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The rewinding stopped, and Phury glanced up at the vast screen. Holy . . . Christ.

It was . . . a love scene. Patrick Swayze and that Jennifer woman with the nose were working each other out on a bed. Dirty Dancing.

Cormia leaned forward in the chair, her face coming into view. Her eyes were rapt on what was up ahead, her lips parted, one hand resting on the base of her throat. Long blond hair fell over her shoulder and brushed the top of her knee.

Phury’s body hardened, his erection popping a tent in the front of his Prada trousers, laying waste to the tailored pleating. Even through the haze of red smoke, his sex roared.

But not because of what was on the screen. Cormia was his trigger.

In a flash, he remembered her at his throat, and under his body, and the SOB in him pointed out that he was the Chosen’s Primale, so he made the rules. Even though he and the Directrix had agreed that he would pick another First Mate, he could still be with Cormia if he wanted to, and if she would have him—it just wouldn’t hold the same weight in terms of the ceremony.

Yes . . . even though he would take another to complete the Primale initiation, he could still march down the shallow steps, drop to his knees in front of Cormia, and push her white robing to her hips. He could slide his hands up her thighs and spread her wide and dip down with his head. After he got her good and wet with his mouth, he could—

Phury let his head fall back on his neck. Okay, this was so not helping to slow his roll. And besides, he’d never gone down on a female before, so he wasn’t sure what to do.

Although, he supposed, if he could eat an ice cream cone, the licking and sucking would translate pretty damn well.

As would the gentle biting.

Fuck.

As leaving was the only decent thing to do, he turned away. If he stayed, he wasn’t going to be able to hold himself back from her.

“Your grace?”

Cormia’s voice froze his breath and his steps. And had his cock doing push-ups.

Out of propriety, he reminded his sex that her saying something was not an invitation to act out his on-the-knees, head-between-her-thighs, X-rated fantasy.

Fuck.

The movie theater felt as big as a shoe box as she said, “Your grace, did you . . . need something?”

Do not turn back around.

Phury looked over his shoulder, his glowing eyes casting a yellow wash of illumination down the backs of the chairs. Cormia was spotlit by his stare, her hair catching and holding the rays generated by his urge to come inside of her.

“Your grace . . .” she breathed.

“What are you watching?” he said in a low voice, even though it was perfectly obvious what was up on the screen.

“Ah . . . John picked the movie.” She fumbled with the remote, pushing buttons until the picture froze.

“Not the movie, Cormia, the scene.”

"Ah . . .”

“This scene you’ve chosen . . . you’ve been watching it over and over again, haven’t you.”

Her reply was husky. “Yes . . . I have.”

God, she was lovely as she twisted around in that chair to face him . . . all eyes and mouth, her pale hair everywhere, the scent of jasmine filling the gap between them.

She was aroused; that was why her natural fragrance was so strong.

“Why this scene?” he asked. “Why did you choose this one?”

As he waited for her to answer, his body strained, his erection throbbing to the beat of his heart. What pounded through his blood had nothing to with rituals or obligations or responsibility. It was straight-out, hard-core sex, the kind that was going to leave them both exhausted and sweaty and messy and probably a little bruised. And to his total discredit, he didn’t care that she was aroused because of what she’d been looking at. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t about him. He wanted her to use him . . . use him until he was drained dry and every inch of his body was utterly limp, even that ever-ready cock of his.

“Why did you pick the scene, Cormia?”

Her graceful hand went back to the base of her throat. “Because . . . it makes