best efforts, he’d only managed to spot him a half-dozen times last year, and then only from afar. Yet his infatuation had flourished all the more for being denied.
He scurried into the hallway, watching Raine head for the other lecture hall. His eyes devoured the splendid shape of him. Of his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and muscled thighs.
Many times he’d imagined those very thighs braced as he himself rutted between them. Imagined the cries of ecstasy he might rend from that man’s lips. Imagined him hard and begging.
A sudden idea came to him. Perhaps he could procure the abomination on display in the theater for a private party of three later tonight. If Satyr were stimulated by the charms of La Maschera, perhaps he might not be averse to a certain suggestion the bishop hoped to put to him. Once sufficient wine had flowed between them all, perhaps other more personal fluids might be exchanged between them as well.
He would speak to the surgeon onstage about hiring his creature for the evening or perhaps longer. But if he departed this theater, the white-coated lecturer might escape before he could deliver his request. Yet he couldn’t let Satyr get away without learning where he was lodging in Venice. What to do?
As Raine’s steps quickly ate up the carpet ahead, the bishop made a decision. He turned back to the attendant who had trailed him into the hall. “I’ve decided not to attend the lecture on phylloxera tonight after all. I will take part in this lecture instead.”
“But signore,” the man whined, preparing to launch into his rehearsed speech again.
“Si, si. You needn’t hound me with your complaints again. What is the price of a ticket to this lecture?” he inquired, gesturing toward the door.
At the attendant’s reply, the bishop handed him the money and a little something extra.
“I will pay you again to return here to this theater later tonight and inform me when the gentleman who just went down that hall departs the other lecture for the streets,” he said.
Pocketing his offer, the attendant nodded eagerly and started to move in the direction Raine had gone.
The bishop grabbed his arm, staying him momentarily. “Do not let him know you’re watching him.”
“No, no. Of course not. Rest assured I will be discreet.” Once he had bowed several more times, he was on his way.
The bishop stared down the hall after him, hoping he could be trusted. Then he turned and re-entered the theater
Several medical fools from the audience were onstage now with the abomination, still questing for answers. The hermaphrodite offended his eyes and its speech, his ears. But seeing it being poked and prodded raised his cock. He rearranged the skirts of his alb to conceal the fact and quickly found a seat in the back row.
His hand slipped under folds of fabric, found his stiff prick, and began pumping. On occasions such as this when stealth was required, his bishop’s robes proved extremely useful garments.
The clerical profession was not his first choice, but the family fortune had been lost some two decades ago and he’d been forced to make his way in life somehow. If he succeeded in snaring a protector such as Satyr, it would greatly enhance his standard of living.
His hand pumped on, taking his mind far from the subject of phylloxera or the church. His hopes were in full blossom regarding the possibilities the night held and his lips were still and silent for once as he mentally rehearsed the persuasive words he would ply when he and Satyr were alone at last.
5
More than an hour later, the crowd in the medical theater had finally exhausted their questions and departed. This left only a select group of five men, each of whom had paid Salerno a premium for a more private examination of her. Once they’d gathered onstage, Salerno swished the curtains closed, cutting off Jordan’s view of the now-empty seating area and creating a more intimate setting for the remaining group.
Outside she heard the clock bell in the piazza strike seven. She wouldn’t be officially free to return home until midnight. Five hours to go.
But no one here was in a hurry to end the evening except her. Wine and a tray of stemmed glasses were brought out, and the men prepared to idle the evening away in her company.
Two of the guests were Venetian aristocracy, she quickly deduced. With nothing better to do and more money than they knew how to spend, they’d lingered here to relieve their boredom at her expense.
A third one was more serious, an Englishman who nudged his glasses up and down his nose every so often. It was likely he at least had stayed for the purposes of true medical study.
The fourth was a large, bearded Sicilian whose deep-set eyes studied every inch of her as thoroughly as the artist had. A back-row type, his interest was obviously selfish and prurient.
The fifth man was a late arrival, one she’d seen before. It seemed the bishop who’d decried her earlier was back for another look. Unfortunately his tall friend was nowhere to be seen.
“There’s nothing here to interest a man of the church,” Salerno said suspiciously, when the bishop tried to make his way backstage to join the others.
“On the contrary,” the bishop returned. His eyes searched the interior of the stage beyond Salerno, lighting on Jordan. “I assure you that my purpose here is not on the church’s behalf. I come asking a favor. One that will benefit your purse.” He whispered something to Salerno that Jordan couldn’t hear.
“La Maschera is not for hire,” Salerno told him, shaking his head.
The bishop’s face mottled, his displeasure at being refused apparent. His tone turned louder and wheedling. “I will pay whatever you deem fair.”
But Salerno still held him off. “La Maschera is mine for this day only. At midnight, it must be returned to its domicile. Now be off.” He tried to swish the curtain closed on the stout man.
“Wait!” the bishop insisted, grabbing the edge of the velvet drape before it could shut him out. “Though the church is my calling, I assure you that I take a strong interest in numerous scientific matters.”
“And in abominations as well?” Jordan asked, pitching her voice so he would hear.
The bishop’s eyes impaled her, stopping the very breath in her throat.
He pulled out some currency and made a show of stuffing it in Salerno’s hand. “When I accidentally bumbled into your theater earlier, I was told tickets were required for this event. You’ll take this I trust in lieu of the usual purchase price?”
Salerno peered inside the bag of coins, jiggling it to test its weight. Grudgingly, he moved aside so the bishop could enter. “Very well. I’ll not argue further. In view of unforeseen developments, I’m anxious to get on with tonight’s examination.”
The clink of crystal told Jordan some of the others had begun filling their glasses. Leaving his guests to their own devices, Salerno came to her side holding a toolcase, a pen, and a small notebook.
“These are new, eh?” he asked her, rubbing a finger along her plumped labia.
She shrugged. Three of the guests gathered around them—the bishop, the Englishman, and the Sicilian—watching as Salerno again palpitated the twin lumps in her labia. Mentally distancing herself from what was happening, she stared at the ceiling, noting a rather large water stain that had been caused by a leak at some earlier time. It resembled a brown rabbit with unusually long ears. She tensed, realizing where she’d seen just such a rabbit before.
In her dreams.
Transfixed, she felt herself fall helplessly into the pit of her nightmare.
“Hello? Hello?” Salerno’s loud voice jarred her. “When did you first notice evidence of testes forming in your labia?”
Her eyes jerked toward him. He was looking at her strangely