Page 50 of Hexes and Exes

“Fuck.” I close the last bit of distance between us and kiss her. To trap those words so they don’t escape into the universe.To let her know that she’s wrong. And because I can’t do anything but kiss her.

Her arms twine around my neck. Mine wrap around her lush body, pulling her so close there’s not even room for a shadow between us. Everything about her is warm. Her skin, her lips, her kiss. I lean into her, pressing her against the wall. Her body writhes in my arms, her hips bucking as she rubs against me.

Ava kisses like she dances, with complete and utter abandon. I get the sense she would kiss this way even if we were in a room full of people. Her attention is completely focused on me, and I’ve never felt so enthralled.

I pull back and we both gasp for air, but I can’t stand the distance between us. Even if it’s no more than a whisper. I bury my face in her neck and suck on the skin beneath her jaw. She moans and arches her neck, her fingers tangling in my hair. My hands find their way under her top and I finally cup the incredible breasts that she’s been hiding all this time.

“Fuck,” I hiss and yank up her shirt while pulling down the cup of her bra. Ava gasps, her head falling back when my lips wrap around her nipple. I suck, and her body bucks against me. She’s too short, and this is not the ideal place, but I can’t stop touching her. I snap the button on her jeans and slide my hand between her legs.

I lift my head, panting and cursing at how wet she is. Ava grabs my face and guides me back to her mouth, moaning into another kiss when I drag my fingers through her soaked folds. My cock is so hard it fucking aches. Ava rubs her palm over my dick, and I buck into her hand.

The freezing air barely registers. The dirty alley is a blur compared to the feel of this woman in my arms.

“Oh shit.” Ava breaks our kiss, throwing her head back when I slip a finger inside her. She fumbles with my fly, and suddenlymy dick is in her warm hand. I nearly come from that one simple touch.

I rock into her touch, and Ava presses into me. Sliding in a second finger, I pull them out to circle her clit. Her nails dig into my back as she claws me closer. I’m so hard my pulse is throbbing along my length. We’re both thrusting against each other, my fingers sliding back inside her pussy while my palm rubs over her clit. Ava drags her hand up and down my shaft, and I swear to the fucking Crone, nothing has ever felt this good.

With her forehead pressed against my chest, she wraps her fingers in my shirt, holding on as if her life depends on it. Her breaths are rapid and warm against my chest. Her hand never slows its rhythm while she rocks against my hand. I tug on her hair and pull her head back to kiss her again, sucking on her bottom lip until she makes a desperate sound. Her hand tightens on my cock and I shudder. Fuck, I’m going to come.

As I work my fingers over her clit, Ava responds by stroking me harder and faster. My hips jerk in her grip and tension builds low in my belly. Ava grinds on my hand, making soft sounds that I want to devour.

“Please. Don’t stop,” Ava pants against my skin as her thumb brushes over the head of my cock. She grips me tight again and then jerks wildly against my hand. I thrust my fingers back inside her, feeling her squeeze around them as she cries out her release.

All it takes is one more stroke of her hand. My orgasm barrels through me, and I come with her name on my lips. We stay there, locked together in the alley behind the bar, catching our breath until the cold seeps into this bubble we’ve created. Ava pulls her hand away and I free mine from between her legs. I bask in the warm glow in my chest.

A truck rumbles down the nearby road, and reality hits me. I just had Ava half naked in a dank alley, when it’s freezingoutside. That’s the least concerning part of what happened. Everything about me is dark and tainted. I’m a ticking bomb, slowly counting down until I implode.

“This should not have happened. I’m not even sure how things got to this point.”

It’s too dark to see Ava’s expression, but I don’t miss the way her shoulders stiffen. She tugs down her shirt and zips up her pants.

The need to explain myself, to rationalize my words, thumps in time with my heart.

“My curse is a darkness. I won’t put someone in a position to get hurt.”

Ava doesn’t say a word as she opens the door and slips back inside the club.

23

AVA

“Ow.” My groan is raspy and dry as I crack open my eyes.

I don’t know what hurts worse, the light from the giant windows in Ambrose’s living room or the pounding in my head. After the incident with Bram in the alley last night, I got drunk. Not just a casual buzz, but the kind of drunk where things I said and did are very blurry. After the bar closed, Ambrose invited us all to his place for after hours, claiming we couldn’t end the night yet. I have a vague memory of dancing on a table, throwing up in a large potted plant, and crying all over Piper’s shoulder in the bathroom while we took turns telling each other we’re beautiful.

A crick in my neck has me wincing when I turn and take in the bodies littered around the room. Not in a murdery way, but because people passed out wherever. Stellan is sleeping on top of the pool table, clutching a stick like a teddy bear. Odie is up there with him, sleeping with her head to his feet. Roman and Josephine are snuggled up on one of the couches. I’m laying infront of the giant fireplace with a hard, tube-shaped pillow under my neck. No wonder it’s sore as hell.

We had a fire going last night, but it’s long since fizzled out, and there’s a slight breeze sneaking in from the chimney. I shiver and sit up, pulling the blanket around my shoulders.

I don’t see Piper, Ambrose, or Bram anywhere. Maybe they left at some point. Well, not Ambrose. This is his house, after all. Actually, I can see him ditching his own party if he thought there was something more interesting going on somewhere else.

I push to my feet, feeling ancient as my knee pops. I catch a glimpse of myself in a large reflective shield hanging on the wall and cringe. My hair is smushed up on one side and flat on the other. My mascara has flaked and is littering the skin under my eyes. I wipe away the black specks, but it only smears it.

Whatever. I need coffee before I deal with anything else.

I’ve been to Ambrose’s house a few times now. They call it the chateau and it’s a fitting name. His house is a sprawling mansion that sits just inside the town’s border. The exterior is Tudor revival style, and it’s nearly hidden within acres of dense wood. The inside reminds me of mansions from old movies, with dark wooden beams and wood panels. The fireplace I slept in front of is taller than me. Rows of windows are evenly spaced out on the far wall, reaching up to the nearly fourteen-foot ceiling.

It’s ironic, really, because one thing I’ve learned about Ambrose is that he’s basically the most laid-back person I’ve ever met. If anyone won’t care if I rummage around in their kitchen for coffee, it would be him.

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