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The elixir keeps me skyward as he drives toward the finish line. He lets go of my hips and hauls me back with an arm across my stomach, his chest flush to my spine. His mouth finds my neck, breath scorching against my skin. Then he sinks his teeth into my shoulder, and that’s when I feel it.

The instant he lets go.

Still buried deep, he groans through the release, his growl vibrating on my collarbone as he brands me there with a kiss.

It’s a mark of ownership that stings more than it soothes.

Because virgin or not, in the middle of a deviant circle in a foreign land, I belong to Oliver Whitney.

For several moments, his breaths outpace the beats of my heart. Tension bleeds from his frame, his release still echoing through our joined bodies. His fingertip trails down my thigh, the touch tender before slipping away.

He steps back, and I’m left hanging in the aftermath as the rasp of his zipper breaks the silence.

Around us, the chamber stirs. Tuxedo jackets rustle, and voices murmur as the men tend to their wives. One by one, the women descend with unsteady grace, limbs loosening as they return to the ground. But I remain suspended, a trussed offering, the storm quieting around me while it still screams through my blood.

Oliver begins to take down his masterpiece. As he lowers me to my feet, sweat and pheromones coat my skin. My thighs tremble, nipples numb beneath jeweled vises. He removes the clamps, unwinds cords and ribbons, his touch no longer possessive.

Now it’s worshipful.

Free of restraints, I sink against him, intoxicated by endorphins and boneless with need. He embraces me in the quiet, and then, with a reverent whisper meant only for me…

“Thank you.” He brushes the hair back from my flushed cheeks. “I have the antidote. If you wait for me in your suite, I’ll reward your patience.”

I blink at him, still floating between reality and the dark euphoria of the evening. “I didn’t know there was an antidote.”

“Vance doesn’t advertise it.” He nods toward the men and their wives. “We have business to discuss, but afterward, I’ll come take care of you.”

My sex throbs in anticipation.

As Kayla and Virginia gather me between them, each taking an arm, my sluggish thoughts unravel. We make our way up the staircase, through the library, and back into the powder room, where my evening gown and shoes wait.

I halt in front of the mirror and trace the forming bruise on my collarbone. Something about the mark excites and unsettles me. I can’t explain why, but it’s visual proof that tonight happened.

Kayla helps me back into my dress and heels.

Virginia shoves an unwanted glass of water into my hands.

I set it aside, unwilling to let go of this haze.

Outside the lounge, Oliver’s security duo hovers. One steps forward and explains that the guard outside my door hasn’t returned from his break. He’ll stay behind to assist Oliver while the other escorts me back.

I can only nod, the weight of tonight’s experience silencing my tongue.

We ascend the grand staircase in silence, each footfall echoing through the late hour. At my suite, I fumble with the keycard, my nerves still misfiring. Twice, I miss the slot before the lock finally flashes green.

The room swallows me in darkness as I step inside, the heavy door slamming shut behind me. I reach blindly for the light switch I haven’t yet memorized, and that’s when I see it.

A shadow where none should be.

With a hoarse gasp, I freeze against the wall. Every nerve flares. Fear cinches my vocal cords, trapping a scream that won’t break free to alert the guard outside.

I stumble, disoriented and spiraling in terror, searching for the door handle.

Then I register it.

A voice I know better than my own.

One I thought I’d never hear again, drifting to my ears on a ghostly prayer.

“Novalee.”