If the library had been a disaster before, it was ten times worse after our pointless search for any information on the oshk.

In theory, I was now recording all the serial numbers of the cash so Orwell, the Brotherhood intel department so nicknamed by Kane, could track its source. In practice, I was keeping a wary eye on Rohan and his string of Hindi-English cursing that had risen from a mutter to a couple of stages away from a roar.

I ruffled the bills. “Did you know that there are one hundred hundred dollar bills in each bundle?”

No response.

“I’ve got a cool half a mill here.” I shook the backpack. “I’m thinking a quick Google search on countries with no extradition treaty, book a flight, and we’re living large on a beach with umbrella drinks by happy hour tomorrow.”

Holding this much cash was so surreal that it almost lost all meaning. Not gonna lie, I was tempted to rip open the bundles and roll naked on them, but considering we’d commandeered the cash from a demon home, refrained.

Rohan flung a book on the table; it bounced and crashed to the floor.

“Okay,” I said, retrieving the book–and the laptop for good measure–and placing them on the far end of the table, “you’re done.”

Rohan turned glittering eyes on me, clearly wanting someone to fight with.

I spread my hands. “We’re in a holding pattern and getting mad at your people isn’t going to change that.”

Expression thunderous, he left the room.

I zipped up the backpack, setting my list of serial numbers on top, and leaned back in my chair, my chest tight. Work, relationship, saving the world–for Rohan and I, it was all tangled up. We even lived at Demon Club. There was no space for us to breathe.

My ex, Cole, had recently told me that when my snapped Achilles had destroyed my tap dance dreams, he’d had no idea how to comfort me. He hadn’t felt like I was in the relationship. I didn’t think that about Ro, but the fear of watching someone I cared about revert into bad behaviors and shut me out was all too real these days.

If we didn’t live up to Rohan’s relationship expectations or I became the fallout in the implosion of his feelings around the Brotherhood, his pattern would be he’d dump me without another look back and waltz into whatever new identity he crafted for himself. There would be no fighting for us or working through things. We’d be us and then we wouldn’t be anything.

I exhaled, hard. There might not be a way out of the pressure cooker we lived in, but maybe there was a way to alleviate some steam. I pulled out my phone and started researching my brilliant idea, leaning my elbows on the library table. This was supposed to be our honeymoon phase and honeymoon it we would.

“Sorry.” Rohan reappeared in the doorway, sounding genuinely contrite.

“That’s– juggling.” I squinted at the four red balls in his hands.

“Yeah. One of our roadies got me into it as a stress relief.”

“I can see how hot and cold running tour sex wouldn’t have the same appeal.” That earned me the ghost of a grin. “All those nights in the Vault. You’ve been juggling?”

“No. I’ve been beating the shit out of the bag.” He switched up his moves, catching the balls underhand. “But I figured that if yelling wasn’t going to help, then storming off wasn’t either.”

“Progress.” I crossed the room and settled into one of the leather club chairs, my legs tucked underneath me. “You’ve unleashed a lot of talents on me in the past few days, Snowflake.” I ticked the items off on my fingers. “Dancing, skateboarding, juggling.”

“The dancing I learned to help with my stage presence, the skateboarding was from growing up in L.A., and we had a lot of downtime on tour. I’m also the undisputed champion of Crazy Eights.”

“A true renaissance man. Or was that renaissance nerd?”

He threw a ball up, spinning to catch it behind his back. The tension in his body eased a fraction. “Admit it, you’re impressed.”

“I am.” I bounced a ball of electricity in my hand, then divided them into two.

“Cute.”

“You think?” The two balls became four, and I let them swivel on their own around my head while I scanned the page on my phone. This would do nicely. A couple of clicks and some expedited shipping and things were put into motion.

Ro laughed, the happiness I’d hoped for back in his eyes. “You’re a total shit. What are you looking at? Why the smug grin?”

I put the phone away and powered off my magic. “My other boyfriend wants to hook-up.”

“Great. I’ll call mine. Girlfriend,” he clarified, rolling his eyes at my crestfallen expression. “You’re so predictable.”

“You said it. Lots of downtime, a bus full of horny guys. Do the math.”

“That’s not–” His phone buzzed. Ro caught all of the balls one-handed, pulling the phone from his pocket. He scratched his jaw, reading the text, his expression cautiously optimistic. “Pretty up, Sparky. We’re going out.”

“Pretty is a step down for me, buddy. Wow. You really blew a compliment opportunity. Your other girlfriend can keep you.”

