Peepshow Ruffles

Adele couldn’t rid herself of the frown scarring her normally porcelain-like forehead. Even as she walked away from the Rouge and far from that beautiful man, she couldn’t bring herself to other thoughts. Though of course, she couldn’t imagine why she would want to think of anything other than that gentle man when she was about to be ravaged by some overweight mustached man.

Christian, Toulouse called him, was someone she could see herself servicing for days to come. Maybe months, maybe years. Anything to replace the Evil Maharajah. Thinking of him had become a bad habit, and a habit she couldn’t admit to herself; even if she had no desire to break it.

What troubled the beautiful Adele was that he could not remember her. Certainly she was memorable. She wasn’t the most popularly requested woman at the Rouge, but indeed she was requested. She had been told many times that her skin, when unblemished by scars, was similar to that of a newly humanized mermaid.

Adele hadn’t even noticed that her client was staring at her as she walked directly past him, her eyes far away in a land where Christian knew her name. The Maharajah growled, grasping Adele’s thin arm and yanking her up to the suite where a hot iron waited for her.