The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(89)

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.”