body half obscured by her huge, pillowy thighs.
Unfortunately, new employees’ enthusiasm didn’t last very long.
The young man approached. “Yes, Captain?” His flashing white teeth rivaled the investment banker’s reflective dress for brightness.
“Could you bring these to the ladies?” Beddoe indicated the two women. “They might enjoy your company.”
“Certainly, Captain.”
The young man delivered the drinks and engaged the women in conversation. It didn’t take long for Willa to pounce, stroking the lethal fingernail down his jacket front. The man shifted closer, murmuring to her, bending his head slightly so his hair flopped rakishly over one eye. Yes, excellent. Benna wandered away, leaving them alone.
More murmured conversation. Two nods. Negotiations complete.
As the young man leaned in for a kiss to seal the deal, Willa’s fingernail sliced through his vest lacings, continuing mercilessly south. When the young man’s eyes bulged, Beddoe’s ballocks pulled up against his body in sympathy.
Hand still on his sac, Willa tugged him to a privacy pod, the door quickly snapping closed behind them.
Welcome to the TonTon, boy.
A throat clearing near the entrance captured his attention, and when Beddoe saw who it was, satisfaction overflowed like bubbly ambrosia. “Welcome, Sirrah,” he said, greeting Ambassador Armand Tierney Ta’a’pet with a firm handshake, drawing him into the room. Yesterday the taciturn politician had lost enough coin at the Fein du Chin tables to fuel the TonTon for a week.
He couldn’t cover his debt.
“Captain.” Ta’a’pet acknowledged his greeting with a curt nod. “This is an… unusual place to discuss business.”
“Let’s leave business for another day, Ambassador. Tonight, let’s simply enjoy.” Beddoe escorted the ambassador to the selection of alcoholic beverages, powders, herbs, vials, and injectors attractively displayed on trays. “May I offer you a libation, Ambassador?”
Ta’a’pet chose a cigarillo. After lighting it himself, Beddoe drew the man into conversation. Though the ambassador relaxed only slightly—one didn’t amass his fortune or wield his power without knowing how to quickly adapt to different surroundings—Beddoe noticed the Valkyr ambassador kept his back to the room, studiously avoiding Stephen’s performance, and ignoring the dozen or so privacy pods that rimmed the perimeter of the room.
“Should you desire privacy, Ambassador, the unit at the end of the row has been reserved for your use,” Beddoe informed him quietly. Each privacy pod was furnished with a soft lounger, a screen, and a variety of erotic accoutrements.
The ambassador’s eyes fired with interest—quickly hidden, but not quickly enough.
Subtle, subtle. He was in the business of providing excellent personal service. And if, during the course of providing that service, he happened to record the ambassador enjoying some of the TonTon’s more exotic pleasures? Even better business.
A sharp sound from the screen drew everyone’s attention. “Faster,” the woman ordered Stephen, whose right buttock now sported a raised, bloody stripe. She held a riding crop in her large hand.
“Yes, madame,” Stephen said listlessly.
Beddoe couldn’t tell if the flush on the woman’s round, doughy face was from pleasure, rage, or a mixture of both. The woman was the bondmate of his most reliable liquor vendor. The vendor had requested a session with Stephen as payment for his most recent delivery and was watching the performance from one of the privacy pods.
He sighed as he watched Stephen lap between the woman’s legs with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Beddoe half expected the door to burst open, the vendor screaming for a refund. Damage control time. “Please enjoy yourself, Ambassador,” he murmured with a respectful bow, moving in the direction of the vendor’s pod.
Something had to be done about Stephen. Ever since his recapture, the incubus had
Unfortunately, new employees’ enthusiasm didn’t last very long.
The young man approached. “Yes, Captain?” His flashing white teeth rivaled the investment banker’s reflective dress for brightness.
“Could you bring these to the ladies?” Beddoe indicated the two women. “They might enjoy your company.”
“Certainly, Captain.”
The young man delivered the drinks and engaged the women in conversation. It didn’t take long for Willa to pounce, stroking the lethal fingernail down his jacket front. The man shifted closer, murmuring to her, bending his head slightly so his hair flopped rakishly over one eye. Yes, excellent. Benna wandered away, leaving them alone.
More murmured conversation. Two nods. Negotiations complete.
As the young man leaned in for a kiss to seal the deal, Willa’s fingernail sliced through his vest lacings, continuing mercilessly south. When the young man’s eyes bulged, Beddoe’s ballocks pulled up against his body in sympathy.
Hand still on his sac, Willa tugged him to a privacy pod, the door quickly snapping closed behind them.
Welcome to the TonTon, boy.
A throat clearing near the entrance captured his attention, and when Beddoe saw who it was, satisfaction overflowed like bubbly ambrosia. “Welcome, Sirrah,” he said, greeting Ambassador Armand Tierney Ta’a’pet with a firm handshake, drawing him into the room. Yesterday the taciturn politician had lost enough coin at the Fein du Chin tables to fuel the TonTon for a week.
He couldn’t cover his debt.
“Captain.” Ta’a’pet acknowledged his greeting with a curt nod. “This is an… unusual place to discuss business.”
“Let’s leave business for another day, Ambassador. Tonight, let’s simply enjoy.” Beddoe escorted the ambassador to the selection of alcoholic beverages, powders, herbs, vials, and injectors attractively displayed on trays. “May I offer you a libation, Ambassador?”
Ta’a’pet chose a cigarillo. After lighting it himself, Beddoe drew the man into conversation. Though the ambassador relaxed only slightly—one didn’t amass his fortune or wield his power without knowing how to quickly adapt to different surroundings—Beddoe noticed the Valkyr ambassador kept his back to the room, studiously avoiding Stephen’s performance, and ignoring the dozen or so privacy pods that rimmed the perimeter of the room.
“Should you desire privacy, Ambassador, the unit at the end of the row has been reserved for your use,” Beddoe informed him quietly. Each privacy pod was furnished with a soft lounger, a screen, and a variety of erotic accoutrements.
The ambassador’s eyes fired with interest—quickly hidden, but not quickly enough.
Subtle, subtle. He was in the business of providing excellent personal service. And if, during the course of providing that service, he happened to record the ambassador enjoying some of the TonTon’s more exotic pleasures? Even better business.
A sharp sound from the screen drew everyone’s attention. “Faster,” the woman ordered Stephen, whose right buttock now sported a raised, bloody stripe. She held a riding crop in her large hand.
“Yes, madame,” Stephen said listlessly.
Beddoe couldn’t tell if the flush on the woman’s round, doughy face was from pleasure, rage, or a mixture of both. The woman was the bondmate of his most reliable liquor vendor. The vendor had requested a session with Stephen as payment for his most recent delivery and was watching the performance from one of the privacy pods.
He sighed as he watched Stephen lap between the woman’s legs with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Beddoe half expected the door to burst open, the vendor screaming for a refund. Damage control time. “Please enjoy yourself, Ambassador,” he murmured with a respectful bow, moving in the direction of the vendor’s pod.
Something had to be done about Stephen. Ever since his recapture, the incubus had
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