Page 117 of De-Witched

“It’s simple.” She pressed her mouth against his chest. Her tongue flicked out, made his breath catch. “You have to let me have my way with you. My way. My rules.”

He was always the one giving the pleasure before taking his own. It was easier to stay removed.

But this was Leah.

The hint of anxiety after he nodded was soothed by her bright smile. She tangled their fingers together as she led him toward his bedroom.

“No,” she said, command vibrating in her tone, and he turned his head to see Rosie skitter to a halt, her body drooping in denial. Delilah huffed and yipped, cantering forward despite the order.

Gabriel conjured three bones, one directly in the dachshund’s path. The way the little dog’s eyes bugged out was worth the ache that vibrated through him, clanging in his temples.

Leah’s laugh floated around him as she walked them into his bedroom. Then his back was against the closed door and her mouth was fixed greedily on his.

His hands clamped on her hips and she broke free.

“First rule,” she said breathlessly. “Hands off.”

Like she’d spoken in Cantonese and he’d forgotten a translation spell, he blinked at her owlishly.

“I’m all-powerful, remember?” She backed away, perched on his bed. She sat there, dressed in black jeans and a navy sweater covered in dog hair, curls wild. She might as well have been in sheer lingerie.

As he stood, helpless against her, she leaned back on one elbow. “Strip.”

“Sorry?”

“Strip.” Laughter sparkled in her eyes. “And make it good.”

“I’ve never told you to strip.”

“When it’s your game, you make the rules.” Her sweater slipped down, exposing her tattoo and a lacy black bra strap. “Strip, warlock boy.”

He threw her a haughty look, but his hands went to his belt. “I’m not dancing.”

“What if I gave you something to work with?” She sat up, cupped her hands around her mouth and made what he presumed she thought were beatboxing noises.

He couldn’t prevent the smile as he pulled the belt free. “This is an excellent seduction.”

She stopped, beamed. “Thanks. But it’s not a seduction, remember? I have you at my mercy.”

Yes, she did.

When he shucked his jeans and stood there in only black boxer briefs, Leah’s smile faded, and she swept her tongue over her bottom lip. Heat rolled over him as he started toward her.

Her hand flew up like a traffic cop. “Uh-uh. My game.”

“I just want to touch you.”

“My rules,” she insisted, stubbornly, then scooted off the bed. “Where do you keep your ties?”

Surprise had him gesturing at the closet before he thought better. She laughed at his circular tie rack, though what there was to laugh about, he had no clue. She selected two, a pinstripe and a solid black.

“On the bed.”

Eyeing the ties, he did as ordered, moving to the head when she gestured.

“Arms out.”

“Why?”

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