“Don’t want her,” he said, grabbing me in a headlock to kiss the top of my head.

“Ack.” I elbowed my way free. “What kind of pretty does the situation demand?”

“Mahmud’s in town.” Mahmud was the Rasha who’d recruited Rohan for the Askuchar job. Rohan quickly typed a response. “Told him to meet us at Lotus.”

Last time Rohan and I had eaten at Lotus, we’d had an incredible meal and a disaster of a conversation. The knives had come out on both sides. Whatever could I look forward to this time? Mahmud was Rohan’s friend, not just a fellow hunter. Had he told Mahmud he was dating me? Or had he left it out, since this was a professional meeting and not a personal one? What kind of look would even be appropriate for this dinner: badass girlfriend or hot comrade-in-arms?

Fuck appropriate. I jumped to my feet and snapped out a salute. “Prettying up, sir!”

“Hey.” He swung me back toward him, his eyes serious on mine. “I’m not going to break us, okay?” He stroked his thumb over my hand, radiating sincerity and the depth of his affection for me. This mattered so much to him. I mattered so much to him.

Rohan was an all-or-nothing kind of guy and getting the full weight of his absolute attention and care made me feel like I could reach for the stars. I was living the cheesiest of clichés where he was the first person I wanted to see in the morning and the last person I wanted to talk to at night. Rohan wasn’t my other half. I was a twin. I knew what other halves felt like.

He didn’t complete me; he complemented me and that was a zillion times better.

To be ripped from that would destroy me.

I cupped his cheek. “I believe you.” Well, I believed he believed it.

Fingers crossed that would be enough.

* * *

The outfit I chose was a curve-hugging black sheath with cap sleeves and a hemline that hit just below the knee. It looked almost demure until I turned around to reveal the plunging back, the fabric draping softly at the base of my spine. I paired it with red lips and red heels.

Rohan gave me a wolfish grin when I flounced into his room. He prodded me backward until my legs hit his mattress. “Show me how it comes off.”

“None of that.” My stomach fluttered; my push against his chest was more insistent. “I want you desperate for me.”

He nipped my bottom lip, his hand sliding over the stretchy fabric to cup my ass, and pressed his erection against my belly. “Done. Take it off.”

I allowed myself one inhale of his spicy, musky cologne with the underbite of iron that was all Ro, before sidestepping him. “Good and nope.”

I picked up the bluish-gray tie, similar in color to my eyes, that he’d laid out to go with his turquoise shirt and slid it around his neck. Fussing over my man, a quiet intimacy. It was nice.

“Nava.” Rohan gasped, his skin getting a tad purple and his eyes glassy.

I fumbled at the choking knot that got tighter the more I worked at it. Damn ties. My dad always made putting these on look so easy. What the hell was the stupid trick? Over, under–no. I tried again.

Rohan pushed my hands away, extended the blade on his index finger and sliced the thing off. The tie fluttered to the ground. He frowned. “I liked that tie.”

I opened his closet and, pulling out an identical one, thrust it at him. “Please. You buy your ties in pairs.”

He strung the tie around his neck. “Good ties are hard to…” He paused, his knot half-formed. “Did you snoop through my closet?”

I patted his cheek. “Of course I did.”

He slid the tie down through the loop he’d created and pulled it tight, making the whole “over/under” thing look like anyone could learn it. Shrugging into his suit jacket, Rohan escorted me out of the room, his hand on the small of my back. “Try not to gape too much when you meet Mahmud.”

“Is he horribly disfigured?”

Rohan shot me a what-is-wrong-with-you look. “No. He’s your type.”

“I have a type?”

He laughed.

I was determined to prove him wrong, but when we entered Lotus and Mahmud stood from his table to greet us? Yeah, I checked my chin for drool.

Tall, hot bod, suit tailored like a second skin–those were basic Rasha-issue. But his dark brown skin, intense black eyes, goatee, and black hair scraped back into a messy ponytail, all coupled with these full pink lips whose evolutionary function was to be sucked on? Let’s just say that other than Malik who’d had a couple thousand years to perfect tall, dark, and sexy, Mahmud, despite only having maybe thirty years to cultivate his hotness, was the first man to make Rohan look a little plain.

“Hi. I’m Nava.” I stuck my hand out for him to shake.

His grasp was firm, warm. “Mahmud.” His husky voice curled inside me like syrup.

“Pleasure,” I squeaked out.

Rohan snorted.

To be fair, my recovery time was pretty fast. This was work after all. Plus, the boyfriend standing right there.

