Chapter 10 #2
“I have decided to be merciful today.” The Despot lets out a disappointed groan behind me.
I ignore him. My gaze is focused on Ovyrblyn, who is looking at me with one wide, desperate eye.
You have a reputation to maintain, I think to myself.
Don’t let the act drop now. “I will let you live.” He opens his mouth to, assumedly, sing my praises, but I cut him off.
“If you can survive having each of those pretty tentacles removed.”
The Despot lets out a booming laugh that shakes the open room, clearly entertained by my theatrics. This is the me he knows. The reaction he expects. Playing him like this makes the rush even more powerful, making it easier to ignore what I’m about to do.
Ovyrblyn bursts into tears, that tiny flame of hope inside him quickly dissipating. Oliver and the Despot were wrong. No matter how I might act, this is far from fun.
It takes longer than I expect for Ovyrblyn to give out.
The set contains a dozen lethally sharp knives.
On the last one, I finally give in to that soft part of me that screams for me to end this and let the knife embed in the Celix’s heart.
A small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless. I know that from experience.
The Despot doesn’t seem upset things ended early. “I was unaware that Celixes could survive the loss of so many limbs,” he says as we wait for the servant to clean the knives. “I will have to take that into consideration when deciding how to properly interrogate them in the future.”
I feign a wistful sigh as I return the clean knives to their roll. Ovyrblyn might be dead, but that doesn’t mean the play is over. As long as I’m in public, it continues, so I reach deep inside myself to find that cocky, aloof persona I put on so long ago.
“I miss this place when I’m away.” Now that I’m sure I have the Despot’s favor, it’s easier to feel confident. “You know how to have fun here.”
“You are always welcome,” the Despot tells me, his tone unusually kind.
“It pleases my Oliver to have you and your Banjo here. We are both eternally grateful for what you did for us.” I wave off his thanks even though I’m struggling not to preen under it.
“If you desire a spot in my court, it will be granted to you. Your skillset would be invaluable to Qauvela.”
If I’m ever going to work for anyone, the Despot is my obvious pick. Unfortunately, freelancing my skills is far more lucrative. “I’m always available for hire, should you need me.”
“I understand.” The Despot picks up the roll of knives, but instead of returning them to their spot on the wall, he hands them to me. “Consider this a gift, to encourage your continued service.”
I barely manage to keep myself from snatching the knives from his hand.
Getting ahold of weapons made by the Aelgeah is nearly impossible.
They’re notoriously stingy with selling them to others, and their high quality—and even higher price tag—means the few supply ships they send are always well guarded.
“Duly noted.” I adjust the thickness of the roll so it slides into one of the large inner pockets of my coat. “Shall we see what our humans are up to?”
“Actually,” the Despot begins. Ah. Yes, I know better than to think that a gift could be free.
Of course he wants something from me. “I am required at a set of conferences this afternoon with my overseers. You should join me.” That “should” sounds more like “will.” It takes every ounce of my control not to sigh and force a smile instead.
“Of course. I’d be honored to accompany you if you believe my opinion would be useful.” I tack on the last part as an out, giving him an opportunity to uninvite me if he’s only doing this out of some kind of strange obligation.
I meant what I said about not working for him permanently, at least for now.
But if the Despot honestly wants my opinion on matters pertaining to his many lucrative ventures, who am I to say no?
The Despot gives a single, sharp nod to end the discussion before leading me out of the room.
I trail after him. At least I’ll see the inner circle of the galaxy’s biggest criminal empire. That has to be entertaining.
It turns out the day-to-day tasks of running a criminal empire are incredibly boring.
There’s no throwing anyone out of the biodome around Qauvela and into space.
No creatively torturing enemies for information or to set an example.
Instead, the two of us and a handful of other otherworlders sit around a table, discussing whether or not the transit pilots should get sick time on top of or included in their normal paid time off.
Surprisingly, the Despot is the one arguing for the sick time to be separate, not included. If he’s attempting to entice me into his folds with fringe benefits, he needs to do better than that.
Despite my valiant efforts to follow the conversation and at least pretend to be involved, my mind keeps wandering back to this morning.
