Chapter 9 The Vulture
THE VULTURE
QUINTON
The crisp December wind nips at us, causing our winter coats to billow as we step off the helicopter.
With her arm through mine, Emery gingerly walks the frosty path toward the chateau.
Remnants of a forgotten sunset paint the sky in hues of plum and navy, illuminating the grand staircase that leads to the imposing doors of Nuit du Péché.
Emery pauses on the final step, her breath escaping in hesitant puffs, transforming into ephemeral clouds in the frigid air.
“You’re nervous.”
“A little.” She stares at the antique brass Goddess Athena door knocker. “I don’t know why, though.”
“We can leave.” I cast her a look of understanding. “If you’re not ready.”
“No.” She shakes her head, reaching for the knocker. “I’m fine. Let’s do this.”
The wooden doors vibrate as Emery makes her choice.
Within seconds, the doors open and deviant ambiance spills onto us in a wave of humid heat and sinful chatter.
At the entrance stands a dapper young man clad in a customized NDP suit, his gloved hand extended as he politely requests our invitational keys.
I hand over the keys with a nod. Once the transaction is complete and our coats are removed, Emery step over the threshold first and enters a world I believe she’s always dreamed of living in.
“Holy shit…” she breathes, eyes wider than I’ve ever seen them before as we enter the main room. Her gaze dances along the mounds of panting bodies, dozens of silken beds, fur-draped chaises, and secretive alcoves.
There is nothing holy about the scene that surrounds us. It’s primal. As if we’re privy to the deepest desires of sinful souls. Hundreds of souls. Each one desperate to live out their wildest fantasies. Each one starving for a moment of complete freedom.
“Who are all these people?” Emery asks, bewildered at the sheer volume of bodies in the chateau.
“It’s a rather anonymous function,” I say. “Unless you’re a public figure and easily recognizable, but even then, discretion is expected.”
Her attention is caught by an animated ménage à trois in the corner of the grand room. “Isn’t that the Dutchess of—”
“Shh…” I hush her, giving a nod of disapproval. “Not out loud. In here, she’s just a random body. That’s all.”
She blinks and then walks silently farther into the room.
While Emery surveys the moaning sights, I simply stare at her, drinking in her beauty.
Her lips are painted red tonight, like blood, like the thing that keeps my heart beating, alive.
My gaze flicks down to her chest, the silk robe unraveling as she slowly moves deeper into the epicenter of the chaos.
Despite the balmy heat that permeates the room, her nipples harden, her breasts spilling through the tight hem of her lace lingerie. Fuck. My cock twitches against the ring, and I can’t wait to watch her get devoured.
Each pile of glistening flesh we pass takes a moment to stare at her, dozens of hungry eyes flicking toward us. It’s because they can smell it on her. The inexperience. The innocence. And she knows it too. She knows they want to ruin her. And she’ll let them.
Emery grabs my forearm, tugging at it as she stops walking, her heady gaze fixed on a party of three women twisted in a delectable human pretzel. She licks her lips, head tilting as she watches their movements, their fingers, their tongues.
“Does that intrigue you, darling?”
“A little,” she whispers, shifting her weight from heel to heel. “They’re all very…” She swallows. “Pretty.”
“Why don’t you go say hello?” I suggest, giving her an encouraging smile. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind the company.” I feather a finger down the outline of her face, arching over. “You’re also very pretty.”
Emery shivers under my touch but before she can respond, the women slow their ministrations as if they can feel her unyielding, envious stare.
One head emerges at the scent of new prey.
Emery lets out a tiny gasp as the woman wipes the corner of her mouth, glances down at her playmates, and then stands up.
As the red-haired woman approaches us, her eyes meeting mine briefly, I can see the invitation in her gaze.
Emery's breath quickens, fear and excitement radiating off her soft skin.
She turns to me, slightly nervous and unsure. Her voice quivers as she whispers, “She’s coming over. What do I do?”
“Whatever you want to do.”
“Bonsoir,” the woman says, her hair tangled and wild. She flicks her brown eyes at me. “Peut-on?”
I nod down to Emery. “Ask her yourself. I am not her keeper.”
The red-haired woman grins. “Très bien.” She reaches out, caressing Emery’s cheek, her tone raspy as she says, “Veux-tu jouer avec nous?” She glances over her shoulder. “Mes amis et moi pensons que vous êtes incroyablement belle.”
I place a gentle palm on the small of Emery’s back and translate into her ear. “She’s asking if you want to play with her.” I can feel Emery’s heartbeat quicken. “She also said they think you are incredibly beautiful.”
Emery’s cheek flushes the cutest shade of pink. “Merci,” she murmurs, standing at the precipice of temptation, her gaze flitting between the three women, their allure undeniable, their intentions clear. The room pulsates, and I can practically taste the anticipation in the air.
The red-haired temptress leans closer, her breath warm against Emery's ear as she repeats the question, this time in English. "Do you want to play with us or not?" Her friends coo from afar, their expressions tainted with a hunger that matches Emery's own awakening needs. “Answer me, kitten.”
I remain silent, my arousal building with every passing second, and then, she says it, her voice but a husky whisper. “I do.”
The red-headed woman smirks, dancing her hand down Emery’s arm until their fingers lace together. “Come,” she says, tossing me a wink. “We will take good care of your kitten.”
