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way her hands pulled at him and his at her.
     
    Cold air played over her skin, goosebumps rising on every newly exposed inch of it. His palm slid over them, soothing them with heat, making her tingle in a different way when he pushed off her top, let her bra fall to the floor. His strong arm behind her was all that kept her from falling when he bent down to take her nipples into his mouth and his free hand slipped between her legs.
     
    “Missed you,” he murmured into her throat.
     
    She wanted to reply but couldn’t; she was too busy tugging down his zipper and trying to keep herself from exploding. All that energy buzzed inside her, so intense she shook from it, and when she fed it back to him, he shook too.
     
    They shook together. Their clothes lay in heaps on the floor. His warm skin rubbed against hers, little shocks everywhere they touched. Flames glowed from the ceiling, adding their own intimacy to the blazing golden sunset light bathing the room and their bare bodies.
     
    In the center of the bedroom stood an enormous four-poster bed, its white sheets crisp and cool. They fell onto it in a tangle of arms and legs, of searching hands and soft words.
     
    “I missed you too,” she managed to say, but he was beyond that. His body slid into hers, his power slid into hers, stronger than before. Strong enough to make her cry out and dig her fingers into his skin, strong enough to make her fight to give it back and drive him as high as he drove her.
     
    His soft moan, the faint buzz as he took what she gave him, told her she’d succeeded. He moved faster inside her, his back shifting under her hands, and returned it.
     
    It was her turn to be overwhelmed. Her turn to drown in him, to turn his energy into her own and keep it. To let their passion feed her. The intimacy of it, the sense of holding him everywhere in her body and mind, made both her human and demon hearts pound.
     
    She flipped him over, looked down at him through half-lidded eyes. Over the last eleven months she’d probably spent more time looking at him than she’d ever looked at anyone else; she’d probably spent a couple of solid weeks of her life doing nothing but looking at him. It didn’t feel long enough.
     
    She shifted her weight, rocked back and forth. He reached out to cup the back of her neck and pull her face down to his, giving her more power, taking more. Her entire body tensed.
     
    They rolled over again. No more playing. With a low, soft sound, a few words in the demon tongue, he sent power shooting through her body, coursing through her blood. Too much for her to handle, and that, coupled with his relentless movements inside her and his mouth on hers, sent her over the edge.
     
    Her last coherent thought was to give it all back to him; her last willful act before her body took over was to do so. They drifted together, riding the waves until the flames in the air disappeared and the world came back into focus.
     
    Winston Lawden— or Win, as she’d grown used to calling him—was the first person she saw when they entered the dining room an hour and a half or so later, and she was glad. She didn’t know any of the other Gretnegs very well, except for Greyson, and Win had always been kind to her. Had always seemed to be on her side.
     
    “Seemed” being the fly in the ointment. She’d never had any reason to distrust Win. But that didn’t mean she necessarily trusted him; she liked him, but she wasn’t stupid, and in the demon world, at least, her natural skepticism stood her in good stead. If “Trust
     
    no one” was a good blanket policy for life among humans, it was doubly good when dealing with demons.
     
    Winston greeted them with such enthusiasm Megan wondered if he’d been drinking. Or drinking more than normal, to be accurate; a roomful of demons could make liquor disappear faster than virtue.
     
    But when he kissed her cheek, she realized he was simply happy. Perhaps a little nervous but mostly