“You know,” she said, as she brushed her thumb over the velvety head, “I taught Velvet everything she knows. Is this what you want? My lips around you?”

She watched him nod convulsively and smiled.

“Ah, Ed, Ed.” Her fingernails dug in just slightly, enough to make him flinch and wither. “We don’t always get what we want, do we?”

She stood up and walked away, seated herself in her chair with the whip on her lap like a favored pet. Ed Julian stood miserably where she’d left him, cock shrunken back into his underpants like a frightened animal.

“See me next week,” she told him.

When she heard the elevator rumble its way down, she walked to the doorway and looked at Paolo, who was reading a magazine by the light of a single small lamp. She’d long ago instructed him that the magazines had to be pornographic, at least on the outside. He put this one aside and revealed that Leather Love covered the latest copy of Entertainment Weekly.

“They’re going to make a ‘Gilligan’s Island’ reunion movie,” he reported. She stared at him.

“He’s asking about Velvet,” she said. “I want to know why. Find out.”

Paolo licked his lips. She read the hesitation,

“Don’t make me ask you again,” she said. He nodded and looked dejected. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“I like her,” he said. His dark eyes glittered from under thick eyebrows. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

It was as if he’d spoken to her in a Cantonese, the sounds familiar, but the meaning lost. She blinked.

“What does that matter?” she asked, honestly puzzled.

Chapter Twenty

Robby

As always, she’d slipped out of Jim’s bed before the sun rose, like a vampire returning to her coffin. There was something about waking up with a man that seemed so final. The one time she’d violated that rule he’d woken surly and they’d fought over something stupid; now it was agreed that she went quietly, no goodbyes.

He mumbled in his sleep and turned over to put his hand in the hollow where she’d lain. He hadn’t said anything about the fiasco at the mall except, bad luck, kid— but she was still smarting from it, angry at herself and the world, aware that luck had run out. The security guards would be looking for her. The police would have her description. Avenues of escape were narrowing.

Jim didn’t seem worried, but he had lived on the edge for so long that he’d gotten addicted to the view. She was still a tourist, and liked it that way.