Ephram kept his mouth on Nero's neck, not speaking for a while. Promise, hmmm? That sparked lewd mental imagery.

He liked the sound of Nero breathing, reveled in the sound of his groan. Ephram had no delusions that Nero was in fact submitting to anything here, but he did like having the Commodore slowly lose control up against the cabin wall. He twisted his finger slightly inside, knowing how good such a motion felt from his own experience. A light drizzling of more oil from his vial, and a second finger pressed inside.

"Promise?" he asked, the word heavy with innuendo.