Chapter 5: The price of curiosity

Author’s vanity note: Let’s start turning up the heat. I’ve cut this several times, and it is still the longest chapter yet. Sorry if it drags a little. Perhaps I should have cut more. Instead, I decided to keep up the momentum - the goal is still to finish a story. Thank you, dear reader, for your patience with the long build-up - we are nearly at the main body of smut :)

Edit v2: Continuing this story after a long break, I re-read the entire story and the sudden, unnanounced time skip that used to be in this chapter made my eyes water. I couldn’t leave it like that; it was sloppy, it was too painful. I’ve made this a linear timeline.

Tristan waited in the hall of the Flint building. The place was deserted. He was early for his next lecture - literature or some mandatory nonsense. It wasn’t related to his major so he’d switched off already. He was engrossed in his phone, barely paying attention to his surroundings. He idly scrolled through clickbait, just wasting time. The Flint building was colloquially called ‘the cave’ by the student body for its lack of ambiance. A brutalist monolith, the grey unforgiving concrete walls felt like the bars of a prison. Alone in a dungeon. Tristan couldn’t wait to escape.

“She’s got nice tits.” a soft voice whispered in his ear.

He leapt almost a foot in the air.

“I-I’m not ... I wasn’t...” he stuttered, whirling around.

“Busted!” the woman whooped.

By the voice, it was probably Alice. She was doubled over now, her guffaws interrupted by great gasps for air. Definitely Alice, she was the only one who behaved like this.

Shaking his head, he looked up and down the spartan hallway, seeing a few people milling around in the bland emptiness. There were a couple of girls loudly debating the merits of the book he was supposed to have read. A couple of geeks throwing a 20-sided dice and giggling to themselves. A mousey type at the near wall, reading a notebook. Someone checking out their reflection in the window while yammering on their phone. Nobody was paying attention to Tristan.

He tried to say something but felt the words die before they could leave his lips. He couldn’t ignore the fact people would overhear and judge what he would say. This crap still plagued him, the weight of social expectations a millstone around his neck, choking him into silence. Well, he wasn’t the old Tristan anymore. He was the new, slightly-upgraded Tristan. Now with more perverted features. This Tristan knew that there was an easy fix. He took Alice’s hand gently and led her away to the far corner. It was still public, but far less likely anyone would overhear them. She followed immediately, compliant, content to let him lead her. The victorious smirk he knew she wore burned a hole in the back of his head.

Tristan, you’re such a wimp, he lambasted himself as they walked. Why was this still a problem? He didn’t need to doubt himself this much anymore. His dates with Alice and little ... sessions with Stacy over the last few days stood out in his mind like jewels in an iron crown, boosting his confidence. But every time he thought he had gotten over it, he discovered another little handicap, another speed bump.

He was a couple of steps from the far wall now. With the distance, Tristan’s frustration finally overcame his anxieties - for a moment he felt free to do what he truly wanted to do. He lifted their linked hands and twisted, spinning Alice with a little flourish. Like they were dancing. She twirled obediently, passed him and bumped gently into the concrete wall ahead with a little gasp.

Their ‘handshake’ complete, Tristan took a step back to scan Alice properly. She was almost unrecognizable. Her face had a whole pack of makeup on it, concealing her beauty. Her hair was back in a severe bun, emphasizing her cheekbones but giving her an odd, stern aspect which clashed with her personality. She was encased in a short black pleated skirt and tight pastel pink blouse which clung to her like a second skin, hugging her curves.

“Alice?! What are you wearing?” he blurted out artlessly.

“You like?” she said, straightening up and holding her arms out to the side.

A predatory part of his mind noted that she’d put herself on display for him. It stirred, started to strain at its bonds. Before he could stop himself, he put one hand on the wall beside her head. That forced him to lean intimately into her space. He held her between his body and the wall, his arm closing off the area. Here in this small, slightly less public space he could exercise a modicum of control. He took a moment to enjoy it. Alice’s trademark exuberance and supple body were bottled up for his enjoyment. His penis began to grow despite his protests. Possibilities fanned out. Many of them would get him arrested, be they in public or not. Was Alice okay? She just smiled smugly, undeterred. Perhaps she even liked being cornered.

“Sure, ‘s okay.” he murmured distractedly.

Alice frowned in annoyance. What was he doing, acting like a complete ass? He knew better than that. He pushed himself to continue.