“Have fun, darling,” I whisper, and with that, she walks away toward her new pack, each woman knowing they’ll have to show her, teach her, train her to be good fucking girl.
I step back, sinking into a plush chaise, my gaze glued to Emery as she settles onto the edge of the large rounded ottoman. With my cock hard between my palm, I lean back and watch.
They’re like vultures, all three of them, circling her. Two above, one below. They slowly peck at her robe, savoring each touch as they slide it off her shoulders.
Their hands slide down her chest, nails scraping gently at her skin as they scoop her breasts into their hands, kneading and rolling and licking. Emery’s mouth gapes open as both women take her nipples into their mouths.
Emery’s eyes stay on mine as she’s lulled into submission, her conquers’ lips leaving wet trails in their wake as her neck twists and turns, as her spine arches and curves. I growl, watching her pleasure heighten, and then the red-headed woman lowers her down, and the real games begin.
Emery doesn’t resist, doesn’t fight, she succumbs to her wants, to her needs, and it's liberating to watch, so fucking arousing. They part her legs, grazing the soft apex of her thighs, and I can see Emery’s fingers curl around the throw blanket.
The red vulture, the leader of the pack, doesn’t hesitate as she lurches forward, her mouth sucking on Emery’s clit.
My pulse quickens. Oh, I like her. She knows how to make my girl feel good.
Yes, that’s right. Eat her. My grip tightens around my cock, my strokes firmer, harder, more aggressive as she fucking devours Emery.
She must taste so good. They know they’re lucky. They know they have a fucking angel beneath their tongues.
Emery’s moans drown out all the other voices in the room like she’s on a different frequency, on a different fucking plane. Her moans grow louder and louder and louder until it’s all I hear, all I can feel, until—Fuck!
“You’ve always been rather messy,” a feminine voice coos.
Through fluttering eyelids, I see the outline of a white handkerchief floating in front of my face, my buzzing brain unable to process its meaning.
The woman sighs. “Really?”
I blink several times, my heartbeat slowing down as my vision steadies. Vivienne’s amused face becomes clearer. She sits down beside me with a sigh and forces the handkerchief into my hand.
“Clean up, Quinton. This is a place of class.”
I stare at her, and then, when we’re unable to keep a straight face for a second longer, we spill out in laughter.
“How long were you standing there?” I ask, wiping myself clean.
“Long enough,” she says, pulling a gold cigarette holder from her garter. She opens the container, pulling out a smoke and lighting it up. After taking the first drag, she passes it to me, and I graciously accept. “Looks like your friend is having quite a riveting evening thus far.”
“It appears so,” I hum, smoke filling my lungs, the nicotine hitting my brain like a sweet aftershock of release.
Our gazes remain on Emery and her new attentive playmates. Almost too attentive. I’m not entirely sure Emery even knows where she is right now. Let alone that I exist. But she deserves it. Blinding pleasure.
“Thank you for inviting us, Viv. I know you don’t usually open the list to outsiders.”
Vivienne places a cold, thin hand on my thigh and smiles. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”
I perk a brow. “New philosophy these days?”
She smacks my shoulder. “I am not a vicious bitch like many think.” She points a long, black fingernail in between her exposed breasts.
“I have a heart. It is small. But it is there.” I let out an airy chuckle, and Vivienne sighs.
“So, I take it you are off-limits this evening?” She glances around.
“Or perhaps you’ve simply lost your edge. ”
“My edge is still as sharp as ever.” I cast her a playful side-eye. “I’m just more particular about the things I cut.”
“A shame…” Vivienne flicks the cherry into a nearby ashtray. “Does this mean I’ve missed my window of opportunity?”
“You’ve always wanted things you can’t have,” I tease. “What a toxic way to live.”
She chuckles. “Toxic, yes, but so very exciting. I have a theory that it’s what keeps me young.”
“In that case…” I decide to throw her a compliment, a little something to say thank you. Reaching over, I slowly drag my thumb across her bottom lip, whispering, “Stay toxic, my dear. It’s doing wonders.”
She snaps her teeth at me. “No fuck, no touch.”
I throw my hands up in defense, grinning. “Feisty.”
She smirks. “If I recall, that used to be your preference.”
My smile fades. “Don’t.”
“What? Am I not allowed to state the facts?” She glances over at Emery.
“All I am saying is that tastes, perhaps, change.” She sighs when my jaw tenses.
“I am not insulting you, my dear Quinton. I am praising you.” I frown at her.
“Finally, you’ve acquired a more sophisticated palette. It took long enough.”
She’s right. I did have a type. I’ve always had a penchant for women ruled by fire, by the sun.
I liked that overpowering energy as if they could ignite a room with their presence alone.
Emery is powerful in a different way. She’s powerful like the moon, capable of changing tides, emotions, energy.
The sun will never be inhabitable. It’s too destructive in nature.
But the moon? The moon is welcoming, even its dark side feels like home.
“She’s special,” I say, offering Vivienne a genuine answer.
“Mhmm,” she hums, her gaze snapping toward the ottoman. “It appears you’re not the only one that thinks as much.”
My stomach churns, muscles clenching and pained as I follow her sight line, and when I hear those words slipping past his fucking lips, I damn near explode.
“May I join you?”
Cavanaugh.