Page 77 of Bewitched & Bewildered
I’ve never experienced it, thanks to my mother’s severe warnings.
“Good point.” He smiles softly. “I guess it’s kind of sweet… you caring about keeping me alive and all that.”
“Stop. It’s not…”
Our eyes meet, and warmth blossoms in my face and chest. With the threat of a burning town no longer hanging over our heads, my desire for him returns.
I look down.
He steps forward. I don’t notice how close he is until his finger is on my chin, lifting until I’m forced to look at him.
My chest heaves with each breath.
“I appreciate this,” he says. “More than you know. Running this shop alone is?—”
“It’s hard.”
“It is.”
My expression softens. “Oz, I…”
“What is it?” His hand moves to rest on the side of my neck.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“About what?” He smirks.
“You know what.”
“I do know.”
When I think he’s going to make me spell it out for him, he leans in.
His mouth finds mine, and there’s no question this time. There’s no tenderness. He kisses me hard. His fingers splay across my neck, resting there, never applying pressure, but…
My mind swims with thoughts. It’s too close to my fantasies of his powerful fingers pressing against my neck. I clench my thighs together.
His lips part, and this time, I’m the one accepting theinvitation. My tongue greedily delves into his mouth, hungry for a taste of him.
A grunt flows from his lips to mine. I let out a gasp as he grabs my thighs and lifts me with ease, placing me on the countertop. It’s too easy to lose myself with him, forgetting the large window revealing us to the world.
He pulls away. Our breaths are ragged. My eyes are still closed in a feeble attempt to avoid his gaze.
A soft ping hits my ears. My lids flicker open. Through a fluttering haze, I realize he’s taking off his rings.
He takes each off slowly, placing them on the countertop beside me.
“I thought of a way to thank you,” he murmurs.
“D—did you?”
He nods. I don’t dare break his gaze. His hand moves to my thigh again, but this time, it slips underneath my dark dress. He cups my heat in his large hand.
Ozan hardly touches me—there’s still fabric in the way—but he applies the slightest pressure, and I melt.
His eyes darken.
“What do you think?” he asks.
