His head and magic moved lower, dragging moans out of me.

He kissed my stomach.

He pushed my legs apart.

I wanted to grab his head by the hair and drag him to my aching center, but he pinned my arms down by my sides.

He tongued the inside of my right thigh.

The wait was agony.

His magic crested, spilling into the crease between my legs. The velvet heat squeezed ever so gently and released, washing over me and pulling back, faster and faster. His mouth closed over me. His tongue danced across my clit.

I screamed.

He licked me, again and again, his magic stroking me. I writhed under him. My legs shook. The bed was gone, the room was gone, and all I could do was wait, tense and hot, centered on him and my need for release. It felt like if I didn’t come now, I would die.

My body shuddered with the first pulse of my climax.

The universe exploded.

The orgasm rocked me, but that usually fleeting moment of ecstasy didn’t end. The exaltation built and built, overwhelming, pleasure so intense, so complete, I had no idea my body was capable of it. I couldn’t even breathe. My eyes snapped open and I saw him. He was above me, his eyes wild and drunk. He felt it, I realized. He felt my pleasure and he was sharing it.

Finally, the ecstasy released me, fading in pleasant aftershocks.

I slumped on the sheets, exhausted, my face damp with sweat. The magic pressure eased, still there, but feather-light now.

He was next to me, his hand stroking my side.

So that’s what sex with a tactile was like.

He blinked, clarity returning into his eyes and turning into lust. There was something hungry, and harsh, and male in the way he looked at me. He grabbed my hips and dragged me over to the center of the bed.

The velvet touch of magic between my legs grew warm, then hot, so hot I could barely stand it. It pulled me out of my drowsy bliss into awareness.

He paused over me, muscles tight on his chest and stomach, blue eyes dark, and pulled me to him, lifting my legs onto his shoulders. His warm fingers stroked my skin as he ran his hands down the length of my legs, his touch sending shivers through me.

The last echoes of the orgasm finally faded.

He planted his hands on my thighs and thrust into me.

Oh my God.

I cried out, tilting my hips, trying to take in the whole length of him. He thrust again and again, hard, relentless, dominant, every slide of his cock sending a jolt of pleasure I could feel all the way in the base of my neck. His magic seared me. All of my nerves were on fire. I gasped with each stroke. I was hot and so wet, and he kept pumping, his magic caressing my body in a steady rhythm.

Pressure began to build inside of me.

He pushed my legs apart, wrapped them around his back, and then he was on top of me. I writhed under him, trying to match his rhythm. His muscular golden body caged mine, all those muscles contracting tight, devoted to a single movement.

Ecstasy drowned me. My body contracted, trying to milk his shaft. Climax shook me again.

He growled, holding still. His eyes told me my orgasm was rolling through him and it was about to drag him under into his own release. He fought against it and pulled back.

Wave after wave of pleasure rocked me. I couldn’t even move anymore. I just lay there, limp and shaking, until it faded.

His lips were on my neck. He kissed me and pulled me on top of him, and then I was straddling his hips. He was looking at me as if I were the most beautiful woman in the world.

I reached for his hands, locked my fingers with his, and rode him. We moved in perfect rhythm, making love as if our bodies were meant to be together.

His magic wound around me. I leaned into it, my shoulders back, letting it claim me.

He was thrusting into me.

I felt the climax build. It broke like a wave. I shuddered, feeling the hardness of him inside me, and slumped on his shoulders, boneless, breathing deep, done. Sated and happier than I had ever been in my life.

He locked his arms around me and emptied himself inside me with a short rough growl. A burst of pleasure consumed me, so intense everything else paled before it, and I realized I was feeling the echo of his orgasm.

We stayed like that, pressed together, arms around each other.

Slowly Rogan lowered me onto the bed. I curled into a ball and he wrapped himself around me and pulled a sheet over us. I wanted to stay awake, to enjoy the feeling of him holding me, but instead I yawned and fell asleep.

When I woke up, the first thing I felt was Rogan next to me.

He nuzzled my neck, his hand stroking my stomach. “Are you alive?”

“The jury is still out.” I tried to smile. Pain shot through my face and I winced. “Ow.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, the painkillers wore off.” I tried to gently turn over and instead managed to hurt my whole right side. “Ow.” I finally flopped on my back.

He reached over carefully and brushed the hair from my face. Anger stirred in his eyes. “I’m an asshole.”

“You just now figured that out?”

“I should have waited.”

I gave him my best come-hither look. My puffy eyes probably made it look really stupid. “That wasn’t your decision.”

“Yes, it was.”

“What was the alternative? Leave me standing naked in your living room? Because shoes were only the first step. My clothes were coming off.”

“The alternative would’ve been not jumping you and dragging you into my bedroom like some sort of Neanderthal.”

I kissed him. “Foolish, foolish Rogan.”

“Don’t start,” he warned me.

“You realize that you will never be able to hear me say that without thinking about sex?”

He shook his head. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but that changes nothing. Anytime you say anything, I think about sex. Anytime I see you, I think about sex.”

I caressed his face. “Am I that sexy with my bruised face and messy hair?”

He kissed me, his touch light and tender. “Yes.”

“Let me see your back,” I said.

He sat up and turned. His whole back was raw. He looked like somebody had dragged him across a stretch of asphalt behind a car.

I groaned. “I should’ve put some clothes on you.”

“You should’ve left me.” He turned around and leaned closer to me. “The next time I tell you to leave me, you will go, do you understand?”

“No. I’ll do whatever I think is right.” The next time . . .

“What?” he asked.

“Will there be a next time?”

“There might be,” he said. “This mess isn’t finished. It’s a dangerous game and we’re in it now. There is no backing out.”

The memory of him limp in the circle came to me. I remembered my hands on David Howling’s head. It was too much. I covered my face with my hands.

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

“Rogan, I snapped a man’s neck with my bare hands. I don’t even know how I did it.”

“Well,” he said. “You did it well. Too well even.”

I stared at him.

“It was quick,” he said. “He didn’t suffer nearly enough. If I had gotten my hands on him, I would’ve made it last. Instead I lay on the floor, unable to move, and watched him hit you.”

I slid even closer to him. He moved to the other, less injured side of me, and pulled me to him. I lay with my head on his carved arm.

“I don’t want it,” I said.

“Don’t want what?”

“The life of a Prime. I don’t want it.”

“Too late.” He kissed my head. “No choice now.”

We’d gone through all that, and Olivia Charles was still free. As long as she remained free, none of us would be safe, and Cornelius would still be waiting for justice. We had to end it.

But even if we ended it . . . David had mentioned Caesar. Olivia wasn’t Caesar. When David mentioned her name, he did it matter-of-factly. When he said Caesar, his voice was filled with awe.

“Did Bug get anything off David’s phone?” I asked.

“It was brand new and Howling was careful about texts and calls—all went to burner phones. The texts are interesting. This thing reaches very far. At least six Houses are involved, likely a lot more. And the moment we walked into Lenora’s office, the video hit the Internet.” His lips stretched.