Naughty Karma

above her on the bed. His earlier frenzy seemed to have eased, soothed by the meticulous way he’d familiarized himself with every inch of her bare skin. There was still something of the animal in his eyes when he looked down at her, but now he looked puzzled by her, like she was prey who’d suddenly stopped running from the hunter and the hunter wanted to know why.

She reached up, threading her fingers into the hair at the base of his skull and dragging his mouth down to hers. “Stop thinking. Just kiss me.”

And he did. But it wasn’t the kiss she was expecting. It wasn’t the feral, animalistic ride. Not at first. No, this kiss started out sweet. A closed-mouth press of lips, teasing and sliding, coaxing and luring. He waited until her lips opened on a gasp before he snuck inside, a flick of his tongue, a suck on her lower lip, a nibble on the upper. The kiss was seduction. She’d thought she was already seduced, but as he lowered his body down to press against her, she realized she hadn’t begun to comprehend the word. Especially as the first spear of magic rolled off his tongue into her mouth.

His power spread through her body, leaving a liquid warmth and sparkling eagerness in its wake. It left her aware, almost on a cellular level. Not only of him, but of everything. The air, the light, the sounds—they were all simultaneously broken down to their most base parts and elevated to their most divine level. It was exquisite, that profound awareness, and it made every touch an exercise in intensity.

She was caught up in the symphony of a dust mote sparkling in the air when Prometheus shifted, sliding down her body, and with a brush of his tongue, the first lick of magic drove high inside her, yanking her from deliciously buzzed to orgasmic in the space of a heartbeat. Karma keened and fisted her hands on the duvet, grabbing for any fixed point as the world dipped and spun. More magic rolled on a condom as his hands were occupied elsewhere. He pressed a finger into her, then a second, curving them until she moaned, taking up a rhythm that had a scream building at the back of her throat, everything tight and wet and clenching down as she reached for another orgasm, fighting for that release, until he levered himself up over her, growled, “Stop trying to control everything, damn it,” jerked out his fingers, flicked her clit with a blast of magic and drove his cock up into her as she came and came.

She lost time—a second, a minute, a lifetime—who could tell? She came back to herself moaning. He had her wrists pinned over her head with one hand, her legs drawn up and wide apart as he plunged in to the hilt. There was nothing sane or human in his eyes and she shivered, the sight of that raw animalism almost enough to send her over again.

He jerked out of her all the way and she gave a little whimper of protest, causing him to grunt, “Not hard enough.” He flipped her onto her stomach, grabbing pillows and shoving them beneath her hips until she was elevated to his liking. He slapped her hands on the headboard, holding them there for a moment as the warmth of his chest pressed along the length of her spine. He spoke against her ear. “Hold on.” Then he was sliding in, high and hard and fast, over and over, and all she could do was press back and try not to cry from the bursting intensity that exploded along every nerve ending in a series of lightning strikes as he poured himself—his magic, his body, his tattered soul—into her.

Chapter Twenty-Four Prisms, Rainbows and Kaleidoscopes

Casual sex was supposed to be fun. Fun. Karma could think of a few words that would apply, but fun was cotton candy. This was Russian roulette. This was wild, primal and animalistic. This was instinct and heat and…fucking. No. No fun here. Just bone- melting, mind-wiping, raw, hot sex.

She lay utterly spent on top of her duvet, beside a pile of pillows, and avoided looking at Prometheus. Not because she was embarrassed, but because she had a feeling it would be like looking straight into the sun. She wasn’t ready to ignite her retinas yet.

“You were right,” she said, directing the comment at the ceiling, rather than the man who had collapsed face down beside her, one arm wrapped possessively around her stomach.

“I usually am,” he mumbled into the sheet. “What am I right about now?”

“I was doing it wrong. Sex.”

He grunted. “Most people are.”

Most people aren’t doing it with you. Karma frowned, burying that thought. It was great sex. Great sex could happen with anyone. It wasn’t him. Though the magic sure hadn’t hurt. She’d never known power could do that.

Karma closed her eyes and assessed her body. Replete. That was a good word. She felt exquisitely replete. Languid and lovely…

And sticky.

As soon as she was aware of it, it began to bother her. Prometheus could probably feel fresh and clean with the same magic he’d used to get rid of the condom, and maybe other women could lie around smelling of sweat and sex, but Karma was not that woman and no amount of wild, no-holds-barred sex was going to transform her into that one. She opened her eyes and rolled out of bed, keeping her back to Prometheus as she padded to the bathroom, still not ready to look into the sun.

A warm washcloth went a long way toward making her feel human again and the bright light of the bathroom brought a welcome dose of reality. Still no regrets, but no hearts-and-flowers swoony intimacy either. It was what it was—two people coming together for one thing, and only one thing.

The woman in the mirror didn’t look any different—except for the suck mark darkening on the pink pad of her lower lip with an intimate bruise. She’d probably left marks on him too. Only on the surface though. Yes, it had felt like her very soul was splitting apart and remaking itself around a chunk of his, but that was just good sex. It wasn’t personal.

A tap on the door and at her invitation his image appeared behind hers in the mirror. Her heart rolled over with a jarring thud.

She watched him in the mirror as he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “Thinking too much again?” His lashes lifted and his onyx gaze met hers in the reflection.

Not the sun. She’d been so very wrong to even think to compare him to the sun. He was a black hole, filled with intense, frightening gravity, sucking her in. And just sex? Please. That was wishful thinking. The man who made her heart thunder in her chest like this was not just anything.

Her life had been as orderly as controlled chaos could be before she met him, but it had also been stagnant. Prometheus had certainly changed that. All work and no play really had been her motto until he showed up and started making her crazy. She’d hated his interference with her perfectly contained world, but on some level she’d looked forward to the challenge her run-ins with him always represented, to knowing that her heart would race— even if it was from vexation—and she would feel that thrill again.

He’d shaken up her black-and-white world and what had been revealed wasn’t a world of muddy gray. It was color. Prisms and rainbows and kaleidoscopes.

But she couldn’t say any of that. Wouldn’t have wanted to, even if it wouldn’t have sent him running for the hills. She didn’t want to think about how she felt about him or what the future might hold for them—it was too impossible to imagine they might actually have a future, so she closed that box in her mind and focused on the now. It was all anyone could ever be sure of anyway.

Karma turned in his embrace, hooked her arms over his shoulders and said, “Why don’t you make me forget how to think?”

Prometheus smiled, that wicked, devil’s smile, and he did.

Chapter Twenty-Five The On Switch