She rolled her eyes—which isn’t an answer, Danika—handed him a mug, and wandered off toward the living room. He followed, and they sat down on her vast, purple velvet sofa, side by side. Close, but not close enough. She could never be close enough. His hands always ached to touch her, and tonight was no different—fuck, tonight was worse. But he wasn’t about to mention it. Changing into pajamas and making tea didn’t really scream Plough me, Zafir, so he wasn’t sure if their whole gentleman’s-agreement thing was still a go. If he wasn’t twice her size and strong enough to throw her around, he might be pushier about it.

But he was both those things, so he kept his hands to himself and looked down at his mug, eying the murky liquid skeptically. “Dan. There’re plants in my tea.”

“Tea is a plant, Zaf.” Her tone was severe, but when he looked up he saw her lips twitch.

“Are you trying to poison me?”

“It’ll help you sleep.”

“Don’t start complaining about my sleeping patterns,” he snorted, “or I’ll stop answering your texts at two A.M.”

“I’d know you didn’t sleep even if we’d never texted.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

Instead of pointing out the bags under his eyes, she said, “You have the energy of a newborn baby.”

He spluttered.

“Which suggests that you are, amongst other things, pure of heart and always hungry.”

“I don’t know about that first part.”

“And tired,” she continued. “You’re always tired.”

She wasn’t wrong. But she was soft—her voice, her eyes, her words—and that softness wrapped itself around his heart like a blanket.

Don’t think like that. I promise nothing good will come of it.

“While we’re on the subject,” he said, “you don’t sleep great, either.”

“I’m a machine,” she said airily.

“No, you’re not.” The words were fiercer than he’d intended. “You’re a human being, and staying up all hours of the night isn’t good for you, any more than it’s good for me. If you can sleep, you bloody well should.”

The eyeroll she gave was dismissive, but he knew the way the air crackled when Dani was thinking. And she was thinking, right now, about everything he’d just said. But all she did was mutter, “Drink your tea.”

Like an obedient puppy, he bent his head and inhaled. Caught lavender and spices, heat and comfort. “Can I ask you something?”

“When people start with a question like that, it usually means they’re about to be rude.”

His lips quirked. “I’m not trying to be.”

“Well, in that case,” she drawled.

Zaf tried his tea, enjoyed it more than expected, and sipped again. Then he nodded at the little table in front of them—the one with the golden goddess and the orange slices. “This statue, the tea, the garnet you gave me.” He’d given it back, but he still felt the phantom pressure against his chest. “What’s all that about?”

“I’m a witch.”

“Oh,” he croaked after a moment. “Witch. Okay.” Crap. Knowing Zaf’s luck, she’d received the mystical equivalent of a push notification every time he thought about her tits. “So how does that, er, work?”

Dani sipped her own tea, clearly hiding a smile. “It depends, really. It can be very personal. For me, my Nana—my maternal grandmother, Rose—she was an obeah woman. It’s a spirituality that started with enslaved Africans in the Caribbean, so it has a lot of influences and variations, but . . .” She trailed off, her eyes distant in a way that told him thoughts were arcing through her mind faster than lightning.

“Is that what you do?” he asked, nudging her gently. His knee brushed her legs, which were curled up beneath her like a cat’s.

She blinked back to him. “Oh—hardly. It’s passed down through generations, but I was never interested in learning, not until Nana died and left me her statue of Oshun. And then, of course, it was too late.” Dani flashed a smile Zaf recognized: the kind that hid grief and longing and regret and a secret wish for five more fucking seconds. Five more seconds with the person you’d lost. “I sort of cobbled things together on my own, after that, so I could feel closer to her. I’m a hodgepodge of modern witchiness, I think. Whatever feels right. Whatever feels real.”

You. You feel so fucking real to me. Zaf held out his hand, and Danika took it. The braid of their intertwined fingers, the pressure of her palm against his, lit up the shadows inside him. If this touch could take away a fraction of her sadness, too, then his right hand had never been so useful.

Which, considering how often it had wanked him off recently, was saying something.

“Oshun and I get along well,” she continued, nodding at the statue. “She’s the goddess of beauty, purity, abundance, and”—she flicked a glance in his direction, and suddenly the curve of her mouth and the sweep of her lashes became a slow, hot tease—“lust,” she finished, her tongue flicking against her upper lip. “Which is why I asked her to send me you.”

