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He shrugged away from the wall. “Oh please, you’re not going to hurt me, Shayla.”
She waved him toward the door. “Out, Shadows!”
“Shay—”
“Out!” Lightning crackled in her palms, singeing the air between them and making him flinch.
Finally, a normal reaction from this lunatic!
“Out!” she said again, waving.
He stepped back, and as soon as he was through the door, she slammed it shut and collapsed on the toilet lid, hanging her head between her knees.
That was a close one—not just her lightning, but…
She had nearly thrown herself at him. And throwing herself at Roman Devlin was a mistake she couldn’t afford.
A moment later, she saw his shadows creep under the door again, only this time he locked it for her.
“You’re welcome.” His voice was a husky croon.
And damn was that voice sexy.
She refused to think about it, instead clamping her legs together and squeezing the towel in tight fists, hoping—praying—the Surge would pass quickly.
It didn’t.
Three hours later, Shay tossed and turned in bed, unable to fall asleep. Usually, when a Surge this bad decided to assault her, she was lucky enough to be alone and able to deal with it in privacy.
Tonight, she had two problems, neither of which she could get rid of. One: taking care of the Surges that peaked her sexual drive usually involved a vibrator; she’d gotten so used to those little silicone miracles that she didn’t have nearly enough practice with her hand. The problem? Her vibrator was miles away, lying uselessly in the drawer of her nightstand. Problem number two: Roman Devlin was in the same room as her.
As the minutes ticked by, and she tossed and turned in bed, desire burning hot in her core, she rolled onto her side and slipped a hand between her legs.
In the bed beside hers, Roman was quiet and still. Sleeping, she hoped. She also hoped that damn dragon of his was sleeping too, or Sayagul would get her in trouble immediately with her squawking.
Slowly, she eased her hand into her underwear and began to tease her clit.
Desire swarmed her in a hazy wave, even stronger than before, and she had to bite down on the blanket to keep quiet.
Gods, it already felt so good. But she was afraid to move any faster, and the longer she kept rolling that sensitive bundle of nerves under the tip of her finger, the piercing in her clit applying pressure that was so good—but not quite enough to get her off—she realized she was in over her head.
She couldn’t do this. Maybe she should go out to Roman’s car, where she could take care of herself in private—
“Shay.” Roman’s deep, husky voice filled the room.
Her hand froze. Her clit pulsed with need.
Damn it. Did he ever sleep?
She tried to peer at him through the dark without moving, and saw that he was lying on his back. Clothes still on, one knee propped up. One of his hands lay palm-up on the bed beside him while the other brought a cigarette to his mouth, his focus on the ceiling. He took a deep drag, the cigarette burning bright red.
“What?” she bit out.
A pause. And then: “Come here.”
Goddamn it, why did that have to sound so inviting?
So inviting, in fact, that she found herself getting up and moving to the side of his bed.