“On you, I prefer the sweet innocent look. It just makes me want to corrupt you.” He kicked himself even as he spoke.

This again?

“So it’s right back to this?” she echoed his thoughts. “Well I’m already well beyond saving, so get that thought out of your head. Anyway, this crap took me more than an hour! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you? Didn’t you tell me you don’t obey anyone?” he countered.

“Didn’t you want to be my boss?” she smirked.

Tristan laughed. Alice was an both inviting him and issuing a challenge.

“Fine, then consider that an order.” he said.

They shared a grin, staring into one another’s eyes. Then as if a shadow passed over her, her smile faded, and she looked down.

He turned away to scan the corridor again. There were several people there now, but all of them were grouped around the door to the auditorium. Still no-one was looking, but he began to feel uncomfortable. What if someone thought he had Alice pinned here against her will? He wanted to shout ‘She’s fine, she wants to be here’. He took a half-step away from her, giving her an escape route.

Before he knew it Alice had her hands on his waist and pulled him back to her, their bodies close. Their legs entangled. What the hell was she doing? They stood in silence for a moment, inches apart, each thinking their own thoughts. His erection throbbed. Obviously his body was having no trouble understanding the situation. He couldn’t help compare her to Stacy, this position the mirror of the one in the restroom. Her chest, more modest, but suited to her body. Lithe. Powerful. Pity about the lack of restraints, but her obvious curiosity made a powerful leash all the same. He wondered what it would feel like to tie...

As he fantasized, the fabric of his jeans dug into his growing member. He shifted uncomfortably, forgetting their position. He felt it brush her thigh and his heart stopped. He was filled with dread. Oh fuck - had she felt it? She tensed up, then relaxed again. He tried to move back, but her hands had a strong grip on his waist. He examined her face, but she was lost in thought. There was no way she didn’t feel that. Was there?

“Hey, Boss, can I borrow your phone?” Alice asked him abruptly.

Tristan had to take a second to sweep away all his other thoughts so he could parse that. He shrugged. That was a weird question for their third ‘date’, but it’s not like the thing was filled with secrets. He felt like he owed her something for the night at the restaurant when Stacy interrupted, so what harm could it cause? He held it out to her, but didn’t release it when she tried to take it.

“In return I expect something from you, too.” he said.

“Maybe!” She tugged it from his grasp, holding it up victoriously. “I’m surprised you gave this to me so easily.”

Sometimes, only when something happens do you realize how you feel. Tristan was struck with the feeling that this was a horrible mistake. Did he ever uninstall that porn app? He mentally reviewed his browser history - hadn’t he visited that BDSM story site? Even his photos would disillusion her, running the gamut of male geeks, just like him. Well, mostly like him - Tristan was the weird one even in his social group. He wanted his phone back, but something inside him hit back with revulsion when he imagined taking back his words.

As if he wasn’t already regretting it, when she lifted the screen his cellphone cover - a supervillain, naturally - was exposed in all its dubious glory. That cover had seemed like a good idea at the time, back before he’d ever been alone with a woman. Meaning last week - had it really only been a few days?

He cringed and tried to snatch his phone before she saw it. She evaded him, turning away so he couldn’t take it. His hands accidentally touched her arm, brushed over her blouse and more ... interesting parts as they continued to struggle for his device.

“HR, HR, the boss is groping me!” she cackled. “What, is there porn on here or something? Naked selfies from your legions of women?”

She’d been loud enough that several people were looking now. Stop, Tristan told himself. This is undignified, not who he wanted to be at all. He retracted his hands, still standing close to her.

“I wish!” he said, in a low voice. “If you’ve made any yourself, I’ll take all you’re willing to share. Or we can come to ... some other arrangement.”

Alice blushed prettily, her lustrous sable skin darkening further beneath her make-up. For once she had nothing to say.

Alice felt the blood rush to her cheeks as Tristan stared at her expectantly. His request was anything but reasonable. Didn’t he know she wasn’t like his other girlfriends? She hadn’t ever ... She’d only ever had a handful of normal boyfriends before. And the last one had been a piece of ... anyway she wasn’t that kind of girl!

