Page 67 of The Succubi's Choice

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Turns out he meant an actual orgy. Actual, planned, people in a mansion in the Pacific Palisades, all who want to have sex orgy.

He takes her uninjured arm as he leads her up the white marble staircase that shines with the pink and purples of the setting coastal sun.

She’s wearing a simple, short black dress, of cheap shining material, one that clings to her ass and shows off acres of her legs. The material rides up her thighs as she takes each step, and her heartbeat races with something close to anticipation.

Gripping the Archdemon’s arm, she looks up at him. “There are actual humans here, right?” She whispers, and past him she can see the sun setting over the Pacific, the light glimmering off the waves. “If not it’s going to be fairly useless for me.”

“Relax,” he whispers back, which is unfair because she’s totally justified at being wound a bit tightly. “This is almost entirely human. Politics.”

“People don’t really have orgies in politics,” she whispers, dipping her voice lower as a man in a three-piece suit climbs the stairs two at a time, outpacing them. “That has to be a myth.”

He just smiles to her as they reach the door, and a young woman in a suit pulls it open for them, leading them inside.

Inside, it’s...much quieter than she anticipated. There’s small chatter, and the general smell of vanilla, but it’s still hushed and sparsely populated.

“Most people are in different rooms,” he mutters to her under his breath, as if reading her mind. Which isn’t a thing she likes to think about. “It’s not all group activities.” He sweeps her to the side of the room, a small bubble where no one can hear them. “Do you need a moment?”

She glances around, her eyes dancing from person to person, from man to woman to man, all looking like they’re there for a normal dressy party, and she can feel her eyes being comically wide.

“I mean, is there anything I should do? Shouldn’t do?” She asks, her eyes trailing on a man’s ass. “I’m not exactly up to date on my orgy etiquette.”

He smiles, not unkindly. “I think you’ll be fine, just make sure that people want it, pay attention to body language, and back off if they don’t.” He too watches as someone walks by. “Stay near me—if you feel threatened I’ll pull you out.”

That draws her from her reverie. “You think I’m gonna be threatened?”

“Probably not, people can get enthusiastic and people can get overwhelmed.” Idly, his hand on her arm moves, almost a caress and almost a stroke. “I usually stay on the sidelines.”

“Why?” The words fall from her lips, because focusing on anything concrete other than the thousands of options in front of her seems to be a good idea.

He eyes her. “Human sexuality is profoundly odd to me.”

Which makes sense, if she thinks about it, as coming from someone who literally hops bodies and probably has inhabited people across genders and across sexualities.

“And yet you’re still here,” she says, watching the crowd. “I take it there’s not going to be much for me to drink here? Lots of alcohol?”

“Probably.” He seems just as relieved as she is that the subject changes. “When they’re this rich, they turn to anything to make them feel any sort of danger again, so they turn to sex and alcohol and mind alterers, just to overwhelm themselves.” It’s not quite with disdain that he says it, but something baked in, deeper than just disdain. Like stating a fact, like the statement is some sort of pithy truth.

Someone strides by, with a nod to Not-Thomas, who lifts his head in return.

“Why do you come to this if you don’t...” She gestures at all of him.

“It’s not that I don’t, ever,” he says, serious. “But...a lot of powerful people will say a lot of things when they think that people are drunk around them. And the demigod was smart in that regard.” He’s the only non-smiling person in the room, and for that he sticks out. “But I have no interest in exhibition, or doing that kind of thing with someone I hardly know.”

She nods, because that makes sense. “And hard to know someone that well when you literally hop from body to body.” Having this cerebral conversation, when there are a bunch of people there, who came here to have sex, makes her skin itch with desire.

“Exactly,” he murmurs, swiping a champagne flute from a passing waiter in a smooth, with practiced movement. “Not a life that gives a lot of access to bonding.”

“Please tell me you mean that colloquially, and not in any official category, cause those are weird,” she says, spotting a beautiful woman with dark skin and candy pink hair walking by. The woman pays her no attention, just strides past her and disappears into a long hallway.

“Colloquially,” he says, still not smiling and still appearing on edge, before gripping her arm a little tighter.

“Oh, you hate this, don’t you?” She says, half distracted and half delighted. “You hate every little bit of this.”

He glances at her, as if taken by surprise somehow, like that little suggestion is something he’s never considered before. “It’s the easiest way to get the information I need.”

“But that doesn’t mean you like it.” She smiles out at the crowd, at the small groups of people disappearing into different doors, where every bit of her wants to follow them in. “You seem to do a lot of things you don’t like.”

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