Page 18 of Devilish Debt
Don’t think he’s ever backed down without a fight outside of a courtroom.
Once we’re settled in our respective seats, Ravencroft casually reaches for her champagne flute, stare drinking in my specially chosen button up shirt.“You remembered to wear leopard print.”The pleased hum that escapes is attached to her leaning back in her seat.“Undo another button.”
Meeting the order is instant.
And despite his best efforts to keep his eyes elsewhere, captures Garcia’s hungry gaze.
He likes me in this print too.
At leastshe’lladmit it out loud.
Doesn’t make me guess based on a subtle dick adjustment in tailor-made suit pants or find the nearest ginger to playCall of Coochiewith to distract from the simple vibe that’s in the air.
“So obedient,” Ravencroft contently coos, glass lingering near her lips.“Speak.”
“I’m here to request a favor,” I swiftly announce, knowing better than to waste a second of her time.
“You mean another.”One sip is taken.“Presence unsummoned was its own, Fiorenzo.”
Yeah.
Should’ve seen that coming.
Like getting kicked in the chest after surprising a wildebeest.
“Yes,” respectfully leaves my lips in a muted volume.
“Intriguing,” the woman at the head of the table purrs prior to enjoying another swallow.“You may continue.”
“I am requesting the use of one of your yachts or ships or bigger boats-”
“Watercraft vehicles.”
“And-”
“Two requests?” She returns her glass to the table.“Are these your dying wishes, Fiorenzo?”
“Quite possibly,” mirthfully slips loose in a way that causes the corner of her lip to twitch.“I –theoretically– owe Prince Thaddeus Weslington of Hoalkey a debt he’s come to collect.”
“In the most dramatic way possible, I’m certain.”
Rather than disagree, I wait for her to add additional commentary like a Tok influencer you’re surprised to know has a degree in whatever crap they’re spewing about.
“Mommie Dearestdidn’t give her bratty baby boy enough suckles at her teat until he hit puberty.”
God…please…let her be speaking metaphorically.
“Plus, the man can barely wield his own dick without permission, so whatevermicroaggressionshit he can execute, hewillin the mostBroadwayapproved fashion.”She folds her manicured hands on top of the cloth napkin in her lap.“You want a watercraft vehicle meaning thesecondrequest is permission to operateinmy waters.”
“Correct.”
And they areherwaters.
Ports.
Passages.
People.
