He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, there’s so much turbulence in them. So much. An immortal’s worth. I touch the corner of his eye.

“I’ve got you,” I say. And then I kiss one of his cheeks, and then the other.

Wordlessly he pulls me to him.

“Cherub,” he brushes my hair back and cups my face, “I’m not sad. I’m so very, very angry.”

Now that he says it, I can feel the emotion like it’s some sort of magic unto itself. It vibrates beneath his skin and along our connection. It makes his hands shake.

“This is the one part of me I don’t want you to see,” he says softly.

His wrathful side.

“I really hate to break it to you, Des, but I’ve already seen you angry.”

Several times. He’s always fearsome to behold.

“Not like this.” He shakes his head. “Not like this.”

His hands glide up my waist, and that’s all it takes for me to realize that even when he’s angry—maybe especially then—I want him.

His rage and his touch are stirring the siren within me. I denied her earlier. I’m not sure she’ll be denied again.

I roll my hips against his. Beneath me, I feel him harden.

Des’s hands tighten on my flesh. “Careful,” he says, in a tone that should set my teeth on edge.

I lean forward, my breath against his lips. “Or else what?” I challenge.

Des’s eyes narrow even as his mouth begins to curl into a smile. He hooks one of his arms around me and flips us so that my back is now on the ground and his hips are nestled tightly between my thighs.

“Tonight I have especially little control,” he warns. It’s only now that I notice the shadows at his back. They gather into the shape of his wings, then dissipate. Gather then dissipate. Again and again.

He really is on the knife’s edge of control.

“You’ve never been with me when my fae side comes out to play,” he says. There’s a note to his voice that is not human.

“I’m not scared of your fae side,” I say defiantly. I never was.

He clicks his tongue. “Callie, Callie,” he admonishes.

As he speaks, I feel my clothes melt off me, like they were made of hot wax and not fiber. It’s a nifty little trick of the Bargainer’s.

His clothes follow, and now I feel the hard length of him pressing against my pelvis.

He drops down to take a breast into his mouth. That’s all it takes for my skin to brighten and my siren to surface.

I feel a slight shudder work through him, and I’m not entirely sure if that’s because he can sense my magic through our connection, or if my siren simply has that effect on him.

“Sweet siren,” he says between kisses, “you better sharpen those claws. Tonight I don’t plan on being nice.”

He spreads my legs wide. It’s almost lewd how open I am to him. The entire time he watches me greedily.

“Aren’t you precious to think I’m worried,” I openly taunt him. “I have my own tricks,” I tap his lips with my finger, “tricks that you are no longer … immune to,” I say, glamour filling my voice.

Des’s eyes flicker and his wings manifest, spreading wide behind him. They are backlit by the flames, and the thin membranes of them glow with pale warmth.

“I dare you, siren.” The Bargainer’s features seem to sharpen.

So the little fairy has come out to play.

This is Truth or Dare all over again. Only now, I’m the one that holds all the cards.

How utterly exquisite.

“Do your worst, Desmond Flynn,” I command him.

Something dark and obsessive and distinctly fae shines in his eyes as he pins me down to the ground, his body living shackles. I wantonly grind myself against him.

I can feel through our bond this strange need to capture and cart me away. To claim and keep.

I want it all—all his twisted, dark parts.

Without another word, he lifts my hips and savagely thrusts into me. I nearly gasp as the hard girth of his cock slides through my wetness. He takes my mouth as he pulls out, only to slam back into me, again and again.

This is no sweet claiming. This is need. This is possession. It’s everything that Des so assiduously fights against.

Damn me, I love every second of it.

“Harder,” I demand.

His lips curve up as he obliges.

It feels like more than just his cock is inside me, like all of him is surging forward and laying siege. And still I could stop him if I wanted.

If I wanted.

What I want is for him to screw me senseless and then screw me some more.

He takes my hands and presses them into the ground, holding me hostage as he pounds into me, his broad chest already slick with the first beads of sweat.

“Confess,” I command. “Confess to me what you are thinking.”

He stares down at me, a lock of hair dangling between us.

“I want to fuck you until you are mindless with want. I want to feel you squeeze my dick as you come around me. I want to die buried inside you.”

“Is this all you’ve got?” I say. “I’m disappointed.”

It’s a battle of wills at this point. His fae side pitted against my siren. His magic versus my own.

He flips me over and presses me into the ground. Leaning in close to my ear, he whispers, “We can’t have that now, can we?”

Des hikes one of my legs up and shoves his cock into me from behind. My eyes flutter at the force of the intrusion. He’s rougher than I’m used to—much rougher—and yet, my God, this is everything I never knew I wanted, and I can’t seem to get enough.

The ground chafes at my knees and breasts. Couldn’t fucking care less.

“Touch yourself,” the Bargainer orders, his magic riding the words. I’m a prisoner to them.

Of its own volition, my hand slips between my thighs, right where I’m already soaking wet. And then my fingers begin to stroke my clit.

It’s almost too much.

I arch back into Des, deepening his thrusts. I feel the slick slide of his skin against mine. In and out, in and out. I’m being rubbed in all the right places.

And then one of his hands skims my ass.

This is new. Is he going to … ?

His hand stops when it finds my other opening. He touches it, circles it, puts just the slightest pressure against it until the tip of his finger teases its way in.

“Oh my God.”

Des leans in close. “Leave God out of this, cherub. He has nothing to do with it.”

Sinful, sinful man.

He keeps thrusting, I keep touching myself, and he keeps probing. It’s that last one that’s driving me mad.

“Deeper,” I say, breathlessly. It’s more the siren who demands it than me.

I’ve never done this before. Not with any of the men I’ve been with. Not that they hadn’t tried; I just hadn’t wanted it then.

I want it now. Oh, how I want it now.

I let out a wanton moan at the sensation of having Des in me twice over.

His finger continues to press in, and I get exactly why Des rules over sex and the night and all that taboo shit that comes with it. Because this is so wrong, but it—feels—amazing.

More, more, more.

“Tell me, siren, are you disappointed now?”

“God, no,” I gasp out.

“There’s that word again.” His finger presses in deeper.

Is that touch supposed to be punishing? It’s not. Another husky moan slips out of me as my body thrums with pleasure.