It’s been so long since someone touched my horns that I’d been certain it was a dream, but my dreams never linger on the kinds of soft touches Banjo had given me.
My cock twitches at the thought. Nope, we’re definitely not going to think about that right now when I’m stuck at this table surrounded by beings I don’t know.
You have a reputation to uphold! I yell the words in my head in an attempt to drown out the memory of how good Banjo’s heated breath felt against my lips.
By the time the meeting is finally adjourned, I’m wound tighter than I’ve been in…
well, probably ever. There’s just something about Banjo that drives me absolutely wild with desire.
Being apart from him for the first time in a week definitely hasn’t helped.
If anything, I’ve only thought about him more.
I need to know where he is, what he’s doing, and if he’s safe, at all times.
It’s getting past the point of ridiculousness.
I should cut this off now, before I get even more invested in this human.
There will be no more indulging in him. No more bed sharing, no more cozy dinners, no more “accidentally” walking in on him in the shower.
Just me, transporting cargo back to Earth.
I stride back to our quarters, feeling more confident now that I have a purpose. I’ll set up the cot in the cargo hold for when we leave. The distance will do us both a favor. There’s no reason for us to get involved with each other, even if it’s only physical.
It would have to be, my mind unhelpfully reminds me, because he’s not going to stay.
Of course he’s not. I don’t even want him to stay, so I’m not sure why my mind keeps focusing on that one, completely irrelevant fact.
I’m nearly across our private hanger to my ship when a noise stops me in my tracks. My ears twitch as I strain to figure out what I’m hearing. Is that…moaning? I stand as still as possible, barely breathing as I try to catch the sound.
Right when I think I imagined it, I hear it again. Except this time, it’s louder, and the groan forms a word.
“Taaaavvv!”
I’m racing down the hallway before I even fully realize what I’m doing. That was definitely Banjo. What if someone snuck in here while I was away? He might be hurt or need my help or—
I come to such a quick stop outside of Banjo’s door that my tail flicks to keep me balanced. The doors here are manual, not automatic like the ones in my ship, and the door to the guest room is slightly open. Now that I’m closer, it’s easy to tell that the sounds aren’t from pain.
I place my fingertips on the door, slowly sliding it open another few inches even as my mind yells at me to leave. I may have decided I’m not going to let myself be tempted by Banjo again, but one look couldn’t hurt.
That one look is worth more credits than I could hope to earn in my entire lifetime.
Banjo is reclined in bed, lounging against the pillows and looking sweaty, flushed, and more delectable than anything I’ve ever seen.
His head is thrown back, damp curls sticking to his forehead, his knees spread wide.
So wide, I have a perfect view of him pushing a dildo into his tight, wet hole.
The exact same dildo I found in his backpack during my initial search of his belongings. It’s far prettier than I remember.
Banjo arches his back as the toy goes deeper, letting out another one of those breathy little moans. Again, it forms my name. Is he really thinking about me while pleasuring himself? My hand drifts down to squeeze my quickly thickening cock through my pants.
The movement is enough to break whatever haze Banjo is in and pull his attention my way. He jerks his head up, eyes growing comically wide when he sees me. His gaze roams over me hungrily, pausing on where my hand cups my growing bulge.
“Oh.” I don’t know exactly what the sound is in reference to.
Banjo doesn’t seem to know either. “Tav. I—I…” He trails off as he thrusts the toy back into himself, letting out a drawn out moan.
What was I expecting? That he’d stop as soon as he saw me?
Banjo clearly doesn’t mind having an audience, but I hate being a passive participant.
“Stop,” I tell him, the word coming out more of a growl. The hand holding the dildo immediately stills. Banjo swallows nervously, watching as I advance towards the bed. He studies my face almost frantically as he tries to gauge my reaction. Good luck. I’m not even sure what I’m thinking right now.
“O-Oliver told me you’d be gone for a while,” Banjo attempts to explain as he slowly withdraws the toy.
He doesn’t close his legs, and I’m immediately distracted by the sight of his stretched, needy hole clenching around nothing.
A small alarm goes off in the back of my head, warning that I’m nearing dangerous territory.
It’s easy to ignore with Banjo so beautifully on display.