The images flickering off of Namaah where of her master and, while mildly erotic, Oded had no desire for the witch - or any witch. They were far to unpredictable as a whole and some were particularly more dangerous than others. While Oded was assured that his true name could not be invoked by any of the witches in the Cirque, he was ever cautious that one could discover it by extreme means. The novice who had called him originally had done so unwittingly by mispronouncing another demon's name. It was a one in a trillion chance and the little morsel had paid dearly for her mistake, but the fact remained that it had happened and could, theoretically, occur again.
Namaah's little hands were moving and Oded enjoyed the teasing caresses. It was a pity that she was owned, leashed by a witch. Her sensuality was an exotic taste of home and his hand slipped down under the shadow chain of her vest, pressing up on her ribs under the swell of her breast. He could feel the heat of her mortal shell, the mockery of a heartbeat there under his palm. While he called her his little sister, there were no such relations between demons. No doubt, she was attracted to his power and status as much as he was to her alluring sensuality. "Is she now? Perhaps I should be parlaying with her," he teased.
He was rousing under her touches and movements, the press of her small ass over his pants drawing forth the response she was trying to elicit. His free hand slid under the waist of her bottoms, curling on the rise of her ass. These were mortal touches, only a whisper of the real power they could create between them in coupling. "There are rumors, of course. Nothing of consequence. The Management snared the Ringmaster, but uses witches and Fae to move the Cirque. That suggests different things, none which may hold true," Oded allowed, his gaze dropping to the plush of her lips. "As long as they do not interfere in my work, I do not interfere in theirs. It is, as the mortals say, a win-win situation."