like the right thing to do. Soon, a slap fight broke out that roused Walter. He got between us and started barking excitedly, because Yay! Playtime!
“Oh, great,” I said. “You woke the baby.”
“Us?” Taylor and Ryan chorused.
Eventually, everyone settled down, and we retook our seats. Walter elected to lie half in my lap, his eyes open and shifting among us in case more fun sprang up. I started petting him, hoping he’d relax, and looked over at Taylor.
“I noticed you haven’t posted anything in a few days. You okay?”
She drew her knees to her chest and shook her head. “I haven’t really felt like posting. That cannibal really freaked me out, and I’ve been getting more shitty comments than normal.”
My heart ached for her. I’d been there before, so, so many times. We faced a constant barrage of comments with words like slut, whore, and every other derogatory word under the sun, and most of the time, we just had to accept it as part of the territory. We’d even done a decent job reclaiming the words for our own, to the point that I didn’t even bat an eye when I saw them anymore. Instead, I found a way to use someone’s misogyny against them, firing back responses like, My sexting channel is open if you want to see what a whore I’ll be for you, and then I watched the dollars stack up when they entered the paid-for chat.
But not a day went by that I didn’t get at least one absolutely disgusting comment either from a sub or social media troll that totally crossed the line—the block button was my best friend in those circumstances. I’d had random upticks like Taylor’s plenty of times over the past several years, where it seemed like every other person thought that just because I was a camgirl, the basic laws of human decency no longer applied to me. This line of work definitely wasn’t for the faint of heart, and a lot of the friends I’d made early on in my career had long since given it up to pursue other lines of work or settle down and start families. I was beginning to wonder if Taylor was next.
“Take as much time as you need,” I told her. “Your mental health has to come first.”
She sent me a sad smile. “Thanks. I’m still good to pay my share of rent and everything.”
Ryan waved her off. “Even if you weren’t, we’d cover you.”
Taylor rested her head on Ryan’s shoulder, our earlier “altercation” forgotten. “Did you see Ghost Girl’s message?”
We’d spent several hours over the past two days looking into possible hires for Ryan, and there were a couple of great candidates.
“I did,” Ryan said. “She’s like the third person to recommend Ben.”
“Have you seen his work?” I asked.
Ryan nodded. “I did some scrolling earlier, and he’s really good, despite being less experienced than I am. I spoke to several people he’s worked with, and they all said he’s super professional. His style is even similar to mine, so I don’t think it would take much training to bring him up to my standards.”
Taylor prodded their shoulder. “You gonna offer him the job?”
“He hasn’t applied for it,” Ryan said.
“So?” I said. “Why not reach out to him first?”
Ryan grumbled, but together, Taylor and I convinced them it couldn’t hurt to send an email. The worst that could happen was Ben said no.
We figured it would be a few days before they heard back, but Ryan’s phone chimed not five minutes later, and they lifted their head from it, grinning. “He’s in.”
Taylor shrieked.
Walter started barking.
I gave up on trying to calm him down and let him have his fun.
Friday night found me at Velvet, seated in the back corner of the bondage room. Junior and I hadn’t spoken much since our encounter at the arcade, just enough to exchange phone numbers so I could text him what time to be here instead of having to do everything through the Me4U app.
I was nervous to see him. And excited. My body was keyed up, ready for more, desperate to get his hands on me again, and vice versa. Maybe I’d get really lucky, and he’d finally let me suck his dick. A girl could hope.
My phone buzzed. I dug around in my purse trying to find the device. Cool metal met my fingers, and I pulled out what looked like a quarter, rubbed smooth from age, only twice the thickness of the normal currency. I could have sworn I’d never seen it before, but I had so much random shit floating loose in my purse that it was probably some token from a club or bar that I’d stashed in there and completely forgotten about.
I dropped it back inside and pulled my phone free. Junior had texted.
Running late. Something came up.
A wave of disappointment rolled through me as I texted him back. How late? The show is about to start.
I’m not sure, he said. I gotta deal with this.
I didn’t bother texting him back. The vagueness told me everything I needed to know.
He was standing me up.
Because of course he fucking was. God, I was an idiot for not seeing this coming.
Anger churned in my belly, more directed at myself than Junior. This was what I got for going against my better judgment. He’d already proved he couldn’t be trusted, and I’d stupidly given him another chance to hurt me. At least this time it was only disappointment and not heartache. And honestly? Maybe I should be thanking him for doing this so quickly, for not dragging it out and stringing me along like he had all those years ago, for reminding me exactly why I had a one-strike policy. A sub crossed the line? Blocked. Someone I was dating gave off a creepy vibe? Ghosted. It kept me safe, kept me from getting hurt, and I shouldn’t have broken that rule, especially for someone as undeserving as Junior Trocci.
I switched my phone off and dropped it back inside my purse, resolving to forget about him again.
A moment later, a soft chime had me lifting my gaze to the bondage room stage. Sylvia walked out of a side door, her lean frame clad in a black bodysuit and knee-high leather boots, a rope clutched in her fist. She paused, spun on her heel, and tugged, and a few seconds later, Moriah crawled out of the door after her, the rope attached to a collar on her neck.
Oh, god.
Her stunning body was on full display, the white lingerie leaving nothing to the imagination. Watching this alone was going to be torture.
