Page 26 of Possess Me! (I Want You To)

Prudence was silent for a few long seconds before he made a hungry, dangerous noise that had my eyes rolling back and gooseflesh shivering up my skin. He was a predator, and I had just walked into his trap.

“Princess,” he said, in that same scratchy drawl I was quickly becoming used to. The nickname didn’t sound like an insult. Just an observation. One I couldn’t even be mad about.

“Fuck, it sounds bad, right?” I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. What if it wasn’t enough? Even though I’d given him all I had. My cheeks burned. “It’s not that I don’t like reciprocating. Not at all. I love that. I really do—I just…sometimes, wish to be…”

“Owned.”

“I was gonna say wanted? But I guess ‘owned’ works too.” God, every word out of his mouth was pure sin. My hips fucked forward of their own accord, seeking friction, and the last dregs of my patience slipped through my fingers. “Now will you please, for the love of all things unholy, please-please-please—with a cherry on top touch my—ohhhh fuuuuck.”

When his hand wrapped around my dick it was bliss. Tight. Cold. Sadistic bliss. All it took was a single brush of his finger over my hole to have me seeing stars. And when I lay spent, Prudence’s presence gone once again, I couldn’t help but hide my laughter against the scratchy cotton sheets.

The truth was, I needed him.

And I knew this wouldn’t end well—it couldn’t. I knew it couldn’t. It would crash and burn—but hell—it would be one wild, delicious ride.

“Did you ‘exorcise your ghost’ yet?” I had my phone propped against a box of cereal on the table, and it buzzed against the cardboard as Violet’s tinny voice echoed on speakerphone. I debated how to answer as I shoveled Lucky Charms into my mouth, stomach growling impatiently. For me, sex was a one-way ticket to hunger town. And I was starving.

Speaking of sex…

Prudence was…holy cannoli.

He was mean, demanding, detached, hot-as-all-hell and without a doubt the best thing to ever happen to me.

“Yeah…so—about that,” I hummed, crunching through my spoonful before I poked it—now empty—at my phone with vehemence. I knew Violet couldn’t see me but that didn’t stop my gesticulating. “I’ve decided to keep him.”

“Okay, Luca.” I could practically hear her eyes roll. Okay. So we were still doing the whole Luca is mentally unstable thing. Cool. Cool-cool-cool-cool.

Actually, no. Not cool.

I needed to take a stand, and now was as good a time as any.

“Look—I love you—But if you don’t stop being a dick about this then I’m not going to tell you all the juicy bits.” My voice was probably a little harsh, all things considered. Crap. Instant regret. And this was exactly why I never stood up for myself.

“Shit—” Ah, fuck. I’d hurt her feelings. “I’m sorry if I’ve been…‘dick-ish’ I just…know more about this stuff than you. The likelihood of you actually being haunted by a ghost is literally so low it’s just hard for me to believe.”

“And who made you the expert on paranormal activity?” My cheeks flushed and I shoved my spoon in my bowl, pushing it away, no longer hungry. Colorful little cereal blob shapes slopped back and forth as the milk settled into place. “We literally binged Supernatural together. I know the same shit you do. And besides—you don’t have the same hyper-fixation I have with Dean’s ass, so I bet I was paying closer attention.”

“Dean’s ass is not the plot, Luca. That’s besides the point, though. I’m a witch. Remember?”

“Okay I get that. But like—”

“Do you get it?” Violet sighed, muttering something over her shoulder before her end of the line got quieter and her voice grew clearer. I hadn’t realized she’d been in public until suddenly she wasn’t. Living in the city had taught me to automatically tune out background noise.

“I know you’re a witch.”

“I don’t think you do,” Violet’s voice was threaded with impatience, and I quieted as I waited for her to continue. “You say that, but you don’t get what it actually means.”

The hypocrisy of this argument was hilarious. Here I was—not believing her—when I was currently pissed at her for not believing me. Man. A pit sat heavy in my stomach as I chewed on my lip, trying to decide how to navigate the rest of the conversation.

She was kinda right.

I didn’t get what she meant when she said she was a witch. To be fair, she’d never really explained what she meant. I’d just accepted it like I’d accepted her horrible country music—or the fact that she was obsessed with the worst flavor of ice cream ever. Pistachio. Ew.

Buuuut…clearly ghosts were real.

And if ghosts were real then maybe witches were too?

Shit.

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