ever seen.”
Lifting his glass, the captain saluted her. “My favorite was MUSE, the Simulation Theory tour.”
“Oh… that was a good one.” No argument there.
Li Wei had stood at her back, cuddling as they rocked to the music. As they marveled at the monster when it burst out over the stage. Both of them drunk on Goose IPA.
“What was his name?”
“None of your business.” Truly and deeply. Abso-fucking-lutely none of his business.
“So you weren’t looking for the one. You already had him.”
“The fact that you think I might reduce my happiness to the outdated concept of the one goes to show how little you know me.”
That earned a smirk. “Did you just call me old?”
“You are old.” Maybe not old enough to have fathered her, but still old.
“And you are very young.” Followed with another raised glass and a devilish grin.
“But I won’t be your brand of young in ten years, assuming I fuck one of your men every night.”
“You never answered. Boy or girl?”
Okay, maybe small talk wasn’t working.
Standing, wine glass in hand, she left the couch and the game of twenty questions to poke around his room—touching everything in an effort to annoy him. To feel. To remember regular things.
There were so many colors.
She had not realized how her blank walls and pale sheets were so lacking.
Reds, purples, the green of living plants that were no more.
Fortifying herself with another sip of honest to God wine, she turned, feeling a real skirt swish around her knees, and decided to wrap it up. “Where are you going to do it?”
How indulged he looked. Every bit the pirate king on his stolen throne. “Do what, Eugenia?”
“Rub my feet. As per our agreement.”
And he laughed again, understanding he’d lost her word game. Setting down his glass on a pristine coffee table, standing to remind her how much larger he was.
The jaw, the cheekbones, the lips, the hair.
Rouge pirate through and through.
“Anywhere you want it.”
Considering all the fun she might have at his expense if he played along, she batted her eyelashes. “Anywhere?”
Yet he was already there, toying with curls Joan had spent ages battling into submission for Eugenia’s special night. “Right here will do.”
“You said I got to pick.” It was a half-complaint as he brought them both down to soft carpet.
Thumb pads to her insoles, he said, “You took too long.”
Jesus Christ was he either gifted with fingers from the gods, or she was literally that in need of human touch. Groaning, her head fell back.
For an hour, she endured the best foot rub known to womankind. Utterly brazen in her groans, happy enough to fall asleep on soft, clean carpet.
Distraught to wake in a strange bed, the arm and leg of a man she hated weighing her down.
Breaking his own rules, because where their feet tangled, her skin was bare.
Since the sun was up, her duty was done, and she didn’t have to stand for this. Moving out of his arms, she scampered for the door—the unlocked door—like a complete coward.
***
“Did he do that tongue thing?”
Noodles today. Handmade by Chloe, the same woman who struck up a conversation all the other women must have all shared in the past.
“No.” Eugenia didn’t have a thing for the rugged, evil type who traded in human currency.
“Please, sweetie, you don’t have to pretend here. We’ve all fucked him dozens of times. The first time, you always get the tongue thing. A glass of wine. What music did he have on?”
“PJ Harvey.”
Slurping up a noodle, Chloe asked, “Who’s that?”
“It doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t. It never would again.
Prepping another bite of good noodles in bad broth, Chloe said, “Just do the week. Let him tie you up if that makes it easier. Let him fuck you a little too hard. And move on. It’s only six more days.”
“You have got to fucking be kidding me…” Bondage was his thing? How cliché for a pirate.
“He really didn’t fuck you.” And the whole table, Joan included, stared.
“Oh, we fucked all night. So much fucking. Didn’t you see me walking funny?”
“Jesus, are you in for it, kid.” Pink-cheeked and teasing, Chloe added, “I’d bet tickets he’s breaking you in. Considering the size of his uncut cock, he probably needs to. No reason to damage the merchandise.”
Which wasn’t funny at all.
“You know I’m joking, right? I mean about the damage part. We all agree, and he keeps a tally if we're willing to take that beast the old-fashioned way or down the throat. A little lube, a little