Round two? People had those outside of movies? Yowza.

I eyed my nightgown because round one’s conclusion was when I should have been getting dressed, but it was way on the other side of the room, and Rohan was lazily stroking my arm, his eyes the color of melted honey, and really how much of a hardship could round two be?

I nestled into the mattress. Even Rohan needed some re-up time so I curled in close, being the one to do nothing more than run my hands over his body.

Gawd, what a beautiful body it was. As the interwebs had shown me–time and time again–plenty of guys were ripped and chiseled. That was their endgame. Rohan was a fighter. He was functionally fit, all sinewy grace. His body had a purpose and while it was obvious in the hard planes of muscle, his tapered torso, and long leanness that he took great care of it, he also displayed an ease and lack of ego in his own skin that I found refreshing.

He had nothing to prove.

Rohan’s body wasn’t a temple, it was a finely honed weapon. Though that didn’t stop me from worshipping it now. I nudged him to turn over, noting the silver scar from his sakacha encounter at the base of his neck. A gorgeous black script was tattooed between his shoulder blades. “Hindi?” I guessed, tracing the letters.

“Yeah. It says ‘Kshatriya.’ It’s the warrior caste.”

“It’s beautiful.” I trailed my hands down his back, rubbing at a patch on the base of his spine that was a bit darker than the rest of his skin.

His gluts tensed. Ooh. Pretty.

I rubbed the spot again, then gave in to my urge and bit his ass cheek.

Rohan yelped, flipping himself flat on his back. “Teeth. Not a kink of mine.”

I propped myself up on one elbow, batting my eyelashes at him. “I’m betting that’s a very short list, Mr. Mitra.”

He grabbed my hips, pulling me across him, while giving my ass a swat. I squealed in laughter which ended in a smothered yelp as his mouth got close to mine.

He froze. “Right,” he muttered.

I bit my lip, then wriggled onto my side to face him, running my hands over his body in long strokes. “How was L.A.?” As a distraction technique, my question was only moderately successful. It didn’t dissipate the tension that had come over Rohan at the kiss thing, but he did answer and let me keep touching him.

“Got to see my parents, so that was good.” The affection in his voice triggered a stab of longing for something I’d never had. “As for the mission? Supposed to be a quick and easy kill. Instead?” He scratched his stubbled chin. “Too much mishegoss.”

“You know Yiddish?” I couldn’t believe he’d used the slang term for craziness.

“Just the good words. Jewish grandmother.”

“Can you imagine if demons spoke Yiddish? Oblivion would be filled with the kvetching of the damned.”

Rohan giggled.

I bopped the tip of his nose with my index finger. “Aww. Cute.”

He scowled at me, more embarrassed than angry given the way he ducked his head. “I am a former rock god and current Rasha. Not cute.”

“So cute.” I twisted my body around, reversing my head and feet placement, happy to find him charged again.

Rohan switched on the bedside light, raising his head off the pillow to better take in the sight of his cock filling my mouth.

I raised my eyebrows at him, all the while sucking on the ridge of his penis.

He groaned but didn’t stop watching. If anything, his gaze grew more intense.

“Dirty boy, wanting to watch,” I said.

He threw his arm behind his head and threw me an unrepentant grin. “Dirty girl,” he countered, “liking it.”

I couldn’t argue.

Rohan caught my leg up by his head, sliding his lips along my calf. “I want to play, too.”

“Nope.” I angled my body away from him. “I want you in me. Now.” Getting onto my knees, I reached into his bedside table drawer and plucked out a condom. It could only mean one thing, since he wouldn’t have brought other women to Demon Club. “Look who was hoping I’d stop by?”

“Don’t be cocky.” He parroted back my earlier words to him. “It’s insufferable.”

“But I pull it off so well.” I tossed the package at him.

He tossed it back. “Put it on me.” His command was issued in a husky rumble.

Blood rushed from my brain in a dizzying surge. I ripped the foil packet open with my teeth and rolled the condom over him, so frantic to ease the pressure inside me that I didn’t do my usual tease. In fact, I screwed up the direction, cursing when I put the condom on backward, essentially short-sheeting his dick.

