Chapter Eight
Red wine dribbled down my chin as I sat on Buck’s lap and he fondled my crotch. Chains dangling down from the wide leather collar around my neck tickled my breasts when I moved. Naked except for the leather and chains, they kept me dressed this way for more than a day, and it seemed like a week.
Betsy had left me with Buck and James in the French quarter, in a steamy hot apartment with so little ventilation the smoke from the cigars these black men smoked made me dizzy. Then there was the wine, pouring so freely I was taking a bath in it, refreshed by the cool liquid. Whoring is such sweet sorrow, the words popped into my brain. Always just a little bittersweet the s*x, because it wouldn’t last. Meant only for women who can dive into the moment and not worry about an