Alice had a problem. Everyone she knew called her nosy, and it was true. She practically burned with curiosity, it was her guiding light. That desire drove her more than any other. She drifted along with the wind, flitting like a butterfly from one unlikely situation to another while her interest lasted. She wanted to discover the secrets, any secrets, particularly his secrets. The dirtier the better. How much of a liar was he? What was his kinky secret fetish? She might also use her time on his phone to lightly do the smallest bit of checking up on him. See how many girlfriends he had, that sort of thing.

Anyway she wasn’t that type of girl. Sure he had pushed her up against the wall, sure he had her in an intimate almost-embrace, sure she had just felt ... something ... in his jeans ... but that was all his fault. Her body tingled. That was all his fault too. A few moments ago, his fingertips had groped her breast just left of her nipple. It was through multiple layers of cotton, but for the electric thrill that still arced through her he might as well have touched it directly. It had taken everything she had to resist turning her chest that little bit.

That lump in his leg was an even greater surprise. Was he hard? She wondered rhetorically. Even now it prodded her through his jeans, dug into her thigh. She shifted her leg slightly, subtly feeling its shape. That thing couldn’t be real, right? She should stop. She wasn’t the type to basically grope a guy in public. Through her skirt it felt soft, but firm. Like a rubber ball. Right, this wasn’t his peni ... thing. It must be something he just put in his pocket. That was fine then. She just wanted to feel it for a bit. Confirm her theory. She couldn’t stop moving, brushing her thigh against his ... stick ... every few seconds. Alice saw Tristan wince. Did this hurt? He tried to swivel his hips out of the way but there was no hiding it. She should stop. Just one more minute, she’d almost figured it out.

Tristan stepped back away from her and she stood there for a moment, panting. She wondered what had just happened. She took him in, this enigma, with his messy black hair, his scuffed shoes, and his faded black t-shirt loose on his lean frame. And couldn’t resist a little peek at his tight blue jeans, searching for his ... that thing he had in his pocket. Why hadn’t he stepped back earlier, why’d he made her feel that thing? What where they discussing again? Oh, right, the phone. His price. She was up to speed.

“Tell me your passcode.” she demanded. “And I’ll see what I can do about ... making an arrangement. For the dirty pictures.”

That should be evasive enough. Of course she’d never go through with it. It’s not exactly something he really could hold her to account on if she didn’t. A twang of conscience tried to make itself known, but she easily smothered it. Tell the truth? Who was she kidding? She knew herself well enough to understand that if she missed the opportunity to investigate, then this moment would come back into her mind and haunt her. She never could resist a mystery, least of all a perverted one. She would always wonder what sort of stuff he was so keen to keep under wraps. She’d never give this phone back.

He was looking at her again, groping her with his eyes. She felt it on her skin, trails of goosebumps the only evidence of his ogling. It was an odd feeling. Despite herself, she looked down at her own body. Was it really that great? This was all getting a little much for her. Unfortunately, fortunately, they were interrupted.

“Eww, who’s taking dirty pictures?” a cold, refined voice said as if the words themselves tasted revolting.

A shrill bell rang as if to punctuate her words. Alice and Tristan sprang apart, like naughty children caught doing something they shouldn’t. Alice looked up and down the hall frantically, caught Tristan doing the same. Everyone else was leaving, as if by royal decree. This woman’s timing was impeccable. She’d done it on purpose, cutting into their conversation just as Tristan’s class started, but if you weren’t paying attention it would seem like she could clear the room with a command. Which she probably could, that bossy, blonde, beguiling bitch.

The three of them were alone far too soon.

“Stacy!” Tristan exclaimed in shock.

“Stacy?” Alice asked, unnecessarily.

Alice recognized the woman immediately. She was the person who’d interrupted her first date with Tristan. Alice took the opportunity to examine her closely. She was a statue of Aphrodite herself, lovingly carved in tight flowing curves of snowy-white alabaster, a goddess in a modest stripy top and jeans. She seemed somehow clean and pure, and in comparison, Alice felt misshapen. Alice had to wear a bra to get any kind of definition in her chest, her butt was too big, her limbs too thin. Just like back in school she couldn’t measure up. Stacy would get everything she wanted and Alice would get nothing. This Stacy girl was everything she wanted to be, self-assured, experienced, someone nobody would dare mess with. She’d been up against a girl just like this back in high school, and those assholes pretending to be her friends took her ex’s side. But that was a story for another time.

“Geez, you’re not going to introduce us, M-Tristan?” Stacy said, in a faux-sweet tone.

M? What had she been about to say? Some embarrassing nickname?

