Odeon traded glances with Chang. That sounded as reasonable as the truth about Cortin, and considerably more believable; they'd go along. "Then maybe it wasn't a fluke, or fear, when she came down after the first time," he said. "What about it, Sis?"
"Unconscious control?" Chang said thoughtfully. "I should like to believe so, and from what you all say, it does sound reasonable. As a hypothesis, then: she indulges herself based on—if you will excuse the term—available, acceptable resources and time. I should like more evidence to either confirm or refute that, however; I have obviously been wrong on that subject before."
Odeon grinned at her. That was a more reasonable hypothesis for the others—and for Joanie herself, until it was time for her to go public—than he could've come up with. "We'll get it for you, though I don't know if we'll be able to tonight." He waved at the group around Cortin; they had her almost undressed, with her full cooperation, and were getting out of their own uniforms as all of them moved toward her bedroom. "But if one of us can arrange to be her last for the night, he can do what Ivan did last night. If he's the only one with her, and doesn't let her move away, the results should be conclusive."
"A good indication, at least," Chang agreed. "And I will put a sedative doser in the bedside table in the event the conclusion is not what we currently believe."
Cortin didn't have time to wonder why none of her team were in the group surrounding her; Illyanov's embrace and kiss had been quite enough to start the ache in her belly, and the Inquisitors' caresses had turned it into a burning need—one they seemed to sense and perhaps share, because almost as soon as they got her to the huge bed, one of them was sliding into her, his urgent thrustings sending her into a spiral of sheer pleasure.
When she fell asleep, it was with Pritchett holding her, relaxed inside her, murmuring that Ivan had said she liked sleeping that way. And he was still there when she woke, a comfortable strong presence in spite of the fact, since the two of them were alone, that she must have overslept. He was smiling at her, and when she started to pull herself reluctantly away, he held her gently but firmly where she was. She started to object—her body was already reacting to him—but he silenced her with a kiss. "It's okay, little fox," he said affectionately. "Just relax, trust me. You'll be fine."
"But—"
"Just relax, I said." Pritchett kissed her again, rolling so she was beneath him as she preferred. "Sis says your drive may very well be self-regulating, and I'm the lucky one who gets to find out with you. If not, she left a sedative." He paused, smiling. "It is something you—and we—need to know." He began moving gently.
He was right, Cortin thought. They should all know her reactions—and he felt far too good, growing and stiffening inside her, for her to want him to leave. "Mmm," she agreed, yielding. Last night had been a feast, she'd loved it and intended to repeat it whenever she had the time and interested partners—but it would be nice if she could snack, too, not have to gorge all the time.