Page 84 of The Fearless Witch

Her white knuckles relaxed on the headboard as she took several deep breaths through her nose. Her heart rate slowed even before she nodded, and I pressed my lips against her nape, right beside the bite mark that permanently marred her skin there.

She didn’t move when my tongue swirled down her spine, nor did she speak when I released her mouth. She stood still and waited patiently, her beautiful body on full display. I drew back, tracing the path I made with my fingers while her skin bristled at the cold touch.

The faded scars, the healing bruises, the marks even time and magic couldn’t erase… I knew and I loved them all. I had tasted each as I learned its story, then tried to replace the memory with one that would negate the pain etched into her skin.

I must have spaced out, lost in those reminiscences, because when I focused my gaze again, she was looking at me.

“Everything alright?” she whispered gently.

I studied the graceful ridge of her nose, her high cheekbones, and full lips, which she was now biting nervously.

“Everything’s perfect,” I replied before claiming them. Her eyes closed, mouth opening in invitation, and when my hand returned between her legs, she moaned. She didn’t move this time, allowing my fingers to touch however I wanted while her desire built up like a tidal wave.

I withdrew my hand to her stomach just before she fell over the edge, but a small, tortured sound was all that left her mouth. Despite the way my cock pulsated with need, I took my time as I slid it between her thighs, rubbing the tip of her most sensitive part. Another muffled groan and I broke the kiss, wanting to hear all of those sounds loud and clear.

“So fucking wet,” I teased when I finally slipped inside of her, moving ever so slowly while her walls contracted around me. “Just how I like it.”

Her mouth opened as if she was going to say something, but then just an approving “Mmm” came out. My smile widened in amusement and delight, my chest growing even lighter. There was no better feeling than watching the most powerful witch in the world hang on every word I say and do whatever I ask. Except maybe having the woman I loved trust me so completely, she put in my hands not only her life but something equally important to her—her pleasure.

Placing my hands on the headboard on top of hers, I drew back and thrust. Hard. A surprised scream echoed through the room, but I didn’t stop. She wasn’t going to fall, she wasn’t going to falter, not with me behind her. I wouldn’t let her.

I bit her neck—just enough to sting—and kept driving myself into her while my head drew dizzy with pleasure. Another cry of pleasure tore from her lips and when her legs started to shake, she tried to close them. I pushed my knees wider between hers, keeping her open for me.

Pain shot through me as I held back, prolonging the bliss while my body begged for release. Just one more minute, I could stay in this moment for one more minute.

When I finally came with a shuddering groan, I leaned on her shoulder. She stayed quiet, still, unwavering while I gathered myself. The soft caress of her fingers over mine grounded me and I slid down into bed, pulling her against me.

She draped a leg over mine, resting a hand on my chest with a hum of contentment. Within a few minutes, she was passed out. No words needed, no questions. Peace.

Trying not to wake her, I pulled the covers over us and finally, I rested.

Chapter 33

Beleth

It had been almost two thousand years since I was last tickled. It was a strange sensation—not exactly unpleasant, but definitely not something I cared to repeat, either. Still, it was annoying enough to make me want to jerk away. Only I fucking couldn’t.

I tried to get up and punch whoever was touching me, but my body was too heavy, too stiff. Did I even have a body? I must have. They couldn’t tickle my… goddamn soul.

My brain was so muddled, I was starting to sound like Cyrus. Wait…

‘I’m here,’ Cyrus spoke as if he had been waiting for me. ‘We are alive, I think.’

‘I’m not sure if I’m happy about it or pissed,’ I grumbled.

Tickle, tickle, tickle.

I wanted to yell at them to stop, but it was like someone else was in control of the vessel. And whoever it was, they had done something to it, because I had never had such a hard time getting it to move. Not even when I was dying.

Seconds turned into minutes, and with every passing one, I was growing more and more pissed. After what felt like an eternity, I managed to open one eye, then another. A bright light blinded me and I hissed at the needles that pricked my brain.

The tickling stopped, or so I thought, before something touched my face, my neck, my chest. I desperately clung to the sensation of my fingers touching something solid before I finally forced my hand to move, grabbing the source of that maddening touch. A soft gasp had me opening my eyes again and as I blinked away the grogginess, a pale face, framed by red hair, appeared in my field of vision. Staring at the woman leaning over me, I had a hard time deciding if I was awake or dreaming.

“Red?” I croaked, my throat tightening with dryness and pain.

Her expression didn’t change, but when her eyes finished inspecting me from head to toe, she sighed in what sounded like relief.

“I need to finish this. Let go.”

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