“So you’re my competition.” Alice blurted brainlessly.

Fuck. She shouldn’t have done that. In response to her question, Alice noted that Stacy’s eyes widened slightly. Double fuck. Alice felt herself being evaluated, from head to toe. Stacy did it slowly, exaggerating each move, as if she had every right to judge her. This was a show Stacy was putting on for Alice’s benefit, to let her know precisely where she stood in the pecking order. Finished, Stacy made eye contact with her and smirked, slow and deliberate. As if that wasn’t enough, Stacy then looked a second time at Alice’s modest chest then her own generous mounds, before daintily covering her mouth as she unleashed a fake yawn. It was devastating. It was subtle.

Not content to merely wound, Stacy went in for the kill. Alice had obviously done something to upset her.

“I love your outfit, such a vintage cut. Ignoring the trend - I’m not as brave as you.” Stacy said, leaning forward and giving Alice little air kisses without touching her face at all. “Pity you couldn’t find a color to match you properly. Oh, sorry, I’m Stacy, as you heard. You look familiar, do I know you from someplace?” Stacy asked tartly.

Alice understood what Stacy was really saying. She had to stay silent, let this woman do what she wanted or else. Stacy must have some plans of her own for Tristan. Alice felt like she was going to cry. It obviously went over Tristan’s head. He just stood there; his smile impossible to read.

“We’ve met.” Alice spat, hating the way her voice cracked.

Stacy grinned, like she enjoyed the fact that Alice wouldn’t just back down. Alice had never been able to stay quiet. It was her main fault. That and curiosity. And a dirty mind. And staying on track. Oh, and Emily said she was a bit childish too. Look, it was one of her faults, let’s leave it there.

“Oh, maybe you’re that girl from the yacht in Cannes.” Stacy speculated. “No? Or one of the models I met at the A&J photoshoot I commissioned?”

“I’m a photographer’s assistant there.” Alice interrupted.

Alice could see Stacy stumble mentally. That had thrown her off. Served her right, boasting about her charmed life. Stirring up Alice’s dissatisfaction, her restlessness. Alice had never been to Europe, or anywhere outside the US really. As for the model bit, that was an impossibility no matter how hard she wished. Stacy bit her lip savagely, looking frustrated, before turning to Tristan with a hungry look.

“Anyway,” Stacy said, her attitude back. “I’m SO sorry to bother you when you’re...”

“On another date, Stacy.” Tristan cut across her, bluntly.

Alice felt a little ray of happiness warm her, felt the urge to look at Stacy for permission. And hated herself for it. But why wasn’t Stacy spitting some more of her poison?

Alice looked and was just in time to see Stacy close her mouth with a click, as if by some miracle. Her arrogant expression inverted, replaced with ... something else, something vulnerable. Whatever black magic Tristan was using Alice wanted some. He just stared at Stacy, waiting - demanding - for a response.

Wait - Tristan looked different. Why did he seem so much taller now? Like he’d thrown off an obscuring cloak, revealing a pitiless core. His chest rose, his shoulders expanded, a cold stone mask covered his friendly face.

“I’m sorry.” Stacy finally said in a small voice, looking at Tristan’s shoes.

Alice reeled. Who was this woman and what had happened to Stacy?

“I’m sorry who?” Tristan demanded.

Stacy looked at Tristan, her eyes huge, and looked away a heartbeat later. Unable to meet his eyes. Alice examined Tristan’s face, finding nothing strange, except for this dissonant, confident, commanding gaze. As she looked longer she felt herself get drawn in. Alice’s own face heated, as if through radiation. Even though she wasn’t his target his stare made her heart skip a beat.

“Well, sla...” Tristan paused.

Stacy looked up to him in panic, then shot to Alice and back to him. What did that look mean? Surely a silly little nickname was nothing to get that bent out of shape about.

“Don’t want me to say it? You know what to do then S ... tacy” he drew out the first syllable as if he was going to say something else.

“I’m sorry mmm!” Stacy struggled, as if she had a speech impediment.

Alice stared at her. Wasn’t she going to speak? As if in response, Stacy silently shook her head - ‘No’. She’d given up. What was it with these two and the secret names? She could smell a big story there.

“‘M’?” he said in a teasing tone. “Never mind. You misunderstood - I meant you should apologize to my girlfriend for cutting in.”

