Nodding slightly in acknowledgment, Camorra picked up the glass and jug in one hand, his top-hat in the other, and began to wend his way through the crowd to find a suitable table. Xxnx Sliding two fingers and a thumb down the shaft to the base, he gently scraped his nails over the silky skin of the boy’s sack, using the barest pressure to massage the contents. He’d let his admiration get in the way, again. Rising from his seat, Camorra gestured towards the door. The drawing room, warm and bright with firelight, rugs and books, through to the library, compact but cosy, with two leather armchairs; the dining room, high-ceiling and dark, most of the candles on the long table unlit, the silverware glinting slightly in the light; the kitchen, hot and cheerful, with a laughing woman housekeeper, all rosy cheeks and wicked grins.