Rohan pulled my chair out for me, and from Mahmud’s assessing look, he got our status.

The waitress came to take our order. Slender, with dark curly hair, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black cigarette pants, her dimpled smile lit up her whole face. Given that the majority of other customers were middle-aged couples and a couple of groups of business men, serving us was hitting the jackpot. Well, serving the men.

“I’m Olivia. I’ll be your server tonight.”

“Hi, Olivia.” Rohan turned his rock fuck grin on her. Power to the chick for staying upright.

I kicked him under the table. He covered the flinch pretty well, his knee brushing against mine, remaining there, connecting us. He trapped my hand loosely against his thigh as he told her which dishes we’d decided to share.

“So, Nava, what was your first impression of the Rasha?” Mahmud said.

I sipped my green tea. “You want the honest answer or the polite answer?”

His eyes twinkled as he leaned in. “Oh, now I definitely need the honest answer.”

I entertained Mahmud with my initial meetings of Baruch, Kane, and Drio, while Olivia brought out sumptuous sushi rolls plated on daikon and fat pieces of melt-in-your-mouth sashimi.

Mahmud’s single failing was that he was hopeless with chopsticks. Sushi wreckage was strewn across his plate. He licked off a couple of grains of rice that were stuck to his finger. “I’m a disaster. Apologies.”

“You’re fine. But you might want to hold the chopsticks down farther.” I held mine up to demonstrate.

He adjusted his grip and tried again with slightly better results. “Not that I’m not always delighted to see your hairy ass, Mitra, but I get the sense you invited me for more than my good looks.”

“Oh, he invited you for that too,” I quipped.

Mahmud laughed and Rohan kicked me under the table.

“Askuchar,” Rohan said. With that one word, all levity at our table fled. He topped up all our sake, serving himself last.

“What about it?” Mahmud’s expression was bland.

I gripped my chopsticks, my eyes darting to Rohan’s.

A flash of impatience darkened his face. “Don’t play politics. This is you and me and no bullshit. There was no logical reason for those yaksas to have trekked from Nepal through India and into Pakistan. Why Askuchar? Conveniently isolated for burying evidence? That mission was all kinds of wrong, man, and you know it.”

“Yeah.” Mahmud scrubbed a hand over his face. “I keep seeing those villagers ravaged. Yaksas are bloodthirsty, but that? It was like they’d gone berserk.”

Or they’d been forced to attack. I shook my head at Rohan, willing him not to voice our suspicions.

“How did you hear about the four Rasha that had originally been killed looking for the demons?” Ro asked.

“Got a call asking me to track. They were missing, not yet confirmed dead at that point.” Mahmud held out his sake cup for Rohan to refill.

“Who called?” I expected him to say Rabbi Mandelbaum.

“Ferdinand Alves.”

Rohan jerked the sake back so sharply that alcohol sloshed onto the white linen tablecloth. I blotted it up, grateful for something that would keep my head down and not reveal how all the color had drained from my face.

“You know him?” Mahmud asked.

“Not personally,” Rohan said. “Heard he died.”

“Yeah. While we were still in Pakistan. Car crash outside L.A.”

“Demons?” I asked.

“Don’t think so.”

Rohan was staring at his plate, his tuna sashimi untouched, his brow furrowed.

“Do you know if he was in Prague in early April?” I said.

“No idea.” Mahmud’s gaze flickered between us. “You want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“Just trying to understand how it all went balls up,” Ro said.

“Okay.” Mahmud warred with a piece of ebi sushi, sighing as it fell apart on his plate.

“Nava?” Rohan’s voice was pitched low for only me to hear.

The more people in the Brotherhood that found out, the more likelihood there was of the wrong people finding out. Except our team was stymied. Kane had done all he can, my brother wasn’t plugged in enough, and Rohan casually asking guys he trusted about Ferdinand was pointless. He’d restrained himself out of concern for me, because when shit hit the wall–and it was when not if–I’d be the first one the Brotherhood came after.

I’d told Rabbi Abrams and he hadn’t exactly embraced my ideas. I still didn’t know where I stood with him anymore or if he’d reported my suspicions to Mandelbaum. Mahmud seemed nice but he was a total unknown to me. Was the risk of confiding in him worth it? I stirred wasabi into my soya sauce, turning the liquid cloudy. “Tell him.”

Rohan’s hand tightened on mine under the table.

