The dining room? The shooting range-- ah, that's where, the place is soundproof, it'd be perfect--

[He murmurs that against his skin. A moment, and then:]

Just pick your place, darling. I'll fuck you in any room and every room.

[Ilsa and Rick really deserve more attention than they're being paid right now, Polnareff thinks dimly, but he's got more important things to focus on right now. He nips firmly at the crook of his neck, his tongue darting out to soothe the spot a moment later. There'll be a mark there soon if he's not careful, and oh, what a terrible outcome that would be.]