Page 38 of My Hexed Honeymoon

The unzipping sounds loud in the silence; my heartbeat is a war drum.

Talia slides into my sleeping bag beside me, her silky hair brushing my chest and arms. “You don’t have a shirt on? What’s wrong with y?—”

I wrap both of my arms around her and haul her against my chest, dogged in my attempt to stop the chattering of her teeth.

She melts against me. “By the goddess, you’re so warm.”

“I’m basically a space heater you’ve been ignoring for days.”

She stiffens, and I regret my words, even if I meant them to be more of a light gibing. “That’s because I’m mad at you,” she says.

“Right back at you,” I grouse.

She rolls to face me, the friction of her ass against my crotch causing my fingers to twitch with desire. Then her breasts are smooshed up against me, her kissable lips so fucking close. “Why are you mad?I’mthe one who gets to be mad.”

I loosely wrap my hands around her upper arms and begin rubbing heat into them. “You defied me in front of my men.”

“You left me standing in the middle of a clearing all alone while everyone glared at me! For using magic.” Her voice breaks, but the finger she jabs into my chest is unrelenting. “Something you’re now upset at me for not being better at.”

I open my mouth to reply, but I don’t have a good response. Nothing besides a few grunted syllables that mean she has a point, even though I don’t want her to. “I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you standing alone like that.”

“It’s not just that. You pulled me in with your toasted marshmallows and including me, and I would’ve rather you just kept on being an asshole. Because for a glorious hour or so”—she sniffs, and it slays me—“that’s what it felt like. Belonging.”

A radiating ache flows outward, from my knotted heart to the tips of my fingers. For so many years, Conall and I wandered,going from not quite teens to massive teenagers without a home. We never felt particularly welcome until we carved out our own space in the Bridgewater Forest, but at least we always had each other.

I’ve only seen a sliver of the abuse Natalia suffered at the hands of her mother. I just don’t know how to reconcile the fact that she’s a witch, and witches murdered my entire family in front of me.

I hate her.

I admire her.

And without question, I want to fuck her.

It’s all consuming with her body flush against mine, but I do my best to tamp it down while I handle her bruised feelings. “You’re right, that sucks. You’ve already been ripped from your home, and the first chance you had at kicking back and having fun with the wolves, we judged you. You still can’t question my orders in front of my men.”

“Sounds like we’d better start having all our conversations away from them, then.”

I grit my teeth together, the muscles in my jaw so tight I’m not sure they’ll unlock again. “I said you have a point. No need to push it.”

“Why? Because that’s your job?” She shoves her hands into my chest, not with enough force to move me, though, because she still requires the warmth of my body.

Her skin is slowly regaining color and heat, so I mark it as a win, even if I’m now being warmed by my seething.

“I like you more than I want to,” I concede. “If that makes you feel any better.”

Her laugh is slightly choked. “That seems more like an insult, but your warmth is making me feel better.”

I curl her in closer and tuck my chin atop her head. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“Yeah, I feel that.” She adjusts again, the confines of the sleeping bag leaving her leg searching for a place to land.

I find it a home over my thigh, all the friction and her soft curves, and my dirty mind means she’s pressed up against my now-raging erection.

Since proper responses have left the building, I merely grunt.

Her sweet honeysuckle, meadowsweet scent invades my senses, my attempt not to lose my head and get entirely caught up in Natalia failing immediately.

It doesn’t help matters that I’ve grown obsessed with the idea of taking her, imagining what it’d be like over and over again. Watching her ass in those jeans through every mile and clearing and the hours without conversation—they’ve all been filled with the fantasy of Natalia, naked and writhing beneath me.

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