I didn’t take my eyes off Mahmud’s face as Rohan filled him in, searching for a single clue as to his feelings, but he gave away nothing, listening to the tale without interjection. I clenched the linen napkin, my heart stuttering to a stop when, at the end of Ro’s tale, Mahmud trained a dangerous, glittering smile on me.

Was he going to blame me? I let my magic reach my eyes, knowing he’d see the lightning dancing there. “Yes?”

“We’re going to bring these fuckers down. Whatever you need. However I can help. I’m yours.”

“Phrasing,” Rohan said, breaking the tension. “Jeez, Mahmud, don’t steal all the beautiful women in the restaurant. This one’s mine.”

Mahmud winked at me. “I’m all yours,” he said. He picked up some sashimi without having to stab it onto his chopstick, then blinked at it, surprised. “All right then.”

Mahmud didn’t have much other information to give us. He hadn’t known Ferdinand, but he had known a couple of the dead Rasha and swore there was nothing suspicious about them. He promised to follow up with their families in case there was anything to learn there.

Rohan insisted on paying for the meal. We walked Mahmud outside and he signaled for a taxi.

As the cab pulled up to the curb, Mahmud turned to Rohan. “There’s one person who might be able to tell you about Ferdinand. Same peer group and shit. Zahir.”

Rohan gave him a searching look. “You sure?”

Mahmud shrugged. “I wouldn’t name drop me, but yeah. Try him. Last I heard he was based in Paris.” Mahmud opened the back door to the cab, then kissed my hand. “Delightful Nava, I look forward to our next meeting.”

“You charmer.” I grinned at him. “Thanks, Mahmud. Really.”

He rolled his shoulders like it was nothing. “I always believed that being Rasha meant having each other’s backs.” Something flickered over his face and he raised his troubled eyes to Rohan’s. “I just didn’t expect the enemy to be so close to home.”

* * *

Rohan couldn’t stop stealing touches all the way home.

At a stoplight, he’d sneak his hand from the clutch to just barely on my knee. At a crosswalk, he’d ghost it up. And up, and up. As the sun set and turned the glass condo towers gold, his nimble fingers edged around the line of my underwear. When we only barely missed a very angry old lady crossing a residential street, I decided that vehicular manslaughter via horny boyfriend was not, in fact, something I needed to experience.

“Who’s Zahir?” I said, smoothing my dress back to a pristine sleekness.

“Mahmud’s dad. They haven’t spoken in about five or six years, but he’s Rasha too. In his fifties and still kicking around.” Fifties was old age in our line of work. It was too depressing to contemplate.

Ro glided his hand along the base of my bare spine.

I twisted away from his touch, but the persistent boy failed to take the hint and leaned into me while still driving, so I scooted closer to him, prioritizing our collective safety. Also, I was weak and wanted those fizzy shivers as he stroked my skin. “You think he’ll have any insights into Ferdinand’s death?”

Rohan stopped the car at Demon Club’s front iron gate, set into a stone fence, to be scanned. He leaned across the gearshift and, cradling my head between his hands, took my mouth with the force of tossing gas on a fire. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him to me, feverishly kissing him. Ro bit my bottom lip and I moaned. He grinned against my mouth. “I like how we fit together.”

Dizzy, I clutched at him but only got empty air as he gunned the car up the drive.

“You were saying?” he said with a smug grin.

I was? His smugness amplified. I couldn’t let that stand so I racked my brain and eventually found where I’d left off. “If Ferdinand had been killed on a mission, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But a car crash? I don’t like the timing or coincidence of it.” I had personal experience with the Brotherhood masking suspicious deaths with car crashes à la Samson King in Prague.

Rohan parked, cut the engine, and turned to me, his eyes hot. “Know what else I don’t like?”

I licked my lips, remembered that wasn’t an answer and shook my head.

“Making me sit through dinner, watching you in that dress. Cruel.”

“You’ve been copping feels all the way home.”

“It’s not enough.”

I snickered, but when he slammed his precious car’s door in his haste to get me inside, I may have set a new record for speed-walking in heels.

We barely made it into his bedroom before, mouth on mine, he pressed me back against the wall. His teeth dragged over my lower lip before his tongue slipped inside. He trailed his finger blades over my shoulder and bare back, just enough to leave faint marks that I’d shiver staring at in the bathroom mirror later.

Sliding my hand under his shirt, I skimmed my fingers along the ridges of his sculpted abs. He retracted his blades and I broke the kiss to draw his fingers into my mouth, my tongue swirling around each one in turn. Pinching his nipples with my other hand, I rubbed my bare thigh up his leg. His sigh rumbled over me.