Rohan rectified the situation with ease. And great haste.

Knowing from previous encounters that this was another place where guys took the opportunity to kiss, I scooted to the edge of the bed still on my knees, my forehead bowed to the bed.

He didn’t argue, coming to stand behind me. “Open your knees wider.”

I complied and then, finally, he pushed achingly slowly inside me. My eyes rolled into the back of my head at the delicious prolonging. “That feels… yesssss.”

Rohan pressed a kiss between my shoulder blades. He rocked back and forth for a second, his hands braced on my hips.

I pushed back against him and that was it. Any thoughts of taking it slow were out of the question. I luxuriated in the feel of him, pounding into me, hard and fast. The top blanket bunched under my calves, our movements making a jumbled mess out of his sheets, every thrust causing my sensitive nipples to brush against the bed. My eyes were wide, my mouth hung open slack, and my fists balled the blanket on either side of my head. Pleasure snaked through me.

I stroked Cuntessa, feeling another orgasm starting to build.

“Not yet,” Rohan commanded. He pulled out of me and I whimpered. I’d have begged at this point for more. He rolled onto his back, setting me on top, cowgirl-style.

I groaned as very inch of him slid fully and completely inside me. “I’m at your mercy,” I said in a thick voice.

My words kicked him into overdrive. He caressed my breasts, placing one hand on my hips to help bounce me up and down.

I fluttered a look at him from beneath my lashes.

He looked amused so I raised an eyebrow. “Shimmy and bounce,” he said. “Very accomplished, Lolita.”

“I am a woman of many talents,” I replied, staring down at him through eyes half-lidded in lust. I ran my free hand over his heated skin, tightening my knees on either side of his legs, and rocking in tiny rhythmic motions.

“Wide-eyed, breathy, a little off-balance, the look works for you.”

Using just enough force to blur the line between pleasure and pain, I raked my nails down his front, marveling at the fullness of him inside me. My lids fluttered closed, startling open again when he released my hand, placing it on my clit.

“I want to watch you,” he said. The gravely timbre of it sent shivers of delight spearing through me.

I flushed. This was a whole other level of intimacy.

“Please.” Sitting half-curled up, Rohan laced his fingers with mine, squeezing tight.

Who was I to refuse? Our gazes locked, I stroked myself as he continued his forceful thrusts, my other hand held fast in his. The familiar pressure grew and grew. Rohan’s free hand moved to my breasts, fondling, kneading.

“You feel so good inside me,” I said, the last word coming out as a groan.

I’d had good sex before, my disappointing experiences of the past few months notwithstanding. This was something else entirely. It was more than Rohan knowing what I wanted, or what I needed. He played my body like it was his favorite guitar. Each roll of the hips was a chord progression, every slide of his skin on mine a slow strum. He coaxed a song from my blood and spun lyrics with every fevered caress.

Rohan threw back his head as his orgasm ripped through him.

The vibrations inside me pushed me over the top. My screams were loud enough to wake the dead. Totally spent and deliciously satisfied, I fell across his body, our sweat causing me to slide a bit. We lay there panting a moment. I for one, was mind-whacked.

Rohan held up his hand for a high-five.

Laughing, I returned it.

The room stank of sex. Was he always this vigorous? I shut my thoughts down before I could get weird about the idea of Rohan and other girls. I had no claims on him.

I rolled onto my back, stretching like a cat to enjoy the delicious aftershocks rolling through my body. “Is there a round three?” I looked over at Rohan, his cheeks flushed and his hair sticking up in spiky bedhead and my heart did a little flip.

My throat tightened.

Rohan didn’t notice. “You’re trying to kill me.”

I forced myself to relax. “Not before I get my fill of orgasms from you.”

“Humans don’t live that long, sweetheart.”

I poked him in the side and he squirmed. “You’re ticklish?!” I clapped my hands in glee.

He grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head. “Don’t even think it.”

I smiled my best feline smile, very much liking our positioning.

