I jumped out of the way of the pooling liquid. “What?”

Drio, staring over at her and nodding, was oblivious to my shock. “Yeah. Her glasses threw me. She studies lightning or some shit. A physicist, right?”

“Geophysicist studying electrostatics,” I parroted. Lily was the one that Rohan had written “Toccata and Fugue” for? The original lightning girl? The love of his life? I bent down to pick up the bottle shards, cutting my palm on one fat piece. Holding my bleeding hand up, I grabbed the towel that the bartender had brought to sop up the mess. “Sorry,” I said.

“Leave it. You need a Band-Aid.” The bartender jogged off.

Drio, still checking Lily out, whistled. “She’s even better looking now.” With that, he left to catch up with Samson.

I wrapped the towel around my hand. Sure, my Rasha healing would take care of this gash in a jiffy but I liked the tourniquet sensation this gave me. A sharp focused pain. I willed myself to move since I couldn’t stand here by myself, emotionally exposed like this.

My chest twisted in self-loathing as I caught sight of my reflection in the shiny mirror behind the bar. What had seemed so clever when dealing with Samson seemed so tawdry when compared to Lily.

I forced my breaths to keep time with the steady gurgle of the coffee pot by the bar sink.

The chatter of voices from the lobby washed over me, while the warm air from the register in the ceiling above me ruffled my hair.

I wished I could turn back time. Erase that night in the park with Rohan singing a song neither of us wanted to hear. Maybe without it, our fuck buddy status would have stayed easy and fun. And why force me to witness his reunion with Lily? Some sort of payback for going off-book?

The bartender peeled the towel away, tossing it into the sink behind the bar. He caught my wounded hand, turning it palm up. Although the bleeding had stopped, he pressed the fat, square Band-Aid in place with a feather-light touch. “Are you sure you’re fine?” He continued to hold my hand, a smile in his eyes.

I smiled back, my facial muscles on autopilot while my brain stuttered on Lily being lightning girl.

“She’s good.”

The bartender dropped my hand at Rohan’s growl. He gave us a long assessing look, then shrugged. “Just checking.” He disappeared into the back depths of the lounge.

I sorted through and discarded a million comments as Rohan stood there taking up far too much room and more than his fair share of oxygen. “Problem?”

He arched an eyebrow. “You tell me.”

I ripped off the Band-Aid, tossing it in the trash. The wound would be fully healed in another minute. “Did I miss the memo where I wasn’t supposed to talk to other men?”

“You’re my groupie first.”

That was technically true but to say it here? Now? I expected being made to feel second-best from my parents and from the Brotherhood, both of whom wanted, at least at some point, Ari as the bright shiny twin. No problem. I agreed with them. I was happy to be in his shadow, especially if it took the focus off my own path as Rasha.

But right now, second-best would have been a status upgrade because in the past fifteen minutes, Rohan had succeeded in making me feel like nothing.

No guy was allowed to do that to me.

Looping my fingers into his belt, I jerked his hips to mine. Rohan’s breath caught and when I brushed my lips over the shell curves of his ear, his whole body went tense. “Prove you’re worth it, baby.” Then I pushed him away, stalking off without a look back, mostly sure that he followed.

The second we got inside the empty elevator, Rohan shoved me up against the wall. I groped for the third floor button, leaning into him. He ran his hands feverishly over my body, hot tingles shivering through my breasts like a sexed-up call and answer. The focused hunger in his expression had me craving more, except my rapid breathing wasn’t all from arousal.

Given the barely banked rage evident in the tense bunch of Rohan’s shoulders, the feeling was mutual. Hopefully, he’d show no mercy in orgasm form and not body count, though I couldn’t promise the same right now.

I bit his earlobe, wanting to hurt him. Cuntessa de Spluge purred darkly.

Rohan shot me a cavalier smile in response. Holy fuck. My knees buckled.

The sprint to my room was a blur.

The second the door slammed shut behind us, Rohan edged his face in close to mine, his palm ghosting my cheek in the barest caress that sent slivery shimmers tumbling through me.