A furious ache built to a throbbing pulse inside me.

Rohan sucked on my neck and I tilted my head to give him better access to the sensitive skin. He caressed my cheek with the back of his hand, pinning me with this filthy eye-fuck that made my stomach flutter. “Wrap your legs around me.”

The position left Cuntessa flush against his hard cock, my dress hiked up around my waist. I thrust against him with a blissful moan, pushed my fingers into his hair, raking back his dark wavy locks, and slanted my mouth over his. His answering kiss was hot, hungry, and knifed straight into my soul.

I rocked my hips, my head thrown back against the wall.

“Slow down, sweetheart.” Rohan ran his fingers idly along my spine, his touch sizzling against my bare skin. “On your knees.” His voice was low and dirty.

I played with the soft dusting of hair on his chest. “You want something?”

“Yes,” he growled. “You. On your knees.”

“Whatever would I do there?”

Rohan’s eyes were a gold haze, his “please” strained.

I ran my hand over him, feeling his cock jump. “If we ever break up, you’re going to have a bitch of a time explaining to your new girlfriend that you have to come see me for blowjobs.”

“Only you,” he murmured.

My cold, dead heart grew two sizes larger. “You sure you deserve it?”

He gripped me by my waist. “I’m desperate for you.”

This gorgeous, wonderful man, with his pants half off his hips and a piratical smile playing on his lips, was hard and wrecked. For me.

I slid off him, dropping to the ground and taking his trousers and boxers along for the ride. The planks were cool under my knees and Rohan was hot silk in my mouth. My lips buzzed with magic. I ran my tongue down his shaft, sucking his balls into my mouth, inhaling the sharp smell of his arousal.

He gave a content hum, but he didn’t stop touching me: fondling my breasts, curling my locks around his fingers, running his hands over my shoulders with soft exhales and low groans.

I teased his dick between my lips, slowly taking him in, curling my tongue around the head. Grabbing him by his ass, I pulled him close, taking his cock deeper.

His hips started rocking, his fingers biting into my shoulders. His back arched off the wall. Salty pre-cum hit my tongue.

My nipples puckered and grew achingly hard. Cuntessa was dripping wet and demanding attention. I moaned and Rohan pulled free with a soft pop. “What?” I said. “I was deep-throating like a champ.”

There was enough moonlight to make out the amusement in his eyes, even through his fringe of thick dark lashes. “Not complaining, Sparky, but this party was about to be over before it started.”

“Allow me to help you put on the brakes.” I stood up, grasping the hem of my dress to pull it off but he stopped me, brushing my hands away.

Rohan inched the dress up me, feasting on every newly exposed inch, his gaze almost reverential. “Sometimes I can’t believe we’re finally here.”

“Me too.” It seemed too good to last, my dress bunched in Rohan’s hands as he clutched my hips, my curls brushing his chest, and my head bowed close enough to his heart to hear its staccato rhythm. It was fragile and intense and perfect.

And for the moment, it was mine.

He kissed the pulse fluttering under my jaw, still working the dress off in the world’s slowest striptease, until he had to release me to pull the fabric over my head. He dipped his head, assessing me through heavily fringed lashes. “On the bed.”

I scrambled to do as I was told, on my back, leaning against my elbows, my legs falling open.

He stood over me, still erect. I felt the weight of his hooded gaze like it was the rough glide of his tongue along my curves. He sucked on his lush lower lip.

My heart was in my throat waiting for him to touch me.

He ran a hand up my thigh, tracing the path with his lips. Ro hadn’t shaved in a few days, and his stubble chafed the tender skin on my inner thighs. He ran his tongue under my bikini underwear. So near and yet so far. I wriggled out of them, pitching them across the room into the shadows.

He flicked his tongue to my clit.

My breath caught. I curled my fingers into his locks. “More.”

He did it again, a million tiny licks that set me aflame but did nothing to quench the clenching grip of desire. I canted my hips.

Pinning my knees in place, Rohan set his head between my legs.

I teased my nipples, increasing the pressure of my pinches.

“Fuck.” Rohan groaned, his mouth wet and glistening. He covered my hand with his, making me knead my own sensitive flesh. I writhed on the sheets and begged for more in an unintelligible jumble of sounds. “Like that, do you?”

He slid a finger inside me and I moaned, that delicious familiar tension swelling and coursing through me. I tugged him up.

“What?” he said, lust glazing his eyes. “I was eating you out like a champ.”