“Definitely trying to kill me.” He nudged his knee between my legs. “You’re a good dancer.”

That was the last thing I expected him to say. “I told you, a woman of many talents. You need to remember these things about me, Snowflake.”

“And you glow,” he said, one hand playing with my hair.

I glanced down at myself.

“Not the magic. When you dance. When I saw you that day?” His eyes went distant. “I remember that look from when I used to perform.”

“You could have it again. Do the theme song.”

He stiffened, his expression turning to ice. “Is that what this was about?”

“No!” I sounded horrified.

His expression softened. A little. “Then what?”

I screwed up my face. “Rabbi Abrams said if you agreed, he’d find a way to check if Ari is still an initiate.”

Rohan laughed bitterly. “Right.”

“Wrong.” I pushed him down against the mattress, leaning in. “You want to know why I don’t tap anymore?”

He frowned at my abrupt topic change. “Why?”

“Remember, I told you about playing Lincoln Center?” Off his nod, I continued, “Out of that, during my junior year, I was invited to audition for a professional tap troupe.” I adopted a snooty tone. “New York City, don’t you know.” I flipped onto my back, staring at the ceiling. “But I got dumb. I pushed myself too hard, got a snapped Achilles, surgery, and physio instead of the bright lights of Broadway.”

I ran a hand up my left calf, phantom pain ghosting under my fingers.

“So you missed the audition.”

“No. I did all my physical therapy in time to get cleared a week before. I nailed the audition, and I was all set to go.”

He propped himself up on his elbow. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I ruptured it again during spring competitions. There was no way I could join the troupe after grad–I’d just be in and out of hospitals, tearing myself apart.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “They said I could defer until I’d completed rehab, but by that time, my university acceptance letters came in.” I wrinkled my nose trying to keep the wetness in my eyes from turning into actual tears. “Let’s just say, healing took longer than anticipated. I think my parents were happy for the excuse to steer me back into their comfort zone of academia. Having a tapper for a kid doesn’t buy much cred at faculty parties.”

“That sucks.” His arms came around me. He had very sexy arms.

“Not dancing was like cutting out a piece of my heart.” I met his eyes. “I know you feel the same way about singing.”

Resounding silence.

“You wanted to know about my heart tattoo?” He lifted his arm up to look it at.

Now it was my turn to adjust to the topic switch. “Who was she?”

He didn’t answer so I ran my heel up his leg.

Rohan flinched at the roughness of my heel. “What are you, part dragon?”

“Answer.”

“Contrary to your belief that I’m both the world’s biggest horn dog and a hopeless romantic whose heart was shattered, this?” He tapped the tattoo. “Has nothing to do with some girl I was in love with.”

No? Excellent. Wait, I didn’t actually care. “A guy?”

He shot me a wry look. “Not that either.” He lay his arm across me, studying the tattoo. “It’s a reminder. For my weaker moments when I crave the spotlight again.”

“Nothing wrong with the spotlight.” I placed his hand on my hair to play with it. His fingers toyed with my strands, massaging tiny circles against my scalp. The effect was almost hypnotic.

“I was young and stupid,” he said. “I thought I could put my soul out there with my lyrics and be loved. Turns out people are cruel. The more famous you are, the more the knives come out. Conversely, the more your sense of self gets inflated and you get cruel. I got cruel.” Rohan gave me a self-deprecating grin. “Imagine that.”

That explained his magic turning him into a giant human blade, a reminder to guard his emotional well-being and his lingering regret over the person he became once famous. It made me and my electric powers look positively cuddly.

“That’s not the full story though, is it?”

He cleared his throat. “I mentioned in the park that I’d fucked up?” His expression grew tight, but at my nod, he continued. “I had a cousin, Asha.”

My stomach twisted at his use of the past tense.

“A year older than me,” he said. “Asha was like my sister.” His face lit up at the memory of her. “Amazing, hilarious. She was worth a billion of me. And when she needed me most?” He practically spat the next words. “When I could have helped her the most as Rasha? My head was so up my own ass from my rock star trip that I was convinced I knew best. Fuck everyone who didn’t agree with me. I let her down.”

