Page 33 of Grimoire Girls Expulsion

She's tight and hot around my fingers, and wet enough that it's running down my wrist.

"You're dripping on the blotter," I tell her, my mouth against her.

"Then stop—oh. Oh, fuck. Stop narrating and⁠—"

I stop narrating. Her hips jerk against the shadows, the shadows hold her still, and she swears at me for it. I crook my fingers, find the place that makes her thighs shake, and stay there, licking her slowly, then faster once she starts to beg.

"Callum. Please. Right there, don't move, oh my God⁠—"

She comes fast and hard. Her thighs tremble against the shadows as her pussy clenches around my fingers, and she says my name loud enough that I'm sure someone in this house hears it. I don't care who. A moment later it hits me through the bond, a flood of heat in my chest that isn't mine, and I groan into her. My cock throbs, and for a moment I think I might come from that alone.

I don't stop. I gentle my tongue and keep my fingers in her, waiting until the shaking eases before I start again. She pulls against the shadows on her wrists, and when they don't give, she moans and calls me a bastard. I lift my mouth just long enough to tell her, "Greedy. You want another one. Give it to me." She swears at me, but her hips are already chasing my mouth. I keep going until she's begging in half words, then a little longer, because I want to feel her come again. When she does, it rolls through her slower and deeper, every pulse of it on my tongue and in my chest at once.

When I stand up, my knees are stiff, my mouth is wet, and my hands won't stay steady. She's wrecked, her hair dried into tangles and her chest heaving, and she watches me with her lips parted, hungry.

She grabs for my belt with both hands. The shadows let her—they let go of her wrists the second she pulls against them, which I didn't ask them to do.

I notice it, though I don't get the chance to think about it, because she has my belt open, my fly down, and her hand inside my briefs. She wraps her fingers around my cock and strokes me once, slowly, from root to head, and I forget whatever I was about to think.

"I want you inside me," she says. "Now. Please. I've wanted it since I walked in here and found you glaring at a puddle."

I don't take my clothes all the way off, because I don't have the patience.

"You're still wearing your shirt," she complains.

"I'm busy," I say into her neck.

She shoves my trousers and briefs down over my hips. I get my hands under her thighs and lift her off the desk, and she locks her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck. The head of my cock drags through how wet she is. She reaches down between us to guide me, and we both groan as I push into her standing up.

She's so slick I slide all the way in at once. She's hot and tight, still fluttering from coming, and she squeezes around me on purpose, smug about it, when I make a noise I've never made in my life.

I stand in the middle of the study with her wrapped around me and my cock buried in her, and I can't think at all. My balls are drawn up tight and aching. If I move now I'll come, and I refuse to come before I've had more of her than this, so I stand there shaking with my hands full of her and hold still.

"Move," she tells me, against my mouth.

I move. I hold her by the hips and fuck up into her, hard, lifting her and bringing her down onto me. She clings to my shoulders and bites my neck to keep quiet, which doesn't work. Every thrust reaches me from both sides at once—the heat of her around my cock, and her pleasure coming through the bond and landing in my chest beside mine.

"Look at you," I tell her. "Taking all of it. You're so wet I can hear it."

"Don't you dare get smug." She digs her heels into the backs of my thighs. "Harder. You won't drop me."

"I know I won't." I tighten my grip on her hips to prove it.

The shadows wrap around us, around her back and my waist, tighter and tighter, binding us together so completely that I couldn't put her down now if the house caught fire. I'm holding her up, and they're holding the two of us. One loops around her wrists behind my neck and keeps them there.

Then she pulls one hand free of it.

She reaches past my shoulder and takes a fistful of the shadow wrapped around my back, using it to pull herself up, all the way up my cock until only the head is inside her. Then she drops back down.

It lets her.

It goes taut in her hand and holds her weight and does exactly what she wants. It answers her the same as it answers me, and it didn't wait for my permission, either. She does it again, riding me with it while I hold her hips and let her, and my magic takes her orders as easily as if she's been giving them all her life.

That frightens me more than anything has this year, and this year I was severed and dying in a motel bed. My shadows were the one part of me my mother couldn't reach and no one else could touch. Now they're Everly's as much as they're mine, and they went to her without asking me first. It has to be the bond. Since the hill it's stronger than it's ever been, and my magic can't seem to tell her from me.

It's also what pushes me over. I come so hard my knees nearly go, my face in her neck and her name in my mouth, pulsing into her until I'm emptied out. She comes again around me while I do, and I feel it both ways at once—her pussy clenching on my cock, and the heat of it coming through the bond.

I get us to the desk chair before my legs give out and sit down with her in my lap, still inside her. She puts her head on my shoulder and breathes. Our skin is sticking together where the sweat is cooling. The shadows have settled over us both, and one of them is winding idly around her ankle again. Outside the open window the crickets are going, and the lamp has burned down low.