Page 71 of There's No Place Like Oz

Though that thought didn’t bring me much calm, despite my wishes, and I found myself under an extra-long and extra hot shower, trying to calm my thoughts. I’d moved into the Wizard’s old room—a massive yet comfortable bed chamber with a mattress that was more than double the size of a king bed, and a bath tub that was practically a swimming pool. Why the Wizard had needed such large things, I couldn’t say, but… when you occasionally wanted to take a bath with five people, there were definite perks.

I turned off the water then started drying off with green towels soft as velvet. I pulled on a satin robe—a pink one that I’d had commissioned by a local seamstress learning about new types of non-green dye—and I returned to my room for some much needed rest.

The lights were off and the shades were drawn when I entered. I scanned the darkness suspiciously, knowing I’d not left it that way. I took an uneasy step towards the first torch, when a hand covered my mouth, and my arm was twisted behind my back to the point of pain. I attempted to scream, but it was lost in the muzzle of my assailant’s heavy mitt.

I’d only been ruler of Oz for a few months now. I hadn’t made enemies yet, had I? The witches were dead—did they have family? Was this an assassin? So many thoughts swirled through my mind, all of them bad.

I struggled until I was bent over the bed, wishing I could see who’d grabbed me. My attacker bent over me, pressed his chest to my back, then he whispered into my ear: “You’re looking rather melancholy, Sorceress of Oz.” Crowe said mockingly. My heart rate immediately began to slow, and my expression flattened. He’d taken to calling me the Sorceress of Oz as a teasing blend of my time with the munchkins, who once thought me magical, and for my new status at the head of the Emerald City. I didn’t entirely hate it. “What worries are swimming around that silly little head of yours, sweet girl?”

His hand rounded the curve of my ass, dragging up my thin robe in the process. He kept his weight pinning me, while he caressed my rear.

“Have you ever considered knocking before attacking me in my own room, Crowe?” I snapped, only mildly, and somewhat dishonestly, annoyed.

“That sounds like a terrible strategy.” He cocked an eyebrow, while still rubbing me with a massaging pressure. “Imagine if I knocked and announced myself before an assassination. Just tell everyone I’m coming and give them adequate time to fight back.” He paused. “Actually, you have a point. That might be somewhat entertaining.”

I drew my lips into a line. “Are you here to assassinate me then?”

“Perhaps.” He pressed the firmness in his pants against me. “Impaling you would be my greatest pleasure.” I jerked when he slipped a finger in my ass. “But I’ll give you a chance to fight for your life first.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I pressed back into him, taking his finger in deeper. “Or would you be too scared to hurt me?”

“Heh.” Crowe forced a second finger in. I winced at his rough, dry entry. “The best part of having no conscience is getting to revel in those selfish, cruel pleasures.” He withdrew his fingers, then he pulled back and flipped me over on the bed. With a gentle kneading, he began working his palms down my shins, before he retrieved my red shoes from my bedside. He slipped a high heel onto my right foot, then he massaged my left shin before placing the other on my left foot. “The real question is: Areyouafraid of me hurting you?”

The way that question hit me must have reflected prominently in my eyes, because Crowe frowned as he looked down at me from between my legs. An expression I’d never seen from him when he had me in bed and on full display.

“Kind of.” I said, near inaudibly, before I bit my lip to prevent any further words from slipping out.

“Really?” Crowe seemed genuinely hurt by that, and I couldn’t wrap my head around how that was possible. He had never asked me to return his emotions. He seemed content with whatever it was he could already feel, and he didn’t want to give up who he was in favor of a past self that he didn’t even know.

I understood his reasoning. There was no guarantee that returning to the past would result in happiness, though I still felt guilty he’d not gotten anything from our trials. Everyone else got their wishes, but Crowe remained the same—just as broken and just as detached. Still, no matter how heartless he was when he stood up against those who threatened me, these moments where his mask slipped often made me wonder if hedidhave more feelings than he knew.

“It’s hard to explain.” I looked away, only to have Crowe reach down and grab my chin. He forced my eyes back on his.

“Try me.”

I bit my lip again, then I decided to just come out with it. Crowe had always been a good confidante. Whether he understood my struggles or not, he always listened and he never judged. A strangely nice side effect of not caring, I suppose. “You’re immortal, Crowe. Pain means nothing to you because you can’t be permanently hurt. You can’t die or suffer lifelong injuries. Whereas I—” I stopped myself, not wanting to get too emotional in front of him.

“Whereas you’re a fragile human who can be extinguished with the slightest twist of the wrist.” He raised an eyebrow. One side of his lips upticked. “Is that what you think, sweet girl?” With a sudden jerk, Crowe tugged me closer until my bare pussy hit the front of his jeans. “Well, I guess I’ll have to fix that for you.”

“What?”

He started undoing his belt. “You heard me.” That smugness on his face was more worrying than I realized. He gripped my ankles again, and he placed a kiss on the tops of each of my feet before he tugged free the tie on my robe. The satin slid off my body, leaving me completely vulnerable and exposed. But I trusted Crowe, and he was a good distraction. “Let me fix that little mortality problem for you.”

“What do you mean—” His hand was on my throat, stealing my ability to speak. He tightened his grip as he entered me, rough, hard, and sudden. He plunged in deeply, and my body was forced to compensate faster than it knew how.

Crowe stayed still inside me as he loosened his hold on my neck. He slowly and languidly drew that hand down to my chest, over my breast, down my abdomen, my naval, and settling the heel of his hand on my mound. He held me there, not moving in the slightest. “To think I’ve always thought you so very sweet, when you are so very, very dirty.” He began tracing lines up and down with the backs of his nails. He’d reach my naval, then drifted back down and back up, teasing the sensitive skin with the lightest feather touch. “Do you want me to fill you, Dorothy?” He drew out then slid back in, slow and agonizing and perfect. “Fill you with my come until it’s dripping out of you, then shove it back in until you’re mine forever?”

I swallowed while maintaining eye contact. His red, demonic irises burned into me, and my body heated at the implication. I didn’t think he could get me pregnant. None of these men were human—not anymore at least—yet, with the way he spoke, all I could imagine was him possessing me through that connection.

His forever.

But forever was such a short time for me.

He kept dancing that soft touch across my lower abdomen, while he continued to rest inside me. He was hard as all hell, and I could feel the little twitches as he resisted his own urges to fuck me properly, but he didn’t give in.

So I wrapped my legs around his waist, and I locked my ruby red heels behind him. I wordlessly held his gaze, as I clenched on him. His eyes popped just slightly when I did it again. Teasing kegels. I tightened again, and I smirked at the way he couldn’t keep a straight face no matter how much of a soulless puppet he thought he was.

“Go on then. Make me yours.”

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