Page 45 of Witchy Woman

This is all the soft feelings underneath, the ones that threaten to burn down all the carefully constructed walls I’ve spent so long building. An adoration that I’ve spent my life craving and pushing away.

My fingers dig into the muscles of his chest as I tip my head back to allow him better access. He practically leaps at the opportunity, sucking my lip into his mouth and nibbling on the sensitive, kiss-swollen flesh.

“Will you let me touch you?” he asks, hand tightening in my hair in a way that’s just on the right side of pleasurable.

As if I’m capable of saying anything but yes at this point. Fighting him takes so much energy, so much effort, and I can’t pretend right now. I’m exhausted and I just want him to make me feel something other than alone, scared, and angry for the first time in weeks.

“Please,” I whisper.

“While I enjoy hearing you beg,” he says, hand on my waist traveling lower until he squeezes my ass. “You never have to beg for me, Goldilocks. I’ll give you everything I have the power to give, you just have to tell me what you want.”

“I want to forget about life. To turn off my brain. To relax and feel cared for. I...” My eyes plead for him to understand.

He shushes me, face full of kindness. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. Relax.”

“I’m going to be such a pillow princess.”

He bends for a second, lifting me by the thighs into his arms. “That a fucking promise?”

I lean in close, my lips just barely brushing against his. “It can be.”

He tosses me so I fall back on the bed with a whoosh of breath. I scoot up toward the pillows as he stands there, chest heaving at the end of the bed.

Throw me around, daddy.

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined you like this? On my bed?” One knee falls to the bed as he crawls over my body until he’s hovering above me. “Do you know how often I’ve imagined what you’ll smell like? Taste like? Sound like?”

I practically pout. “Then why are you dragging it out?”

He shakes his head. “Savoring. I’m savoring every second.”

His hands find the base of my shirt and drag it up, slowly exposing each new inch of skin. When my lacy, red bralette is revealed, he groans.

“Like it?”

“You’re trying to kill me,” he replies, palming the side of my ribs. His thumbs just barely grazing underneath the lace.

“I like pretty things,” I counter. “And the look on your face is worth it.”

My shirt hits the floor with a gentle hiss of fabric. His fingers pluck at the button on my jeans before he pulls them down my legs to join the shirt.

“Give me your mouth,” he demands, all patience apparently gone. His lips are harsh, demanding, and only serve to wind my body up to a fever pitch.

His hands are everywhere. Pressing, smoothing, discovering every single inch of my body as if he may never get another chance.

That doubt is understandable.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, mouth pressing to the center of my chest. “Exquisite.”

Before I can reply, he drags down the fabric of my bralette with his teeth, sucks a nipple into his mouth, and my back bows. The wetness and the electricity meld together into an almost-but-not-quite overstimulating sensation that has me suddenly on the brink already.

“So responsive.” Pride drips from his voice as his teeth nip just a little. “So desperate for my touch. My mouth.”

“How’d I know you wouldn’t shut up in bed?” I pant, practically overwhelmed with need for him to dosomethingmore. Anything.

He chuckles, whipping the bralette over my head. “You are the most stunning creature I’ve ever seen.”

“Obviously.”