Page 14 of Enslaved By Magic

She even flashed him a decidedly rueful smile at one point saying, “It’s a good thing my bottle can heal me later, otherwise I’d still be feeling this tomorrow.”

He felt one eyebrow go up automatically. “Can it?” He frowned. “I’m not sure I like that. Not much point to putting in all the work of spanking you if it’s just going to get healed up right away,” he said, half joking really since he still wasn’t sure he believed in this magic. “Can I order you to not make it all better?”

Her eyes widened and her fork froze halfway to her mouth. She seemed to struggle for a moment, as though fighting the compulsion to answer him. Finally, after a few seconds of silence went by, she said, “Y-yes,” through gritted teeth.

Well, she’d told him that she had no choice but to answer his questions and obey direct commands, so he’d play along as though actually convinced. “I suppose since it was the first time it’s okay, but if I have to punish you again, you’re not allowed to magically make the pain go away. If you earn a spanking, I want you to get the full effect until it fades naturally,” he said. He watched her closely as he spoke, and he had to admit she was one hell of an actress if she was faking the genie bit.

Her shoulders slumped and her bottom lip shook just as though she’d gotten some terrible news. She wanted to argue it, he could see it in the woeful look that filled her eyes, but she didn’t. He wondered why; was it just pride? She did seem like the type to have trouble admitting to weakness—odd for someone who claimed to have been a slave for an untold number of years.

Or maybe not. She’d spoken briefly of a curse, and it was obvious she wasn’t willingly in service, so maybe pride was what had gotten her through the years. One thing was certain, he wanted to know more about her backstory. He suspected that an elaborate ruse would fall apart under close scrutiny. He tried to convince himself that’s why he was asking, but he knew better.

“Amari, I think it’s about time you told me the whole story of how a human ended up stuck in a magic bottle and forced to grant wishes,” he said. He settled back in his chair, relaxing with one arm casually draped across the back.

“What, now?” she asked. “Why don’t I clean up and then we can sit on the couch to talk,” she suggested quickly as she shifted her weight in her seat.

He could see she was trying to position herself so her weight wasn’t pressing on her well-spanked thighs and felt like a jerk for enjoying the fact that it was uncomfortable for her to sit. “This is fine, I’m letting the food settle to see if I’ve got room to try anything else,” he said.

She must have suspected he had ulterior motives because she gave him a suspicious look, but short of saying her butt hurt and she needed a cushion to sit on, there wasn’t much she could do to push him to move the conversation to the living room. She sighed and poked at the remaining food on her plate.

“It’s a very long story,” she said in an unenthusiastic tone.

“We have time,” he replied.

For someone who seemed reluctant to stay seated on the hard kitchen chair, she was slow to find the right words to start, but once she got going, the tale poured out of her. It was a sad story, not surprising for a woman who claimed to be cursed, and he could hear the emotion behind it, though she seemed to be trying to keep it out of her voice. Her dark eyes fixed on a point just to his left, so she was facing him but not quite looking him in the eyes when she described the circumstances that led up to her trip to the mountain.

He watched her as she told her impossible story, barely noticing she was being vague about some details because he kept getting distracted by her full lips and the way they curved to form the words. She was beautiful, painfully so since she was unavailable to him, and each day it got harder to remind himself that the long lengths of midnight hair flowing to her waist weren’t his to stroke. Her olive skin, no matter how soft and smooth it looked, was not to be touched and caressed—but that didn’t stop him from imagining pulling her into his arms and catching her lips for a kiss.

She suddenly cleared her throat, and he realized he’d been staring. “Sorry, I was lost in thought,” he said. “Can you repeat that last part?”

He straightened in his seat, forcing himself to concentrate on the story and not how close she was with only the small table between them. It was a long story, and apparently not one that was easy for her to tell. He wondered how many times she’d had to recount her history over the years—or had the people who had owned her bottle not even bothered to ask? He felt it was likely most hadn’t wanted to know. It was harder to use someone when you knew too much about them.

It seemed like an hour had passed before she finally got to the part of her entrapment, and that seemed a good place to pause. Her squirming had gotten more pronounced as her story dragged out and he began to feel some pity for her poor sore ass.