His silence after that statement was loaded.

“She died?”

Rohan laughed bitterly. “That’s the kind way of putting it. There wasn’t enough left of her to bury.” He echoed the words Kane had mistakenly said earlier to me about Ari. If Rohan had loved his cousin half as much as I loved my brother, his grief and guilt must have been immeasurable.

I eyed the heart tattoo. Still was. “That’s why you stopped singing, wasn’t it? As a punishment.”

“Criticism? From you?” He tensed.

“Hardly,” I said.

He relaxed a fraction, but I remained pensive. Bad enough that he’d tattooed this heart on his arm to be slashed–symbolically broken–time and time again, in penance. Destroying his dream on top of that was truly heartbreaking.

More than his agreement to the song, I wanted him to understand.

“My entire life, Ari was the bright shiny twin with a future and a destiny and I wasn’t. I had a dream, but it never qualified me for bright shiny status. Except then I was Rasha and he wasn’t and…”

“You felt guilty.”

“Beyond anything.”

I sat up, holding the sheet against my chest. “You know why I forgot I was Rasha? Not because I didn’t want it. Because I was starting to like it. Coming home that night when I first found Leo, I’d been thinking I had something to offer this gig. That maybe, for the first time since all my life plans had crashed and burned, I’d found something I could excel at again. Except I didn’t believe that I had any right to it. Any right to be bright and shiny. And the really fucked up thing? I never considered if maybe that label, that expectation, had weighed Ari down all these years, just as much as lack of expectation had me.”

I lost my fight with the tears, but before I could swipe at them, Rohan gently brushed his thumb along my skin to wipe them away.

“Despite what happened, Rohan? You’re denying an essential part of yourself. I’m not saying go all rock star again, but you can’t stop singing and making music. It’s who you are just as much as being Rasha.” I cupped his jaw. “Even if you don’t do this song, please think about what I’ve said. You don’t need to live with that deep-seated unhappiness. You don’t need to live with that guilt. You have the right to decide how you want to live. You have the right to be happy.”

Rohan didn’t say anything, just held my gaze. Every particle between us was charged with this intense intimacy and, in that moment, I almost broke my rule and kissed him.

Our mutual tensing hit at the same instant.

I dropped my hand. “What are we doing here?”

He sighed. “Fuck if I know.”

“Right.” I sat up and retrieved my nightgown, pulling it over my head. “Thanks for the sex stuff.”

“Any time.”

I paused at the doorway. Normally sexytime did not require any clarification because normally I would not be seeing the dude again. However, with Rohan and I being in such close quarters, I figured the laying out of mutual expectations would be appropriate.

“Are you still mad?” I asked.

“About what? Using sex to get what you want, your issues with kissing, or the fact you apparently have never met a personal boundary you care to respect?”

I winced, toeing at a groove in his floor. “Yes.”

“No, because I believe you weren’t. No, because I’m almost impressed with your level of dysfunction–”

“Your issue shit doesn’t smell like roses either,” I shot back.

“It would if I had any.”

I rolled my eyes at his ability to say that with a straight face.

“And no,” he said, “it’s annoying, but I’m not mad.”

The tightness in my chest relaxed. “Last item. To ensure there is no slap down of a Sexual Harassment 101 course on our,” I circled a finger between us, seeking a noun that wasn’t relationship, “situation by the HR department.”

“You mean our resident dominatrix?” Rohan asked.

“Stay professional, Snowflake.”

He schooled his features into a serious expression, nodding for me to continue.

I repressed my grin at the amusement in his eyes. “To clarify,” I said, ticking the items off on my fingers. “Our future dynamic includes training, dispatching unholy spawn, and doing the horizontal mambo at every opportunity, correct?”

“Except Saturdays,” he said. “I rest on Shabbat.” The Jewish Sabbath.

My face fell and Rohan laughed. “So easy on so many levels,” he teased.

“So mind-blowing on so many levels,” I corrected, and left.