Tristan gestured to Alice. His what? Girlfriend? Alice felt that little glow of happiness expand into a blazing sun. Though she hadn’t agreed to that she didn’t mind him taking liberties. Especially not in this situation.

Stacy breathed an audible sigh of relief, which was not the reaction Alice had been expecting. Curiouser and curiouser. What was the story there, Alice wondered? There must really be some powerful meaning behind that “M” word Stacy had refused to say. She burned to know, added it to her mental list of the mysteries which surrounded Tristan.

Maybe if Tristan played his cards right, the next time they met Alice would thank him for this properly. In private. She’d act like she was one of ‘those’ girls after all. Seeing miss all-American-girl taken down a peg or two meant more to her than she knew until this moment. Alice realized she’d been waiting for this moment since high school. Almost as if Tristan was correcting her past for her.

Alice felt someone looking at her. She turned to meet Stacy’s eyes. They’d regained a little of their spirit.

“I-I’m sorry, Lissy” Stacy said immediately, the mispronunciation a subtle put down. Always a classic.

This time, Tristan caught the nuance. Clearly boys did get it if they paid attention. His frown deepened. His hand rose back in an arc before falling rapidly back down to...

‘SMACK!’

The sound was crisp, unmistakable in the still air of the empty hall. Alice had trouble parsing what she’d just seen. What had just happened?

“Hhmmm!” a strained gasp escaped Stacy, the sound oddly sexual.

Had Tristan just spanked Stacy? Right in public, right in front of her? Could she get a turn - wait, no, that’s not what she meant. What was curious was the timbre of Stacy’s voice - not outrage, as Alice would have expected, or even surprise, though that was definitely there. It’d sounded almost like a moan, erotic. Inviting. Asking for more. She didn’t get to consider it further as then the impossible happened.

“Alice! I’m sorry Alice!” Stacy babbled, like a damn had just broken, “I just really wanted that thing Tristan was keeping for me. Can I have it, Tristan? Please!”

She was actually begging! The ice queen had cracked! This was unprecedented. What was Tristan’s relationship with Stacy? What was he holding that she wanted so badly? Didn’t she feel the least bit ashamed? Judging by the blush in her cheeks, she probably did. Alice felt embarrassed enough for the both of them, blushing in sympathy with Stacy’s plight. If Alice ignored her own jealousy, she had to admit ... It was kinda hot. Just a bit.

“I’m not sure she deserves it, does she, Alice?” Tristan asked slowly, turning to Alice with a raised eyebrow.

What? It was up to her? Alice shivered. Something in his tone echoed inside her, setting butterflies loose in her stomach and rekindling the heat between her legs.

“I don’t know, she was pretty mean.” Alice said vindictively.

She could get some petty revenge on all those bitches who ... Then she saw Stacy’s eyes. Devoid of artifice or evasion, Stacy was wordlessly pleading with her. This statuesque beauty who was everything Alice aspired to be was asking for ... Wait, there was something else in Stacy’s eyes. An echo of her own ... arousal? On that realization she felt she’d dipped her toes into deceptively deep, dangerous rapids. Alice fell deeper into Stacy’s eyes, and as successive waves of lust pumped through Alice, the vapor was enough to make her short of breath and tingly all over. Did Tristan have this effect on Stacy? When would it be Alice’s turn to get some of this? Stacy still held her gaze, sending waves of sexual energy direct to her loins.

“Why don’t you two kiss and make up?” Tristan suggested.

Typical male pervert, Alice thought, smothering the devilish tickle of curiosity. The girls should kiss - it was such a tired cliche. Like they were characters in some deviant’s sexual fantasy. The issue wasn’t that she wouldn’t kiss a girl - people are people, gender doesn’t matter - it was that he was asking them to do it on demand. Alice could admit that she sometimes did things without thinking ... okay call it frequently. Okay always. Always did things without thinking. But she wasn’t about to perform for someone else’s pleasure.

As if Alice would ever want to kiss this cheerleader type. Feel her gorgeous curvy lips against ... No, it wouldn’t happen. Plus, Alice had never kissed a girl before. Had Stacy? If she was going to choose a girl to be her first, then admittedly Stacy was pretty much the type of girl Alice had always wanted. If she was that type of girl, but she wasn’t. No, don’t think about it, don’t be tempted. Alice hadn’t ever kissed anyone outside a proper relationship. Besides, her royal highness queen Stacy would never lower herself enough to kiss Alice.