I raised my fingers to my mouth, not realizing what I’d done or that I ran them over my lips until Rohan tracked the movement, his eyes glittering dangerously.

His tongue flicked out, wetting his lower lip. He swayed in toward me and–

“No.” Taking his hands in mine, I forced them behind me. Forced him to hold me there, his rings biting into my skin. Forced him to make a decision; play by my rules or go.

Alea iacta est. For better or for worse, the die was cast.

The deep raw groan in the back of his throat was his acquiescence. He walked us over to the bed, the two of us stumbling across the carpet until the mattress hit the back of my legs.

I smiled in triumph, pressing my lips against the soft hollow of his throat and suckling the sensitive skin. The press of his body against my front was positively nuclear, but the laugh track of a Czech TV program next door, audible through the thin walls, jarred me. “Next time install me in a better class of room,” I said.

“Worried people will hear us?”

“Only if you make me scream.” He’d released my hands, so I wormed them under his sweater, my fingers splayed against the hard ridges of his abs.

“Like that’s not a given.”

I laughed.

“You doubt me?” His hand tangled in my hair and he tilted my head to nip my collarbone. He made a low sound that thrummed through him.

And me. My pulse kicked up in response. Perched on the edge of the bed, I peeled off his sweater, taking the white T-shirt underneath with it. Rohan’s body was a work of art: lithe, sculpted, and mouthwatering. I ran my hands over his biceps and around his back to between his shoulders where he had a tattoo of the word “Kshatriya,” the warrior caste, scripted in Hindi in midnight black ink. I placed my mouth to his nipple, swirling my tongue, sinking into the familiar taste of him.

Rohan sucked in a breath. He hooked his fingers into the hem of my shirt, rolling it up my sides, buttons popping as the fabric edged up, tracing slow zigzags along my skin. Snapping open my front clasp bra, his calloused hands teased my nipples, giving me a sandpapery spike of pleasure.

Dizzy, my head lolled back, my hair sweeping my shoulder blades. My lids fell half-shut, heat slid down to my stomach. I rolled the heel of my palm over his hard cock. “I love feeling you hard,” I sighed.

He nudged my skirt up to my waist. “Allow me to return in kind.” His voice rasped against my skin.

I rocked against him. “It might take a while.”

“That would be a shame.”

“Huh?”

His right hand cupped the back of my neck, his lips trailing up my throat. He sucked my ear lobe, then whispered, “The drapes are open and that apartment building is rather close. Anyone could look inside and see me thrusting into you.”

My breath hitched.

One savage tug and my underwear was flung across the room. Rohan plunged two fingers inside me.

I moaned, bracing a hand on the mattress.

“Anyone looking?” He stroked me in long, slow swipes catching my clit on each pass.

I glanced outside. There was no hiding from that window a mere foot away, putting us on display to anyone next door who cared to look. And I swear it had gotten brighter outside, all the better to spotlight us. “No,” I squeaked.

“You sure?” His voice was a dark caress.

My legs trembled. I rocked back onto the heel of one stiletto, one stocking falling down like white gossamer to my ankle.

Rohan chuckled. “You like that? The idea of someone watching us. Hidden when you’re so very exposed.” He nudged my legs wider, his fingers thrusting deeper.

“Whatever.” The word ended on a moan as my hips began to rock.

“Bent.” He sounded satisfied.

I fumbled with the buckle of his belt but he arched away from me. “Your fault.”

“As if.”

“I didn’t have exhibitionist sex before you,” I blurted out in a breathy voice, despite Cuntessa admonishing me to “admit nothing.”

“Good.” He ran his tongue again and again over the peak of my nipple before scraping his teeth across the tip. The cool air in the hotel room failed to dampen the fever consuming me.

My fingers bit into his biceps, the steel bulge of muscle barely enough to anchor me. Dear holy… “Gonna come,” I panted.

He bit my shoulder. “Not yet.” He stopped and I mewled. I fucking mewled. I was torn between smacking him for killing my momentum and thanking him for prolonging the delicious pleasure coursing through me. Again I reached for his belt and again he twisted out of reach. But he did start stroking me once more. The multitude of rings he wore added a delicious friction and everywhere his bracelet rubbed against my skin left goosebumps.

