Chapter 35 Caligula #2
In front of me, Damiano keeps going a few feet before he realizes I’m not following, and turns to glare at me.
“What’s rule number one?” he says, loud enough for those close by to overhear.
“Do what you fucking tell me,” I answer automatically, but my feet won’t move.
Because I’ve seen Jesse. Jesse Foster. He’s in a tangle of limbs over in a sunken lounge in the corner of the room, and the look on his face is ecstatic.
Dami comes back and looks where I’m looking. “What?” he asks. “You want to join in?”
“Jesse,” I hiss between stiff lips. “If anyone knows where this Grisha guy is, it’s Jesse Foster.”
I can tell he’s about to snarl something back, but he pauses to give a speculative look at the mini-orgy going on in the corner. “Well, looks like they’re finishing up.”
He grabs my wrist and pulls me to a nearby table, where he takes the stool and grips me by the shoulder, pushing me down to kneel at his feet. “Make it believable, golden boy,” he tells me, and I swear there’s mockery in his tone.
I don’t take the bait. I just kneel as comfortably as I can with the damn plug in me, and let him run a hand through my hair. “Knees wider,” he tells me. I shuffle to obey, even though I have to grit my teeth.
This will be worth it in the end. And in the long run, every tiny moment like this will be paid back with interest.
Sure enough, the group of men who have been entertaining themselves with Jesse finish up a few moments later with loud groans, slapping him on the ass and laughing, saying something in Russian. Jesse stumbles up and away, but there’s a glazed look of ecstasy on his face.
And as he limps away from the men, his eyes fall on me. They go wide with delight. He makes a beeline for where we’re sitting.
“Mr. Orsini,” he says, swaying a little as he comes to a halt. “And your purchase. I hope you’ve been very happy with it—not planning to return it?” He laughs after he says it.
Damiano laughs as well. “Not a chance in hell. No buyer’s remorse here.”
“If you’re open to it, there are a number of gentlemen here tonight who would enjoy sharing in your good fortune,” Jesse continues. He hasn’t even glanced at me since he came up, and my nose is getting assaulted by the various scents of his recent experiences in the corner.
“I don’t share my property,” Damiano says. “Although…”
I try not to look up at him. I certainly don’t want a view from down here of Jesse’s spent dick, waving in my face as it is. But I’m on high alert until Dami finishes that sentence he started, because we didn’t talk about how far he might go to get information. Maybe that was a mistake.
Or maybe it was by design.
“I’d be delighted to make any introductions,” Jesse trills.
Damiano leans on his arms on the tabletop, closer to Jesse as he drops his voice.
“Since you mention it, I do feel a little bad about snatching this prize away from that other guy who was interested at the auction. Do you know him? I wouldn’t mind sharing a drink.
Maybe sharing a little something extra.”
I hear the change of tone in Jesse’s voice when he says, “Of course I know Grisha. And he’s very gracious, I’m sure he’d love a chance to smooth things over.”
Jesse Foster can smell a new commission. That’s what I’m hearing in his voice. I should have heard it at Kismet nightclub, but it’s unmistakable now.
The question now is not what Dami is willing to do for information, but how far am I willing to go? I already told him I’d do whatever it took to survive.
Perhaps he plans to test that tonight.
“Well, if this Grisha comes in tonight, send him my way,” Damiano goes on. “I’d like to buy him a drink, maybe throw him a bone, if you catch my drift.”
Jesse laughs as though Damiano has made the funniest joke he’s ever heard. “Oh I will, Mr. Orsini. I will. And if you feel like a little something extra for yourself, I’m sure Mr. King would be pleased to offer my services to you.”
I’m sitting right at knee level, so I notice when Damiano’s leg twitches. “That’s very generous of him,” he says. “But I don’t want to push the friendship.”
“I’m sure I could persuade him,” Jesse says, and now he takes a step closer to Damiano, his sticky thigh just about brushing my nose. I can’t help myself; I look up and see Jesse Foster sliding his hand up Dami’s bicep.
