Page 90 of The Witch is Back

“Yes.” He jerked his chin. “Lose the dress.”

Her hands went to the material. “My dress?”

“Or the scrap of material posing as one.”

Nerves scraped along the underside of her skin as she slid the dress up, lifting her hips to get it past her butt. She was paying attention to him so she saw how his eyes dilated, how his breath quickened at the small, unintentionally sexual movement.

Having him at her mercy was a thrill. His eyes were locked on her every motion, so she slowed down, even as her hands trembled, inching the dress higher, pausing at her breasts.

“I’m starting to feel it.” His voice was raw. It created an echo inside her. “A little more.”

She crossed her hands over, allowing the dress to fall back like a curtain over a peep show. Then, with a breath, she lifted the dress over her head. It dropped from her fingers as she dragged in a breath. An attack of shyness made her hesitate to meet his gaze.

“Oh, hell, Emma.” He swore. “I’m not going to last two minutes.”

Dizzy relief made her head spin as she looked to find his hands unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants. Nerves tried to crowd back in, but she held them back, put up a no-entry sign.

Enough. She wanted this. He wanted this. It was obvious in the way he looked at her, all black eyes and tight jaw and the way he fumbled to drop his pants.

She felt her nipples bead in her lacy navy bra, felt his eyes drop to them. She’d never been that large, but the way he stared, she felt as desirable as any movie star. He made her feel that way. For that alone, she could love him.

But as a friend, she assured herself, eyes glued to the boxers that were revealed. His erection was obvious, but he didn’t make a move to lose the underwear.

As if sensing the small amount of nerves that remained, he crawled onto the bed and half over her, pausing at her breasts. His breath hit her skin and she shivered.

“So pretty,” he praised, lifting one hand and propping himself up on the other. He shaped her with one strong palm, squeezing.

A rush of breath left her and her head fell back on a small moan as he tweaked her nipple through the lace. He thumbed it, seemingly transfixed as his hand swept back and forth. Her legs moved restlessly under him. Then, as her hands gripped the sheets, he bent his head and sucked the nipple into his mouth, tonguing it as her back arched.

He moved his attention to her other breast, palming the first as he kissed and nipped the other. She was a mass of sensation, zero to sixty in three seconds.

Tension built inside her. She released the sheets and caught his hair, tugging him. He complained but came willingly enough for her kiss. He relaxed more of his weight onto her as their mouths clashed, a heated kiss this time with teeth and tongue that only built the black hole of sensation that screamed inside her.

Her skin shuddered as she felt his telekinetic touch ease up her thigh. As his hand continued to manipulate her breast, he eased a telekinetic finger under the scrap of panties she’d conjured, cupped her.

She cried out, losing his mouth, quaking.

He made a growling kind of noise. “That’s it. Go on. Go over, Emma.”

He pressed harder, finding and plucking her clitoris in a rhythm designed to make her insane. Back and forth, squeeze, release, squeeze, release, squeeze...

The black hole swallowed her, chewed her up and spat her out the other side, shuddering, weak, damp. Books from the shelf on the wall had flown off onto the floor, heaped in a display of loss of control.

Bastian was tense above her, obvious appreciation across a face drawn taut with passion. “Yes” was all he said, before he kissed her hard. “Again.”

She couldn’t find her words, but it seemed she didn’t need them as he set about taking her back up to the peak again, sliding his hands—real and not—over her body, learning the few curves she had, tasting her skin until she was quivering again, his name a litany in her head.

Bottles on the dressing table rattled and she cast a desperate glance at them.

Bastian caught her gaze. “Trust me?”

She hesitated, then nodded. A familiar scent wrapped around her mind a second later. She bucked instinctively but he shushed her. “Just the surface,” he reassured. “No deeper.”

Her instinctive panic receded as she realized her guard was still up, that he couldn’t get through. She probed it with a mental finger as he soothed her, as he kissed her neck, her collarbones, her breasts. It was a shield of some sort, she thought, calming. To keep her escaping magic under control. He didn’t know about Sloane, about anything else.

“Okay?”

She caught the uncertainty. Her thudding heart gave an extra kick to the ribs. She nodded, and then drew him back for another kiss.

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