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“Wicker,” she purrs, taking the treat.

“Morning, dirty bird,” I reply quietly, running my finger over her beak.

“Suck my balls.”

“Would if I could, sweetheart.”

I drop the sheet and head to my room, grabbing my running shoes by the closet door. Lacing them up, I notice that I feel lighter than I have in a while. I don’t know if it was talking to Verity or the mind-blowing sex. With the women Father whores me out to, there’s little effort put into meeting my needs, and I can admit that I was doing the same to her. But coinciding orgasms? Give and take? Holding out wasn’t just depriving her—it was depriving me, too.

Satisfied everyone is still asleep, I head downstairs. I’m programming my watch for my run when Danner walks into the foyer.

I take out my earbuds. “Hey, Danner, I need you to get something for me.”

“Of course. What is it you need?” Danner remains expressionless, but I sense the dread from my question. Can’t blame him. Past requests have been for anything from a kilo of coke, to a strap-on dildo, to a special order of nitro-level hot wings from the shitty place down on the Avenue.

“I need something nice for the Princess. Any thoughts?”

“Oh.” That perks him up a little. “There’s always jewelry.”

I shake my head. “Jewelry comes with expectations. Hard pass.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You know she prefers to spend her time in the solarium. Maybe something for that? I noticed her gardening shears are quite rusty.”

“Yeah, sure.” I slap him on the chest. “Gardening whatevers. Have it ready tonight. I’ll give it to her tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” I start for the door but he calls out, “Whitaker.”

I brush my hair out of my eyes. “Yeah?”

“Your father is requesting your presence in his office.”

“Now?” I ask, glancing up the stairs. “Just me?”

“Just you.”

I must look like Verity had last night when she learned Lex was coming. Shoulders squared, a steeling breath, trapping it all away. “Okay. I should, uh, get a shirt?”

“I suggest you don’t delay.”

The levity I felt waking up is gone, turned into a weight in the pit of my belly. When I reach his office, I open the door and step inside, feeling a small measure of relief that the others really aren’t there. “You asked to see me?”

“Whitaker,” Father says. A plate is next to his calendar holding a toasted English muffin with a bite taken out of it. His eyes sweep over me. “I see I caught you before your run.”

“Yes, sir. Just getting in an early workout before practice.”

“Your dedication pleases me.” He picks up his knife and cuts into the butter, slathering it on the bread. “Early reports say that you were a hit at the fundraiser last night.”

I lace my hands behind my back. The perfect son. “I’m glad.”

His eyes flick up. “Although Trudie did say she noticed you left right after your performance.”

My impulsivity—and my cock—will always be my downfall. “We started late,” I explain, “and with my schedule having been so hectic–and with the Princess having her monthly–I just wanted to ensure that I made my deposit.”

“Sometimes we have to be resourceful.” He takes a bite and chews slowly, the only sound in the room from the ticking grandfather clock in the corner. I wait, heart pounding in my chest, until he adds, “Were you successful?

“In making a deposit yesterday? Yes.”Twice. An unfamiliar warmth spreads in my stomach at the thought of what transpired last night. “In creating an heir? The odds seem in my favor.”

“Excellent.” He says that, but there’s a hint of disapproval in his tone. “You’ll need to find a balance in your activities. I have you scheduled for additional performances. It’s campaign season, after all.”