Funny thing about the human body: it went haywire so fast. Dani’s words shot through Zaf’s veins like liquid pleasure, his heart pounding like a war drum against his rib cage. In the space of a second, his cock became the center of the universe, and it fucking ached. Lust. He’d thought she’d changed her mind, which would be an absolute travesty, but the look in her eyes said she hadn’t. She hadn’t. Thank fuck.

Zaf needed to sleep with her so he could stop wanting her so bad. Needed to take the edge off, to know the unknown, because unfulfilled desire had her on his mind 24/7.

Kiss me. Cure me. Please.

Danika gave his obvious hard-on a satisfied glance and murmured, “Well, that’s encouraging. I thought you might be too tired.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Too tired for you? Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

She laughed, and just when he stood a chance of gathering actual human thoughts for a moment, maybe holding a coherent conversation to follow that I asked for you thread, she ruined everything by rising up on her knees and straddling his lap. Just like that, he couldn’t move. He might’ve forgotten how. She sank down like soft, fluid sin, her incredible arse smothering his dick, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and the tips of her breasts brushing his chest, and Zaf shouldn’t be able to feel her nipples through both their clothes, not really, but, holy fuck, he could. And judging by the flutter of her pulse at her throat, the spilled ink of her blown pupils, she felt something, too.

Just as his options narrowed to either kissing her or exploding, Dani arched an eyebrow and looked pointedly over her shoulder. “Are you enjoying that?”

Only then did Zaf realize he’d grabbed a healthy handful of her arse. Apparently, he did remember how to make his limbs move, but only for important things. Fair enough.

“Yeah,” he said honestly, and squeezed some more, his hips jerking up into her soft, warm weight. He could feel the little ripples and dimples of her skin, could feel her tattoo, the lines of ink slightly raised, and maybe it was the fact he now knew what Danika Brown’s arse felt like, or maybe it was the sound of her breathing heavy and the way she pushed against his hand, but Zaf’s dick felt like it might break in two. He was leaking pre-come so slow and steady, he wouldn’t be surprised if he soaked through his jeans.

“Well,” she said graciously, “if it helps you concentrate.”

“It does,” he lied. “So. You . . . asked for me?” He had to clarify, because it was possible Dani’s magic tea was slightly hallucinogenic and he’d only heard what he secretly wanted to.

“I asked for the perfect fuck buddy,” she said, “and various signs pointed me in your direction.”

Zaf stared. “You prayed for a fuck buddy.”

“That is correct,” she said calmly.

“You do realize,” Zaf told her, “that you’re . . . you.”

“Me?” A smile played at the corner of her lips.

“Yes, you. Danika fucking Brown. A woman who does not need divine assistance finding someone to shag on a regular basis.” People should be lining up for her attention. He’d always imagined she lived like a fertility goddess: appear to a village of cowering mortals, choose the hottest one, crook a finger. Like that.

But for some reason, Zaf acknowledging her perfection—even slightly—made Dani uncomfortable for the first time all evening. She looked away, that teasing smile fading to something more serious, her fingers fiddling with the seam of his shirt. “Well,” she murmured, “that’s rather flattering. And I do know I’m wonderfully attractive.”

Now he wanted to laugh, or kiss her, or both. Of course she knew. And of course he loved that she knew.

“But I’m not the easiest person to get along with,” she continued. “And—”

“Aren’t you?”

She faltered. “Pardon?”

“Aren’t you? Easy to get along with?” Because he’d never had any trouble.

“No, Zaf, I’m not. And I don’t want to be. So relationships aren’t my thing, but sex definitely is my thing—”

Thank fuck for that, because if he had to let go of her arse anytime soon, he might actually cry.

“—and I think you can give it to me.

No strings attached.” No strings attached? Ha. Zaf had never had casual sex in his fucking life. His relationships so far had been made of strings, and they’d only ended due to incompatibility, not because he hadn’t wanted them to last. But Dani was in his blood, and this was the only way he could have her—the only way he should want her. And the only way she wanted him.

That thought shouldn’t hurt, so he didn’t let it.