Reece felt as if he had never come so much in his life. It felt like fucking gallons. He wasn’t sure how the hell Fairchild managed to swallow it all, but she did, and when he finally released his grip on her hair, she sat up panting, her mouth wide open, as if to show him what a good job she had done.
“Now that,” Nash said from the sidelines, “was hot.”
Reece nodded in agreement. He let his eyes wander down her body, down her breasts and her belly, to the place where Dutton’s hard cock was still filling her. Runnels of thick, white cum were leaking out of her pussy and dripping down the Merc’s big balls.
Reece lifted his eyes back to her face.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he said.
Fairchild was already flushed with exertion, but her face suddenly turned an even deeper shade of pink, and there was a look in her eyes that made Reece want to throw her down on the bed and use her a second time.
But there was something he needed to tell her first.
He leaned forward and kissed her mouth, tasting the salty flavor of his own seed on her lips and tongue. Then he whispered in her ear, keeping his voice low enough so the microphones in the cameras wouldn’t pick it up.
“We’re having dinner at a place called Indulgence,” he said. “Ourfriendis going to be there.” The way he said friend made it clear he meant the opposite.
He could hear Fairchild’s heart beating faster.
Reece leaned back and checked the gold watch on his wrist. This time when he spoke, it was in character, and he used a normal volume.
“Our reservation is at six,” he said. “That means we’ve got a few hours to kill.”
Fairchild smiled darkly.
“Good,” she said. “I’m just getting warmed up.”
CHAPTER 17
Indulgence.
Fairchild thought the restaurant could not have been more aptly named. The space was large with enough seating to service hundreds of guests at a time, but the dim and carefully placed lighting somehow gave every table an illusion of intimacy, a decadent darkness that Fairchild could almost feel brushing up against her bare skin. There were, of course, the usual restaurant sounds, the mingled clink and clatter of silverware against porcelain, the low murmur of sultry conversation, but these ambient noises were largely smothered beneath the sound of live music coming from a dais in the center of the room. A piano, the instrument was apparently called. Technologically primitive compared to the electronic music with which Fairchild was familiar, and yet, somehow, surprisingly refined.
Music, however, was not the only form of entertainment at Indulgence. All throughout the restaurant, upon smaller, more brightly lit stages, nude performers mated to the music, their thrusts and moans following the cadence of the piano like a dance. Servers, scantily clad in leather and lace, gathered the drippings, which would be used, so their waiter had informed them, as a glaze for some of the restaurant’s more decadent desserts.
Fairchild decided she would pass.
She was dressed now in a skimpy but elegant black sequined number that left her feeling far from comfortable. She would have much preferred a tank top and a pair of broken-in jeans, something that would have allowed her to slouch and sit withher legs apart. But she had a role to play now, that of the well-bred and tastefully horny socialite, and it was a role she was determined to play to the best of her abilities.
It helped having her teammates with her for support. The flavor of all three of them still lingered on her lips, and her fingertips were still tingling from the countless orgasms they’d bestowed upon her back in the suite. Even a long, hot bath had not been enough to cleanse away the raw warmth they had deposited between her legs.
She ran a finger around the rim of her water glass and looked at each of them in turn. They looked good in their expensive evening attire. Almost as good as they looked naked.
Almost.
Reece had ordered for her. Normally, Fairchild would have been annoyed by such a controlling gesture, but tonight she was grateful to be spared the cognitive load of selecting from a menu that may as well have been written in Old Terran. Dutton had been in charge of selecting a vintage wine. And Nash, well… Nash was scarfing the brioche they’d ordered as an appetizer like a man possessed. How anyone could eat the way he did and not put on weight, Fairchild would never understand, though she did find it oddly attractive.
Her attention, however, was only half on her team. While they waited for the food and made small talk, she continually kept one eye on the empty table a few spots away. The one bearing a small, calligraphied placard that read:Reserved.
Slayn’s table.
It was, in fact, the best table in the place, strategically selected to provide the best view of the restaurant’s entertainment, while also offering clean, quick access to all of the exits.
So where the hell was he? Based on Reece’s reconnaissance earlier that day, Slayn was supposed to be arriving at six o’clock, but the table still stood empty. Apparently the bastard liked to be fashionably late. Typical.
“Madam?”
A waitress was standing beside her, dressed in a strappy leather outfit that looked better suited for an orgy than a restaurant. She was holding an ancient-looking bottle in her hands, and she had poured a small amount of ruby liquid into Fairchild’s glass.
