Stussy had stopped pretending.
She lay sprawled on the leather sofa, her pencil skirt tracing every line as if a master's hand were unrolling a scroll.
This wasn't the first time. She was used to it.
The absurd part was that she felt no disgust at Darren's lechery—if anything, a pull she couldn't quite name. If she resisted, it was only resentment at being maneuvered by that bastard at every turn.
Just a little longer. Once this ends—once that bet pays out—I'll be free of him. And when I secure Doflamingo a Shichibukai seat, I'll flip the board and grind that fool under my heel.
Grind him… under my heel…
The image flickered; color rose in her cheeks. Her breath hitched, shaded with a mature woman's heat. Her toes rubbed together inside her peep-toe heels, tingling with a dry, calloused after-sensation.
"Are you sure about this?"
She kept her eyes shut as the Marine Vice Admiral's voice brushed her ear. His breath tickled, warm and electric. She shivered.
He was close. Callused fingers—usually rough—skimmed her cheek as lightly as a feather.
"D-don't waste time talking," she muttered through her teeth, refusing to look at him. She couldn't stand the teasing in his eyes—the shame it set simmering under her skin.
"Then I'll need to set the Visual Den Den Mushi. You did lose our bet."
Amusement threaded his voice.
She said nothing, but her clenched fists and burning ears betrayed her. Fabric rustled.
That bastard… he's actually setting it up.
Her heart slammed in her chest; sweat slicked her palms. Of all perversions, she hadn't expected this. Do I really have to go through with it?
A bet was a bet.
But if I agree, the recording becomes a leash.
Damn it.
The Queen of the Pleasure District had been sculpted by the World Government to ensnare kings and killers alike. She had faced every situation seduction could summon.
What haven't I seen?
But this… this Darren… this was new.
He drew nearer. The soft click of a Visual Den Den Mushi opening an eye, the measured tread of his steps. With each one her heartbeat quickened, her breath turned hot and ragged. The surge of his presence rolled over her; she went stiff, jaw set, holding her breath.
Then she froze.
A rough palm brushed her cheek—and withdrew.
"Ha. Just kidding."
"As I said, my Justice is absolute. Until the bet is settled, I won't lay a finger on you."
His laughter rang through the suite, receded with his footsteps.
"Get some rest. I won't let anything happen to you, my favorite toy."
Just kidding…?
Just kidding?!
Her eyes snapped open. The Marine Vice Admiral was gone.
She lay there, panting, staring at nothing.
I… got played. Again.
Damn it.
She fitted the pieces together and ground her teeth until they clicked. I braced for the worst, made myself into that humiliating pose—and he leaves me with a joke?
What the hell.
Anger rushed up—then caught.
What's wrong with me? Why am I angry?
He only joked. Isn't that good?
I hate the bastard anyway. I only obey him because he threatens me. And that pervert even set up a Visual Den—huh?
No shell sat on the table. In its place, a cup of steaming tea.
The leaves were a specialty from a small New World kingdom, known to calm the mind and invite sleep.
Remembering his parting words, she stared at the cup. Her resentment thinned to a quiet hush.
He always keeps his word. That's his Justice.
I won't let anything happen to you.
You're my favorite toy.
For some reason, his confidence rippled back through her mind, like circles widening across still water.
After a long moment, she wet her lips, lifted the cup, and drank. The first bitterness yielded to a lingering sweetness. Unthinking, she touched her cheek. Heat still pooled there, the ghost of his gentle pass refusing to fade.
Her feelings tangled.
In the empty suite, absurdly, a little emptiness uncoiled in her chest.
"No! Don't let that bastard play you." She slapped her cheeks, baring her little vampire fangs. "It's just his twisted humor!"
She set the cup down with a clack, fists balling.
"I won't give up so easily, Darren!"
---
In the New World, a Marine battleship cut slow circles across the sea.
"Vice Admiral Borsalino, it's been three days," Arthur said, frustration tightened into a blade. He glared at the Vice Admiral stretched out on a deck chair, sunning himself. "Are we just going to keep going around and around?"
Three days.
For three full days, they had traced the same route three times over. The navigator could steer it blindfolded now, compass be damned. Out of sheer boredom, sailors had taken to cards and fishing.
Borsalino, acting commander, didn't seem to notice. Or care.
Arthur had fought under Sengoku, served more commanders than he could count. He'd thought he'd seen everything.
But Vice Admiral Borsalino? This was new.
Three days.
He hadn't left that chair in three days.
To be continued...