The next few days are a whirlwind of activity at the DeLacio estate. News of our shocking performance spreads like wildfire through the art world and beyond. Phone calls and emails pour in, some outraged, others ravenously intrigued.
"They can't get enough," Charles chuckles as we review the latest slew of frantic messages. "We've become an addiction - a delicious, deviant obsession."
I can't argue with that assessment. Our bold display seems to have awoken a dormant hunger in certain circles, one they can barely containor comprehend. Charles thrives on the mounting fervor, his charisma and primal magnetism drawing more acolytes into our fledgling movement with each passing day.
"The first hit is always the most potent," he murmurs, trailing scorching kisses along the sensitive curve of