“Let’s stop there,” he said, gently, as he stood up and began to collect plates. “We can put the leftovers away and go get comfortable before you finish.”

She jumped to her feet with an eagerness that almost made him laugh, knowing what was behind her haste, but he kept a straight face while he helped her clean up. There was a relaxed companionship kind of feel to their interactions as they moved around the small kitchen and tried not to bump into each other. Afterward, they settled on the shabby old couch that took up a third of his living room.

It had nominally been doubling as her bed since her arrival, but she actually retired to her bottle to sleep, or at least that’s what she claimed. All he knew was that sometimes she was there and sometimes she wasn’t. Whether she’d turned to smoke and poured herself into an impossibly small space—that was something he wasn’t quite ready to commit to. Yet.

When he left her there and went to bed a while later, he had a lot to think about, and it kept him tossing and turning for hours. Her story had pushed him more toward believing it was all true. The fine details and the way there were no discernable discrepancies helped, but it was more the way she told it that had made a difference. There was a depth of pain and isolation in her voice that could only come from a long history of loss.

It didn’t mean she was telling the truth, but it did make it unlikely it was all a trick. She believed what she was saying, and that much he could accept, and eventually he worked it around in his head to realize he was going about it the wrong way.

He sat up abruptly, swung his legs out of bed and began to pace his small room. Maybe instead of trying to catch her out and prove it wasn’t real, he should be jumping in on the wish train with both feet. What actual harm could it do really? If she was crazy and under some delusion that she was a genie with powers, then all of that was going to unravel the moment he made a wish she couldn’t fulfill.

“Unless breaking the fantasy messes her up worse,” he said. The sound of his voice in the silent room startled him, and he realized he’d been muttering in an ongoing monologue. He collapsed back on his bed with a groan of frustration. Exhaustion finally won out and sleep overtook him, sending him off to dreams that were full of his mysterious guest.

They weren’t G-rated dreams and it wasn’t the first time he’d woken with an erection since she’d arrived. There weren’t enough cold showers in the world to wipe the attraction away. Worse, he found her creeping into his mind throughout the day. It was a distraction, her deep, dark eyes that made him feel like he was falling down a rabbit hole, her full lips begging to be kissed, and of course, the graceful way she moved, almost as if she was dancing across the floor to a song only she could hear.

The thoughts had caused a number of embarrassing moments where he had to find a way to cover the front of his jeans so the sudden bulge wouldn’t be obvious. It didn’t help knowing she would be there waiting for him when he went home. Despite telling her she didn’t have to do anything for him, she’d be in the middle of some chore when he walked in, cooking or cleaning and seeming so domestic. He was uncomfortable with how right it felt to walk in the door and find a homecooked meal waiting for him. Uncomfortable with how normal it was to move around the kitchen together cleaning up the dishes after they ate.

They weren’t in a relationship even if there were overtones of one, and that was painful because he was starting to want to explore that, but there was no way she could fill that role with him. It didn’t matter if she was a magical genie or some poor deluded girl who’d picked him to focus on, neither was going to lead to romance. It would be nice if she’d stop being so damn sexy though, he thought with a sigh as he was driving home the next day.

Without making a conscious decision, he passed his house and kept driving, taking the familiar route to his uncle’s house. He didn’t realize until he made the turn, but by then he’d decided it wasn’t a terrible idea. Uncle Esra was the one he always looked to for advice when he needed it. Without a father, he’d grown up turning to his uncle for the male influence in his life, and he’d never needed advice more than he did now.

He had absolutely no idea how he was going to explain the situation, and he felt a bit foolish when they retired to the shop out back for a conversation, and he suddenly found himself without the words to even start. His uncle gave him a curious look, but he was a man who didn’t like to stand around being idle, so he settled on a stool and got to work sanding a piece of wood.

After a minute or so, Luke dragged another stool over to sit opposite and picked up a piece of sandpaper to help. They worked in silence, a cloud of wood dust filling the air between them before Luke finally cleared his throat and plunged in.

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