There’s only one thing I need right now, and I’m going to find it.
Seven
Ava
“Well, I ampooped!”Pearl declares as we stumble up the steps to the front door.
I don’t feel any more steady than she appears to be, but I hold one hand against her back anyway out of fear that she’ll fall and break her hip or something. She knocks on the front door and then begins humming one of the umpteen jazz songs we heard at the club. After a moment, the door swings open to reveal Patrick.
“Ladies.” He nods at us, stepping to one side and holding out a hand for Pearl. He looks like he was in the middle of undressing; tie loosened, shirt collar unbuttoned and revealing a peek of his muscled chest, and chestnut hair tousled. “Fun night?”
Pearl clasps his hand and lets him lead her inside. “Funis awoefulunderstatement.” She drops his hand and clutches the feather boa at her chest. “But I can’t think of a better word right now, sofunit is.”
She snickers as he closes and locks the door behind us. “Although now, I just need to get these old bones to bed,” she continues.
“Allow me to escort you to your room,” Patrick says, offering the crook of his elbow. She wraps her hand around it, and he glances at me. “You need a hand getting up the stairs, Ava?”
“I’m okay,” I say lazily as I follow them across the room toward the staircase. While we walk, I feel the heady swirl of drunkenness spliced with unease and mortification as I replay the uncomfortable confrontation between Lucky and me at the club. I have a sudden visceral desire for more alcohol. I need enough that I’ll just forget the whole thing, and that way I’ll be happily oblivious for the rest of the week, and Lucky can just fake politeness for the sake of appearances.
We’re just at the top of the stairs, when impulse takes over. “I think I’m gonna go to the big room for a nightcap,” I announce without a care about whether or not anyone joins me.
I’m marginally aware of their responses and the fact that they continue toward the end of the long hall where the bedrooms are. Tracing my hand along the antique, dark wood wainscoting, I follow the wall all the way to the opposite end of the hall to the big room. I step into the room, and it’s an eerie, elegant contrast to what it was earlier. Lamps and sconces glow from various spots in the room, lighting it just enough for me to avoid bumping into the large, heavy sofas and side tables.
It’s totally void of people and admittedly a bit creepy being completely silent other than the muted hum of activity from crowds on the sidewalks below in the bustling French Quarter. Drunken impulse causes me to opt to not stick around in here for my night cap. Instead, I waltz behind the looming bar like I own the place and grab a bottle from the first shelf. For a second, I’m completely lost as to where Patrick had located glasses earlier, and I set my clutch purse on the bar so I can open a few cabinets.
After finding something that resembles a glass, I spin around and march out of the room, heading down the long hall to my room with my head swirling the entire time. In the privacy of my room, I pour a stiff-as-hell drink and plop onto a velvet cushioned chair positioned next to the French doors that lead to the balcony. I stare out at the colorful lights while taking huge swallows of the liquor—I think it’s dark rum—and then wonder why I haven’t opened the French doors. Pushing myself back out of the chair, I open the doors and let the cacophony of activity and the warm breeze drift into the room.
This is nice.
It’s so nice that I get lost in the sound of distant jazz and the feeling of steadily increasing intoxication. I lose track of how many times I refill the glass. I can’t be sure, but I have a feeling like I’ve lost a chunk of time. There’s an antique clock on the dresser, but it’s too dark for me to read, and I reach for my purse so I can check my phone.
Where’s my purse?
After racking my intoxicated brain, I remember that I left it in the big room. I down the last of the rum in my glass before setting it on the floor next to the chair and standing up.
The sizable stagger should tip me off that I need to abandon the idea of getting my purse right now. Ishouldget in bed and sleep off the alcohol. But I don’t. I slip off my shoes and creep as carefully as possible out of the room and back into the hall.
I have no idea what time it is, but I convince myself that only a couple of minutes have passed. I should be tipped off that a lot more time has passed by the fact that there’s a brighter glow pouring into the hall from the big room, but it doesn’t really register beyond a basic observation.
Sliding my hand along the wainscoting, I follow it to the entrance to the big room and pause in the doorway.
The room is no longer empty. The fire has been lit, illuminating the room in a slightly brighter golden glow, and allowing me to see Lucky seated on one of the long, chocolate leather, vintage Chesterfield sofas.
Two women are in there with him. A blonde and one with raven-black hair. They’re halfway undressed, taking up the other half of the sofa. The two women are topless, their smooth skin warm and ochre in the light of the fireplace, nipples taut and puckered. The black-haired woman is reclining against one arm of the sofa, while the blonde kisses down the column of her neck, one hand cupping and fondling her full, large breast. The woman with dark hair uses one hand to grip the back of the blonde’s head while she slowly writhes and quietly moans, shifting down the sofa to lie flat on her back.
Lucky is nonchalantly sipping a crystal glass of amber liquid, one elbow propped on the opposite arm of the coach while he watches them. The blonde skates her tongue lower until it arrives at the other woman’s breast, circling her nipple, and the ebony-haired woman bends one knee and hikes her short, tight skirt up around her waist. After shimmying her skirt out of the way, she slides her hand between her own splayed thighs, sliding her red-polished fingers between the lips of her swollen pussy, the tender flesh glistening in the low, flickering light. The blonde abruptly snatches the other woman’s wrist and pins it to the sofa, then continues the descent of her tongue.
The woman with dark hair tips her chin back and moans again. The blonde inches down her body, her naked ass elevated and allowing Lucky a front row seat for own wet arousal. He sips his drink like the scene he’s witnessing is nothing more than two people carrying on a casual conversation in his presence.
I, on the other hand, have never seen anything like this. My head is still swirling with the effects of too much alcohol, and this feels like a sordid dream about a secret kink I didn’t even know I had.
I can’t look away.
Even in the midst of drunkenness, I know better than to make my presence known. I stay hidden in the darkened doorway, and on some level, I know I shouldn’t be watching this. But it’s suddenly a train-wreck of total wanton lust, and my lady parts are starting to ache with need to be touched and teased exactly like the women on the sofa are doing for each other.
The blonde’s face arrives at the apex of the other woman’s thighs, adding her fingers to tease and probe. The black-haired woman whimpers and curses, grabbing her own breasts to squeeze them and tweak her erect nipples. At this, Lucky casts a stoic glance at the blonde’s elevated bottom and sets his glass on a side table. He reaches to stroke his hand over the blonde woman’s back, sweeping it over the curve of her ass, and sliding his long, tapered fingers between her slick folds.
The blonde moans against the other woman’s pussy and goes to work more fervently in her pleasure-giving. She plunges two fingers deep inside the woman, and Lucky does the same for her. Both women are mewling and rhythmically squirming against each other, and a muscle in Lucky’s sharp, stubbled jaw twitches. I lean against the doorframe, and I can’t help myself. I’m not thinking clearly. The skirt of my borrowed dress is short enough that it’s too easy, and I widen my stance so I can slip my hand up my thigh and into my panties.
