My mouth is slick with the sweetish aftermath of whatever was in the fish. “What… what’s going to happen to me?”

“That’s the fucking question, isn’t it?” Doc throws himself back onto the couch beside Bobby. “Shouldn’t be long.”

Eli drums his fingers against the arm of his chair. “Estimate?”

“Fifteen minutes. Maybe less. She hasn’t eaten for a while.”

All four sets of eyes turn to me. In the firelight, they seem like gods deciding my fate. I should probably do something, convince them not to do whatever it is they’re planning, but there’s a golden glow in my stomach and it’s spreading through my veins like honey. I feel good. I feel very, very good. And though it’s impossible, I’m almost sure I’ve felt this way before.

Chapter Twelve

Elliot Morelli

January keeps rearranging herself. She crosses and uncrosses her legs as though trying to fold herself into the smallest possible piece. Her nipples are like hard candy beneath her sheer bra, and she keeps tossing her hair and arching her back. Doc’s put on some Russian hardbass, and you can tell she’s trying not to writhe to the beat.

She’s adorable. When the Orchard hits her fully, she won’t be able to keep her hands off her virgin pussy. Or she’ll climb on my face and beg me to slide my tongue inside her. I’m feeling generous enough that I probably will.

“Mmm.” January turns sideways, stretching out her long legs and we all glimpse the sheer pink material covering her cunt.

Bobby suppresses a groan. “How long?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Doc mutters, his voice rough as if he were already inside her.

He’s gone over this girl. This man who never puts his dick in the same stripper twice, has spent the last week ignoring his responsibilities to get drunk in front of the security monitors and watch January sing. It just proves I made the right choice to send her to Naples. Whatever happens, I will not entertain regrets.

The room is still heavy with the scent of sugary green apples. Doc doesn’t know what makes Orchard smell that way. That’s the problem with savants, they can’t do the working out. Not that anyone else can either. Seventeen years and God knows how much money I’ve put into research and we’re no closer to answers.

January gives a soft moan. Her pupils have dilated.

“Fuck yes,” Doc mutters. “Here we go.”

All of us sit up straighter.

“What’s happening to me?” she whimpers.

“What does it feel like?” I ask.

“Like… pink fire is running through me.” She trails her hands up her arms and shivers. “Like electricity.”

I smile. This demure little virgin is going to spread herself wide and we’re going to plunder her body like the perfect fuckdoll she is. I turn to check the camera light is blinking. Even if we don’t send this to Parker, I want a copy of it.