Page 82 of Midnight Curfew

In the meantime, I need to figure out how Macon is getting his money. If Dallas knows, he won’t be stupid enough to tell me, but he’ll get careless once he thinks he has complete control.

Mrs. Dupuis’s moans escalate, and when I lift my eyes, Dallas’s forehead rests on top of her scalp as her neck arches back with her orgasm. Remaining still, he lets her ride, staring down at her ass and breathing hard.

Micah and Jerome sit somewhere off to my left, and I feel their eyes, but in a moment, even they disappear from the room.

Everything does.

He did the same thing one summer, here in the Fox Hill locker room. He had finished tending the grounds with his brothers, and I’d finished a round of golf with Clay and my friends, and he’d snuck in after my shower to give me a hand job. His hand down my jeans, his forehead pressed to mine…

I’d been so pissed, but it didn’t take long to give into it and push the fear aside. I would’ve crawled on my hands and knees to him if he’d asked me. I was a stupid kid.

The woman cries, finally coming, and he kisses her head. Tugging her panties back up, he whispers something in her ear and then backs away.

Grabbing his coat, he walks over and tosses it on the chair across from me. An attendant approaches him with a tray of hot towels. He takes one, wiping off his hands, then his arm.

“Was it a breach of etiquette,” he asks me, “playing without my host?”

I watch him toss the cloth back onto the table, the attendant quickly clearing it away as he rolls his sleeve back down. The black fabric covers his thick forearms, and as he pulls on his jacket, I realize he almost looks like he fits in. He should have a watch on, though.

“That’s a nice suit,” I reply instead. “You look good in it.”

His gaze falters, and I rise, pulling down my vest. “First rule of actually belonging in this town,” I tell him, “anything you do is okay as long as you’re the one doing it.”

Nothing is a breach of etiquette for those who set the pace.

Caroline Coldwell strolls past, and he catches her eye.

She brushes her fingers down his arm. “You look good in clothes.”

Tossing a wink, she bites the straw of her cocktail and spins back around.

He pays her no mind, turning back to me, and I almost laugh. Fuck, he’s pathetic. Just gives it to anyone, doesn’t he?

I should’ve expected that we’d run into a few of his hookups in here.

Fixing his jacket, he jerks his chin to his right. “Jerome Watson,” he says. “Who’s the other one?”

We’re not here to have friendly conversations.

“I want to show you something,” I tell him.

Walking away, I lead him to a door, pushing it open for him.

He hesitates but walks through, and I follow, closing us in darkness again.

A long hallway stretches ahead, a few people standing at the two-way mirrors that line all of the alcoves on the other side of the wall. Holding out my hand, I invite him to go first.

Following his slow steps, I pass by Judson Stephens as he watches a woman on a table getting railed by one guy with another in her mouth. Their moans and grunts spill out of the speaker just below the mirror.

Davis Moretto jerks off in front of another mirror, his wife riding some guy’s face. I can’t see who.

Sliding my hands into my pockets, I whisper, “People who want to be watched play in these rooms.”

We brush past William Garcia. “His wife with his junior partner,” I murmur to Dallas, gesturing to the scene on the other side of the mirror.

Donovan East stands at the next one, and I take a quick glance. “His daughter’s best friend.”

She’s bent over the couch, her husband fucking her right in front of the mirror for anyone to watch them.