I laughed and couldn’t help kissing him again, quick and hard. “Fuck me, Snowflake.” He reached for the drawer of his nightstand but I stopped him. “Ro. Can we…?” I licked my lips nervously. “I’m on the pill and I’m clean.”

“I’m clean, too.” We’d both been tested by Dr. Sousa, the Rasha-approved doctor who’d dug a bullet out of my shoulder a while ago. Ro sat back on his calves, his hands resting on my legs. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never gone bare with anyone. Not even Cole.” I needed him to understand everything I was trusting him with. I swallowed thickly. “I don’t want anything between us.”

Rohan brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “I don’t either.”

He pressed me into the mattress, still sitting back on his calves. I cupped the nape of his neck, drawing him down to my mouth, bracketing his face in my hands. Our tongues tangled; the tip of Rohan’s cock pressed against me.

Rohan remained between my legs, not yet entering me. Our bodies molded together, hands caressing, mouths insistent. We pulled back, our gazes caught.

I caressed his cheek, his stubble tickling the pads of my fingers. “Hi, you.”

Rohan gave me a wide-open smile, equal parts tenderness and soft vulnerability. “Hi, yourself.” Oh lordy. Heat rolled under my skin and my heart danced a furious tarantella. “Whatcha up to, sweetheart?”

I skimmed my hands down his side and shrugged. “Hanging out.” I sucked the hollow of his neck and he hissed a groan. I wrapped my legs around his waist. “You?”

“Making my girlfriend orgasm her brains out. Think it’s a plan?”

I nodded. “A very sound one. So long as you enjoy yourself as well.”

He rubbed his nose against mine. “Thank you. I shall.”

I waved a hand. “Proceed, good man.”

Rohan glided his hand up my calf. “I’ve never gone bare with anyone before.”

My chest swelled with happiness at being his first this way and I couldn’t keep the smile from my face.

Rohan brushed the sweetest kiss on my lips and plunged inside me.

I arched into his touch with a sigh, my eyes drifting to his. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

“Me neither.” Ro’s eyes gleamed in the darkness, a million shades of gold from the purity of flickering flame to the darker edge of the final intense burst of sunset.

A bead of sweat trickled down my chest to my stomach, his body pressing mine into the mattress. We were wrapped in the tangle of our heat, his heart racing, pulsing against my rib cage. I tightened my legs around him, wanting to keep us here forever, savoring this new experience of being so intimately joined.

“Can I move now?” he asked.

“Oh my God, yes, already.” I thrust against him.

I gripped his clenched biceps as he propped himself up over me, thrusting with a slow roll of his hips. His heart tattoo on his left bicep peeked out between my splayed fingers.

Rolling us over so that I was riding him, he gripped my hips, his thrusts harder, rawer. He fumbled in the drawer by the bed for the lube. A squirt later, he slid his finger into my ass.

He rewarded my wanton moan with another finger. I’d never felt so full, so complete.

“You good?” he asked.

“Y-yeah.” I raked my nails down his chest, shivering every time I bottomed out. Having him inside me like this, took our lovemaking to a whole new realm. We were physically and emotionally as intertwined as two people could be. I couldn’t have handled this before now, and especially not with anyone else. But with Ro?

I clasped his face in my hands and kissed him.

“You’re my supernova.” Rohan curled up, dragging his lips over my belly, his scruff scratchy, and swirled his tongue into my navel.

I giggled and pushed him back, leaning over to capture his lips again, my hair drifting down along the hard planes of his abs. “What about you? You want anything else?” My voice was breathy. I was drowning in the twin tempos of his fingers and cock.

Rohan traced my swollen lips with his tongue. “Just you.”

My orgasm raged through me, my back arching. A supernova swallowed me up and for a moment all I could do was let myself be consumed.

Rohan’s expression was fierce. He drove into me, his entire body bucking, adding to my blissful aftershocks. With a hoarse cry, he came.

I flopped onto the mattress and he rested his head on my chest. I stroked his hair. “That was… almost too much and not nearly enough.”

“I know.” He pressed a gentle kiss to my hip. “I’ll get a towel,” he said, and slipped from the bed. The water in his bathroom ran for a moment and then Rohan cleaned us both up with a cool, damp cloth. He’d even brought a dry facecloth to cover the wet spot.

The covers rustled as he got back under, gathering me close against him. When he high-fived me with a dead-ass solemn expression, I laughed until my stomach was sore.

I fell asleep in a spill of moonlight and a warm arm around my shoulders. And despite my best efforts, the last thing flickering through my mind was Rohan’s raspy voice playing over and over again:

Just you.