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Following an impulse that came from the Virgin Scribe only knew where, she bit down on his earlobe. The response was immediate. He barked out a curse and leaped up, pinning her to the chair, all but mounting her with lust.

Not about to shrink back, she held her hand right to his sex and worked at him, playing counterbalance to the thrusting of his lower body. He seemed to relish the friction, so she kept at it even as he took her chin and forced her head toward his.

“Let me see your eyes,” he bit out. “I want to be looking in your eyes when I—”

He released a wild groan as their stares met, and his body went tense all over. His hips jerked once . . . twice . . . three times, each spasm punctuated by a moan.

As his body expressed its pleasure, the Primale’s rapt face and straining arms were the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. When he finally settled, he swallowed hard and didn’t move away from her. Through the fine wool twill of his slacks, she felt a wetness on her hand.

“I like it when you do that,” she said.

He let out a brief laugh. “I like it when you do that to me.”

She was about to ask him if he wanted to try it again, when his hand brushed her hair back from her cheek. “Cormia?”

“Yes . . .” Funny, she drew out the word just as he had.

“Would you let me touch you a little?” He looked down at her body. “I can’t promise you anything. I’m not . . . well, I can’t promise you the same thing you gave me. But I would love to touch you. Just a little.”

Desperation stole the air out of her lungs and replaced it with fire. “Yes . . .”

The Primale closed his eyes and seemed to gather himself. Then he bent down and pressed his lips to the side of her throat. “I do think you’re beautiful, never doubt that. So beautiful . . .”

As his hands drifted to the front of her robe, the tips of her breasts grew so tight, she twisted under him.

“I can stop,” he said, hesitating. “Right now—”

“No.” She grabbed onto his shoulders, holding him in place. She didn’t know what was going to happen next, but she needed it, whatever it was.

His lips moved up higher on her neck, then lingered on her jaw. Just as he pressed his mouth to hers, a featherlight brush ran over the robe . . . to one of her breasts.

As she surged up, her nipple pushed into his hand and they both groaned.

"Oh, Jesus . . .” The Primale eased back a little and carefully, reverently pulled the lapel of her robe away from her breast. “Cormia . . .” His deep, approving tone was like a caress, nearly tangible and all over her body.

“Can I kiss you here?” he groaned, his touch circling her nipple. “Please.”

“Sweet Virgin, yes . . .”

His head went down and his mouth covered her, warm and moist, pulling gently, suckling.

Cormia threw her head back and thrust her hands deep into his hair, her legs parting for no reason and every reason. She wanted him at her sex, in any way he would come at her—

“Sire?”

Fritz’s respectful intrusion from the far end of the theater snapped them both to attention. The Primale quickly straightened and covered her up, even though the chair prevented the butler from seeing anything.

“What the hell is it?” the Primale said.

“Forgive me, but the Chosen Amalya is here with the Chosen Selena to see you.”

An ice wave went through Cormia, freezing out all the heat and the urgency in her blood. Her sister. Here to see him. How perfect.

The Primale got to his feet, uttering a horrid word Cormia couldn’t help but echo in her own head, and he excused Fritz with a quick movement of his hand. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Yes, sire.”

After the doggen left, the Primale shook his head. “I’m sorry—”

“Go do what you need to do.” As he hesitated, she said, “Go. I’d like to be alone.”

“We can talk later.”

No, not really, she thought. Talk wasn’t going to solve any of this.

“Just go,” she said, tuning out whatever else he spoke.

When she was alone once more, she stared at the frozen picture on the screen until all of a sudden it was replaced by a black wash, and a little grouping of English letters reading Sony flashed here