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She stuck her tongue out at him. “Not even if you paid me.”

Ronin’s hand slid across the small of Naia’s back, eliciting a shiver to run up her spine. “Go have your bickering match somewhere else,” he ordered. “We’re done here.”

Violet gave Naia another cheery hug before skipping to the door. “I’ll see you around!”

Noah slipped past her, head down, his energy less timid and more bashful.

Damian paused beside her, lifting an arm to run a hand over the top of his shaved head. The movement flexed his bicep, purposely flaunting the tattoo of the Blood Heretic insignia—or her face.

“Take care, Goddess,” he purred.

She responded with a dry smile.

“I’m so fucking close, D,” Ronin warned, his tone remaining casual with an impatience clipping its edges.

It prompted a laugh from Damian before he exited the room.

“Sorry about that,” Ronin sighed. “Damian’s a dick. As you learned when you first met him at the jazz bar.”

She maneuvered her body to face him, intertwining their fingers. “What were you meeting with them about?”

His other hand slid up her hip, settling on her waist. “My organization consists of three divisions. D, Vi, and Noah are their captains.”

His touch flickered a heat in her veins. “What about you, Boss? Do you have your own division?

His pupils flared, and he slipped underneath the hem of her shirt, digging the pads of his fingers into her skin. “Avi and Theon.”

Naia smiled. “And me.”

Ronin unraveled his hand from hers and brought his palm to the side of her neck, rubbing his thumb over the delicate skin of her pulse. “Personally, you’re my favorite.”

Her stomach somersaulted, turning her breath shallow. “Smooth words don’t work on me.”

Inching his lips closer, he smirked. “In case you haven’t noticed, words aren’t my thing.”

“Funny coming from a leader of a witch organization.” Naia hooked her index finger in the belt loop of his loose trousers and tugged herself into his chest.

His thumb slid down her throat and teased her collarbone. “I hate talking.”

Naia swallowed, desire fogging her mind. “You talk plenty with me.”

“Because it’s you.” His fingertips gripped her nape and hauled her into a kiss.

Taking advantage of her gasp, he slipped his tongue between her teeth. Her head spun with a mix of excitement and pleasure. A primal need to relinquish her control to him. Give him the unorganized, messy parts of herself unfiltered, unrestrained.

She nipped at his lip with her teeth, knowing the effect it would have on him.

He hauled her up by the backs of her thighs and walked them over to the sofa.

“You started this,” she teased, and he threw her back on the cushion.

“It’s your smartass mouth.” He climbed on top of her, legs pinning her down at her sides. He worked her shirt up, trailing wet kisses across her abdomen. “Damian is all talk, but you called him out, and I found it sexy as hell.”

“Of course, you would have a friend like him. You are just as cheeky as?—”

His tongue flicked her pebbled nipple, hitching her breath.

“You think I am cheeky?” he asked in a gruff voice.