Page 108 of The Witch is Back

He adopted a wounded expression. “I forgot. And I did dance with you.”

She remembered. It had been a highlight of the awful night. “Blue Paige cornered me about wearing half a couple’s costume. All her lackeys made fun of me. One dance wasn’t enough.”

“I’d have beaten them up if I’d known,” he declared and pulled her against his chest. He began to sway them, and music drifted into the air from her sound system. Frank Sinatra crooned as Bastian bent his head to murmur in her ear. “I was an idiot. But not enough of one not to have my hands on you in that Jasmine costume.”

She smiled into his chest before tipping her head back. “You can’t fool me, Bastian Truenote. You kept your hands respectably on my hips and watched Kerry Whitestar the entire time.”

“Kerry... Oh. The blonde.”

“Lady Godiva.”

“Right...” He gave her a sheepish smile and turned them, dipped her. “I was a teenager, Emma. And she wore a long wig and a glamour.”

She rolled her eyes, surprisingly hard to do upside down. “I was crushed.”

“I was an idiot,” he repeated, then lifted her back up, nestling her closer. “If I could go back, my hands would have definitely slid to your bare back...waist...breasts...”

“I was fifteen, you pervert. And my mother almost fainted when she saw that costume.”

For a moment the only voice was Frank’s. Bastian leaned back, watchful, then said, “She punished you, didn’t she?”

Emma’s gaze slid to the side, remembering the lock, the key. No food for two days. “I don’t want to talk about her.” She patted his back. “I want to talk about your wearing an Aladdin outfit for me.”

He scoffed, falling into the light mood at her whim. “Never happening.”

“Not even for me?” She batted her eyes.

“You could talk me into a lot of things, Bluewater, but not a Disney prince costume.”

She smiled, rested her head against his chest as they danced.

His hands skimmed her back, down, resting on the curve where it met her butt. A shiver stole over her as he rubbed his thumbs there through the silky material of the cami top she’d worn for him.

“I was such an idiot, Emma,” he murmured into her hair, before he pressed a kiss to her temple. “How did I not see you?”

She wasn’t sure what the words meant; she only knew the way they sank into her, twisting and toying with the old feelings she kept hidden away.

Not wanting to dwell on it or ruin the mood, she lifted onto her toes, turned her head and caught his mouth. The kiss was soft but determined, one of her arms lifting up to hook around his neck.

They’d had so many kisses in the last week or so, and yet they never failed to spark inside her, humming beneath her skin. His tongue slid inside her mouth, deepening the kiss. He tasted like the chocolate from dessert.

One of his hands stroked down over her butt and anchored beneath it. He lifted her, likely using telekinesis, she knew, but still the display of strength made her melt. Her arms tightened around his neck as he walked them into her bedroom before falling with her onto the bed. Around them, a dozen candles suddenly blazed to life.

He levered himself up on one elbow and stared into her face. With light fingers, he brushed her hair out of it, caressing her cheek. Dipping his head, he brushed her lips with his, intensifying the kiss as she moved restlessly underneath him.

One of his free hands slipped under her cami top, writing sensation on her skin as he dragged his fingers to her breast. He tweaked her nipple and she jumped, tasted his smile the next instant.

She bit him. Then shoved until he rolled onto his back, displayed like a feast laid out for her. Rumpled and gorgeous and all hers to touch.

For now, she reminded herself, a pang brushed aside as she trailed a fingertip down his sweater.

“I want to taste,” she said into the candlelit room.

Moving slowly, Bastian sat up, drew his sweater and shirt over his head. He watched her with the intense focus he had in bed, where she knew only she existed for him. It was heady. Thrilling.

Emma flattened a hand on his hard chest, pushed so he lay flat and then climbed on top. She settled back on his erection, pleasure dropping her head back as it hit a sweet spot. Her back bowed as he lifted, almost by habit, to nudge her again.

“No,” she said, breathless. She’d been working on her telekinesis, and had practiced concentrating bursts of it on small areas. It was her turn to play.

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