I pressed against his palm, convinced I was about to lose my mind.

His mouth was hot against my ear. “I want to fuck you up against the glass of my hotel room with all of Prague laid out before us.” He caught my finger, sucking it into his mouth, matching the tempo of his strokes. His tone was so conversational. So mild.

The surge of lust that ripped through me at that image was anything but.

He smirked at my wild shudder.

“Enough.” My blood heated at the sight of him remaining so composed, so in control, while I was coming apart. “Get on the bed,” I ordered, unbuckling my shoes and kicking them off. They fell sideways on the carpet, my stockings quickly following, topped off with the puddle of my skirt.

Rohan tilted his head to look at me standing there in my open shirt and bra, but didn’t move.

“In or out, Snowflake. I’m good either way.” Lie, but I’d finished myself off before and I’d do it again if I had to.

“You want to call the shots?” Rohan dropped to his knees before me. “Have at it.”

I could barely breathe for the emotion clogging my chest at the sight of him, this disheveled fallen angel giving me carte blanche. I suppressed my first instinct of “suck my clit.” I’d learned there were definite advantages to letting Rohan take his sweet time with all parts of my body. “Lick my thigh.”

Rohan curled a hand around the back of my knee. Head tilted, he positioned himself between my legs, the soft strands of his hair tickling my inner thighs.

I giggled until, teasingly, achingly slowly, he swiped his tongue along my skin, completing his path with a bite. That’s when I shivered. “I didn’t order that.” My voice sounded thick. My hands tightened in his hair as much for balance as punishment.

He bowed his head in atonement, pressing a kiss to the pale skin showing the faintest press of teeth marks.

“Undo your belt.”

He unbuckled it without comment, then waited, his hand on his fly, a question in his eyes.

“That too.”

The button popped open, Rohan again still. “The reins of power too much responsibility for you?” he teased when I continued to remain silent.

I caught my bottom lip between my teeth. “Considering my options. Why are you so willingly going along with this?” I didn’t trust his motives. Usually Rohan’s alphahole tendencies surfaced when I tried to direct the action.

“Because it still gets me what I want,” he said.

“What’s that?”

With a sharp jerk, he pulled his belt free from the loops. “You.”

I tackled him to the ground, tearing at his zipper. His cock sprung free. A quick sheath of latex, two hard strokes inside me, and my orgasm ripped through me. I shattered, pulled apart by the tsunami racking my body. My vision blurred, the world falling away. My head fell back as I cried out.

My cries set him off, jaw locked tight, pupils dilated, a hard shudder racking his body.

Blood pounded in my ears. If I’d had claws, I’d have unsheathed them with a snarl. I never came that fast. Never became raw desire. I’d perfected the art of keeping that side of myself in check. Until now. I didn’t want that.

Couldn’t have that.

Still laying on top of him, I seethed even as I luxuriated in the feel of him still buried inside me. Rohan was not generally a two-minute wonder. But he wasn’t freaking out that in me, he’d met the one person who challenged his precious control, was he?

He brushed aside the strands of my hair draped over us like a curtain and raised his head, moving in for a kiss.

My afterglow blew away. I rolled off of him into sitting position, pulling my shirt closed. No, he’d been in charge the entire time. Gotten exactly what he wanted and pushed me to a new edge in the process. I drew my legs in, resting my head on my bent knees, the only sounds in the room the rustling of his clothing as he dressed.

The buzz of my phone shattered the tense silence. I crawled over to the nightstand, and reached out, fumbling for it. Dr. Gelman had sent me a room number at the Bohemia International Hotel with the words, twenty minutes. Don’t be late. Brilliant. Ari’s best hope rested on an impossible time frame. “You need to go.”

Rohan didn’t answer. I didn’t take my eyes off the screen even though I was desperate to see the look on his face. See if there was longing, or regret. Or tenderness.

But what if this was just another game?