Alice rolled her eyes, glad to break the intense eye contact with Stacy. Suddenly, before she knew what was happening, she felt a hand in her hair. Stacy was gripping the back of her head and was pulling her forward with inexorable force. She felt like an egg thrown at a marble effigy; they weren’t meant to meet, and she was unlikely to survive the impact unscathed. Alice’s mind went blank. She forgot to resist, forgot what resistance was. She felt like she was an observer, watching this happen. Gently, impossibly, their lips met.

Somewhere a choir broke into a hymn of joy, of jubilation. Was this cheating on Tristan? Was it Stacy or her lip gloss that tasted of mangoes? Did this mean ... was she ... Man, Stacy’s lips were SOFT. She moaned. More.

As ever Stacy could read multiple meanings in Tristan’s simple, debauched orders. He spoke without words, whether he meant them or not didn’t change the message. Don’t be jealous. Alice is important. Be nice. He was an assho ... he had a point. Actually, when she got down to it, Alice’s lips felt pretty damn good. Stacy hadn’t expected that. She was just doing as asked. And trying to mess with Alice. The nerve of that woman, Stacy was his only slav ... masochis ... person to tie up. That wasn’t much better, she admonished herself. To be fair, she was quite distracted right now, less in control than she’d expected. This wasn’t the first time she had done this. It wasn’t even the first time she’d done it for an audience, or to get something. It was the first time she was doing it as herself.

They were surprisingly soft, those lips, even compared with the other girls she’d kissed. Their lipstick gave a slight, mildly annoying sticky resistance to each movement, but that was the worst of it. There were so many pleasant aspects to this she was practically drowning in them. Alice tasted of almonds and cherries. Where a man would have little bumps of stubble, Alice’s skin was incomparably smooth, pure satin where they touched. Softness where a man was hard. Irrepressible curves demanding attention should she care to look. Stacy’s eyes were tightly closed but she could feel them beckoning her touch nonetheless. Her hands twitched but she kept herself under control. Perhaps second base was a little too much for a first kiss. She’d missed this, forgotten what it felt like.

Alice’s jet-black hair cascaded from between Stacy’s fingers like time from an hourglass. She could hear their mingled breaths; their harmonizing alto notes the only sound in the silent hallway. She could smell the sweet cucumber scent of Alice’s shampoo along with something deeper, muskier, coming from below. Looks like Stacy wasn’t the only one getting turned on by this. Stacy put a little extra effort in, feeling Alice’s hands come up to grip her waist, deepening what was meant to be a gentle peck. Now she could feel Alice’s chest on hers, their bodies pressing together, little flutters of sensation. So obviously Alice was enjoying kissing - for an audience, no less. Other women would have simply found it offensive and demeaning. Found another closet freak, Ma ... Tristan? She would have laughed but her mind was elsewhere.

She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. Kissing Alice was remarkably pleasant, but doing this under Tristan’s keen evaluating gaze was ... well she’d have to change her panties again afterward. Alice’s neck was shockingly slender in Stacy’s grip. Alice moved wherever she dictated. Stacy chose to pull her closer, of course. She felt Alice’s lips part and jaw open, and Stacy greeted her with a little tongue. She felt Alice’s own tongue rear back and her body stiffen, conveying her surprise, before she softened and tentatively came closer again...

Finally, Stacy pulled away from Alice. That was enough. Stacy had tried to shock her but had miscalculated; either Alice’s boundaries weren’t where she’d expected them to be or the girl was unusually careless. Even though they’d separated a few seconds ago the other girl still had her eyes tightly shut and her lips slightly parted. Tristan looked even paler than usual, like he was about to faint. Stacy snorted with suppressed mirth. For a dictatorial pervert he was still an innocent in many ways.

Her sexuality? That didn’t even cross her mind. Labels were a complication she didn’t need. People attracted her or didn’t, but if someone fit the profile then that was that. Liking them was a bonus she was unlikely to get. Until now, of course. Alice was really quite cute, especially when she was speaking animatedly with Tristan earlier. It was hard not to envy her energy. Had Stacy ever been that unfettered? Alice would learn life wasn’t that gentle, as Stacy had after her brother died. Alice would either learn or be gobbled up by predators. Stacy licked her lips, remembering Alice’s taste. She wasn’t Stacy’s usual type, but...