at me with predatory hunger. If I looked too long, I’d lose all my secrets.
“Any leads?” you asked while sliding the golden cross back and forth along its delicate chain. I’d been on the phone with my Imperium handler.
“Unfortunately, no,” I admitted with a deep exhalation. “And I’m not sure where to go next.”
“Julio said Seneser liked to gamble. Maybe we should do a circuit of the casinos. See what turns up.”
I’d considered it more than once, but I didn’t want to spook Seneser with my presence or draw attention to you, since we still hadn’t made any headway on determining the identity of your pursuer.
“Have you ever played poker before?” I asked.
Your smile looked guilty. “Yeah, I’m actually pretty good at it.”
“Tell me, Vincent,” I said, brushing a loose tendril of silver hair from your eyes, “how did you happen to learn the skill of poker?”
“Val and I used to run this scam. I mean, it wasn’t a scam, but she did help me get into some games with rich idiots. I hardly even had to seduce them to win.”
“Did your parents know about this?”
You gave me a look that told me I was being ridiculous. “Obviously not. Dad’s loaded but he’s cheap as fuck. My allowance was pretty skint. Valentina likes nice things, so…”
“Why didn’t you come to me for money?” I’d never denied you, not once.
“Because I wanted to earn it myself.”
“By relieving your private school friends of their inheritance?”
You smiled. “Something like that. When I wasn’t conning gas station clerks out of scratch-off tickets or reselling beer to minors.”
I shook my head at your burgeoning criminal enterprise.
“What?” you asked, feigning innocence.
“I’m trying to reconcile your more virtuous aspects with this knowledge that you’re a petty criminal.” The skills were useful to our survival, but I didn’t want for you to rely on them—too risky.
“Some might call me an entrepreneur. So, can we?” you asked with that hopeful shine in your eyes.
We’d been avoiding the casinos in order to keep a low profile, but perhaps hunting Seneser was a better strategy. And with you doing the scouting, I could blend into the background.
“Let me think about it.” I turned away then, my attempt at resisting your persuasion. “I’m going to bathe, and then we’ll go get dinner. In the meantime, why don’t you get dressed?”
“We could shower together,” you said. “Save some water. We are in a desert.”
I swallowed dryly, shooting a glance over my shoulder to find you fondling yourself. You were forever enticing me to join you. Urging yourself toward climax late at night in our shared bed, then spilling your fragrant seed onto our bedsheets, sometimes marking me as well. I was perpetually aroused around you, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to abstain.
I noticed then that you’d shaved yourself completely.
“When did you do that?” I asked.
“Last night.” You tugged your cock roughly so that the foreskin retracted completely to reveal your blushing glans, then let it go so that it bounced up jauntily.
“Why?” I asked.
“Thought you might like it.”
I did like it—your smooth nakedness on display, ideal for caressing with my tongue.
“Why would you think that?” I asked and noticed your hand falter. “Don’t stop on my account.”
Your eyes lit up as you stroked yourself with fervor. “I had a dream about it,” you said wistfully. Your head tilted backward, and you bared the taut tendons of your throat. You must know what that did to me, to any of our kind. How could you not?
“Tell me about it,” I said, taking another hazardous step toward you.
“I was lying in your bed, and you were shaving me with a straight razor.”
“Was I?”
You nodded. “I’d been wearing that bathing suit.”
“What bathing suit?” I asked, confused.
“Orlando’s.” Your eyes opened and locked on mine. “And then you cut me, or I cut myself, and you fed on my blood.”
That wasn’t a dream; it was a memory.
“That’s very… detailed.”
You hummed softly. “But we were in other people’s bodies. I was Orlando and you were Papa. Were they lovers too?”
I blinked and stuttered. “I don’t think… no. Not exactly.”
You shook your head, disappointed by my stumbling answer. But not angry, if the smirk on your face was any indication. “You’re hiding something, Henri,” you taunted.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from your unflinching gaze. How might I escape this conversation? Run like a coward and lock myself in the bathroom? My sins threatened to spill over, and there was no scenario I could envision where you’d understand, much