Damiano glances down at the hand on his arm. At my face beyond. “I’m sure you could,” he tells Jesse with a smile. “Let’s see how things play out tonight.”
Jesse leans into his ear and says something I can’t hear. Damiano chuckles. “Would you like a drink in the meantime?” Jesse asks at normal volume.
“I got someone here to take care of that for me,” Dami says easily. “I’ll send the Clemenza. Let him earn his keep, right?”
Jesse grins. “Yes, sir.” And with that, he sets off to find Grisha—hopefully. He better not be finding Daniel King and begging for permission to fuck Damiano.
“Eyes down,” the man himself tells me.
He’s looking straight ahead. But I’m still glaring up at him. “Have you fucked Jesse Foster?”
He turns his face slowly down to look at me, expressionless. “What does it matter?”
“Just tell me. You said you’d never lie to me, right?”
He snorts. “I’m not stupid enough to stick my dick in a bear trap.”
I quickly look down again. Partly to keep up the charade of submission for our audience. And partly because I don’t want him to see the relief on my face. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Orsini?” I ask the floor politely, but I’m pretty sure Dami hears the acid in my tone.
“Since you mention it, yeah, I would. Go ask the bartender to make my usual. Bar is down at the end, round the corner.” I rise to my feet and he catches me by the arm before I leave. “You go straight there and straight back. You hear me? No wandering off to find a Bratva orgy of your own.”
It’s my turn to snort. And there’s a very tiny smile on Dami’s lips as he lets me go.
The bar is, as Dami said, at the bottom of the L-shaped room, slightly around the corner. I find the bartender and tell him to make Damiano Orsini his usual drink, which apparently is straight bourbon, and half a pint of beer to chase it down.
While I’m waiting, I feel someone slide up behind me. “Hi, Cal,” Jesse says.
I turn to look at him. I don’t say anything.
“I couldn’t say hi before,” he goes on, “since you were there with your owner. It wouldn’t be respectful for me to talk to you without his permission.”
“You don’t have his permission now.”
Jesse giggles. “Sure, but we’re alone now. We can be naughty if we feel like it.”
“You were being plenty naughty before with that group in the corner.”
He gets a dreamy look on his face. “They’re a good time. There’s lots of fun to have here at the Obelisk. You’ll find out yourself, when Damiano shares you with Grisha.”
The bar area is deserted, except for me and Jesse and the bartender. The rest of the patrons of the club are in the long arm of the room, and when I glance over my shoulder, none of them who have a view of us are paying attention.
So I grab Jesse Foster by the throat and shove him up against the opposite wall.
“From now on,” I spit, “you keep your hands off Damiano Orsini and your dick out of my face. You wave that thing near my mouth again, I’ll bite it the fuck off.”
I’m not squeezing hard, but Jesse is gasping for air. I let him go and turn back to the bar, where the bartender is staring, mouth open, as though he’s not sure whether to call security.
“Thanks for the drinks,” I tell him, grabbing the bourbon and the beer, one in each hand. I don’t bother looking back at Jesse.
I shouldn’t have done that. Jesse is likely to get us thrown out, rather than send his friend Grisha over. And I don’t even know why I did it. Something came over me and I just…lost it.
But it was worth it to see the look on Jesse’s face.
I have to walk slowly to avoid spilling the drinks, but eventually I arrive back at Dami’s table and give him his drinks. “My Lord,” I say with a quick bow of the head.
“You want to watch that sarcasm while we’re here,” Dami advises me, picking up the bourbon. “It won’t go down well with the Bratva.”
“About that,” I begin, figuring I should give him a heads-up if security suddenly descends on our table.
And in fact, there is someone headed our way right now. But it’s not security. It’s the Russian who bid on me that night at the auction—Grisha.
And trailing behind him, a vindictive spark in his eye, is Jesse Foster.