Page 119 of De-Witched

Before she could move, he’d snapped a word that undid any bindings. The crack of pain barely registered.

He captured her mouth in a searing kiss, tasting both of them as he ran his hands over her breasts. She pushed into his hands, undulating. Desperate. He’d bet she was dripping and groaned at the image.

He nudged her to stand next to the bed, unsnapped her jeans himself. The zipper tugged down to reveal white lacy underwear, and why the sight of mismatched underwear excited him, he didn’t really care. All he knew was he needed to get inside them.

She moaned as his fingers trailed over her, pushing inside the panties to cup her. He’d bet right; she was soaked. Pleasure caught him in its teeth, in its demand that he make her crave him like he did her.

“Take them off.”

Their pretense was done and she complied, kicking them off and getting rid of her bra. Whether he reached for her or she dove onto him wasn’t clear, but he rolled so she was underneath, sucking in a breath at the feel of her body against his.

He slid his hand back down, lazily playing with her as he grazed his teeth over her nipple. Dark satisfaction rolled over him as she called his name, as he used his tongue to bring the nipple to an even stiffer peak. Then he moved to the other, still languid with her even as she moaned, writhed, pleaded for him to go faster, press harder against that small bundle of nerves.

Only when her breaths were sobbing did he give in and slip a finger, then two, inside, hooking them so they grazed the right spot. He used his thumb to circle her clit as he moved his fingers in a rhythm designed to drive her wild, teasing, squeezing lightly. When he added a third finger, stretching her, her hands fisted the sheets and she arched her upper body off the bed.

“Goddess,” he dragged out, unable to help quickening the rhythm, lost to her. “I love watching you like this.” For his eyes only. Primal, he shoved her over with a few quick gestures. Her cries echoed in the room as her body stiffened, quivered. Beautiful.

He didn’t give her time to recover, leaving only for the time it took him to grab a condom, roll it on. Then he was on her, thrusting home while she was still quaking. He felt the fine edge of her orgasm dance through him. And lost his mind.

He didn’t think to control the pace, didn’t stop to consider whether he could. His hips drew back, slammed in. Pleasure fired up his spine, white-hot and blinding him to anything but her.

He caught her lips in a rough kiss as he set an almost savage rhythm. Her legs wrapped around his hips, meeting him, challenging him as their mouths clashed. This was war, a battle for something neither knew. Her fingernails dug into his skin, his teeth nipped her. The air was saturated with the sounds of their bodies meeting, her short cries, his harsh breathing.

Pain mingled with the pleasure once again, heightening it, as magic leaked from him. He forced his eyes open and met glazed, pleasure-drunk blue.

When she threw her head back on a silent scream, rippling around him, he heard himself snarl, his hips increasing, hitting hard and fast and making her clutch at him in ecstasy. He couldn’t catch his breath, didn’t want to, as he watched her through narrowed eyes until he finally broke. Pleasure ripped them both apart, leaving them a shattered mess.

And as he gasped for air, sweat slicking both of them, as her nails released his skin and she sank into the mattress, the bed dropped the foot it had been levitating. The wood trembled, cracked, fell in, the mattress slamming to the floor.

Leah’s startled yelp faded as Gabriel lifted his head and stared at the wreckage.

Before he even knew what to say, Leah’s shoulders began to shake and she hooted with laughter.

Embarrassment at his loss of control faded at the sight of her, sated, sexy and so damned happy. And as an echo of the same ran through him, he gave in and laughed with her.

26

Their final two weeks together passed in a blur. Before Leah knew it, D-Day was upon them, with only one more night left.

One more night. Every time she thought it, nausea ran up her throat. She tried not to dwell—after all, what would be the point? They’d both known this was the arrangement. Short-term, no strings. Except now they’d got to this point, Leah wanted to take some strings, wrap them around Gabriel, around herself and knot them together.

She didn’t let it show as she maneuvered the breakfast tray up the stairs, mumbling a curse as Delilah shot past her. Rosie was hot on her heels and the orange juice sloshed in the glass, almost over the French toast Leah had sweated over until it was crisp and perfect. She righted it quickly, passing a chastising glance over her dogs as she reached the top, where they waited outside her bedroom door.

Balancing the tray on her hip, she managed to get the door open, then watched in muted resignation as Rosie charged in and made a flying leap for the bed.

Gabriel, peacefully sprawled across the mattress until this point, shot up with a pained oomph as the sprocker landed on his gut.

“Rise and shine,” Leah called out merrily as Gabriel cast her a glower she knew he didn’t mean. Not when he was already scratching Rosie behind the ear, making her back leg thump in earnest. Delilah yipped from the floor, demanding to be picked up.

“Not when there’s food,” Leah told him before he could reach down. She proffered the breakfast tray. “For you.”

“You made me breakfast?” He accepted the tray, flipping out the legs.

“In bed. And bonus, you get me, too.” She pushed Rosie off before the dog could sniff too earnestly at the French toast and pointed at both troublemakers. “Where’s Peggy? Go find Peggy.”

They gamboled off. Louie appeared two minutes later, obviously deciding the bed was better than the couch. Leah scooped him up and sat with him on her lap, sitting cross-legged and diagonal to Gabriel, who had yet to touch his breakfast.

“You like French toast, right?”

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