Page 8 of Spice
But then Ezra snaps his fingers, and the room changes in a puff of light purple smoke. Suddenly, there’s a massive stone altar in the center of the room, draped with velvet blankets and plush pillows. I shiver as I take it in, processing what’s going to happen on that altar.
But I’m not scared. I’m turned on. So very, very turned on.
I look away from the altar, partly so I don’t strip naked and hop on up there like a overeager sacrificial virgin, and take inthe rest of the room. Wall to wall shelves are lined with books, oils, crystals, ceremonial blades (eep, I hope we don’t need any of those), and worn grimoires.
“So, um. What…how does…what do we need to do? I mean, I know we need to have sex, but like, what are the specific mechanics of breaking the curse?” The words tumble out of me in an awkward spill, and Ezra takes my hands in his. The feeling of his skin on mine, his magic encircling me, calms me instantly.
“To break the curse, first we must bind our magics through sexual connection. To put it plainly, I need to make you come, multiple times. Every orgasm will release magical energy into our bond. The more we feel, the more energy we release into the bond, the more power the ritual will gain. I’m going to use an elixir to draw runes and sigils on your body to protect us and to control the magic. You’ve seen how powerful our connection is, the way our magics react. I don’t want to burn my house down.” Something flickers across his face, and then he lifts one of his hands, cupping my cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to you, little witch. You’re safe. I promise.”
It feels as though all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. I’m breathless, staring into Ezra’s gorgeous blue eyes, leaning into his intoxicating touch.
“Okay,” I say. “Sex magic. Got it.” I’m trying to sound cool and nonchalant, and failing miserably. I sound like the mess of hormones I am right now.
“Yes. Sex magic is one of the oldest kinds of magic. It’s ancient and powerful. Sacred. It can be dangerous without the proper precautions, but I swear to you, I know how to keep you safe. No harm will come to you during this ritual. There will be no pain. Only pleasure. Lots and lots of pleasure.”
Our eyes meet. Hold. Magic swirls in the air around us. My heart thuds against my ribs as my mouth goes dry and my knees weaken. Goddess, I’m actually doing this.
Ezra shrugs out of his wool coat, then rolls up the sleeves of his black sweater. He tosses the coat over the back of a chair as he moves towards the shelves filled with small glass bottles of various shapes and sizes, all holding liquids and oils of different colours and opacities. A few I can identify, but most are beyond what I’m familiar with.
He selects a round one with a narrow neck filled with swirling, iridescent silver liquid that moves like water but looks viscous like oil. Glass bottle in hand, he moves back towards me, not stopping until he’s standing directly in front of me.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, studying me.
I suck in a breath. Hesitate. Do I trust him? I’ve known him for an hour. How could I possibly?
But then I look at Ezra, and wonder how could I not?
“Yes. I do,” I say, nodding.
He sucks in a breath and nods in return. “Then I need you to undress.”
I let out a shuddery exhale, my heart pounding frantically in my chest. Ezra’s blue eyes glitter as I start to undress. I make quick work of my cardigan, my “girls night” graphic tee that shows three witches dancing around a cauldron, my shoes and my jeans. I meet his eyes when I’m standing in my plain black bra and light pink panties. I fight the urge to cross my arms over my soft, rounded stomach.
“All the way, please,” he says, his voice low and rough. I swallow and nod, unfastening my bra and tossing it aside. I take a breath, and then step out of my panties.
Ezra’s eyes roam over my body, and he lets out an approving groan that does wonders for my self-confidence. The room is pleasantly warm, but I still shiver at the way his eyes rake over me, lingering on my breasts as my nipples harden, tracing over my hips, down my legs. My skin feels warm and tingly in thewake of his gaze, like someone lit a sparkler and drew shapes in the air close to my skin.
He steps closer, my eyes dropping to the glass bottle in his hand. The air around us seems to hum and spark as he uncorks it and dribbles some of the liquid on his thick fingers. It looks like silk on his skin, shimmering in the candlelight. He starts murmuring incantations in an ancient language that I don’t know, but that makes the air around me vibrate and the hairs on my arms stand on end.
He starts at my collarbone, drawing a rune right in the hollow that glows a shimmery green as soon as his fingers leave my skin. The sensation is electric, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my clit. My pussy throbs and clenches around emptiness, and I bite my lip, holding back my moan. He gathers more of the liquid on his fingers and draws something else on my throat. I can tell it’s glowing gold from the way it reflects against his black sweater. Every brush of his fingers leaves me aching and even wetter than before. It’s like he’s painting me with the softest sunshine, each touch leaving me warm and glowing.
He takes my wrists, turning them over to expose the delicate skin there. His thumbs trace over the network of veins visible just beneath, and I want him to touch me like that everywhere. He draws matching sigils on each of my wrists, and when he’s finished, they glow like amethysts. I’m shaking now, a trembling mess of sensation and need. I don’t think my nipples have ever been this hard, my clit this swollen.
I feel like an orchestra, with every part of my body a different instrument, and Ezra is my conductor, guiding me through a symphony of magical sensation.
He drops to his knees, drawing a symbol on each of my hips, the vibrant sky-blue emanating from them matching his eyes. I’m barely holding myself upright at this point. My knees areweak and trembling, my legs like jelly. His strong hands grip my waist as he murmurs more spells under his breath.
“Oh!” I gasp as the magic intensifies. It’s like every rune, every sigil he’s drawn is connected by some invisible string to my clit.
From his knees, he reaches up and draws more symbols on the underside of my breasts. The white light that pours from them is ethereal. Angelic, almost. I arch into his touch as he works, and this time, I can’t stop the moan that falls from my lips.
And then I feel his lips on those sigils, pressing open mouthed kisses to the undersides of my heavy, aching breasts. He does the same to each one on my hips. His mouth is hot and reverent against my skin, and magic pulses in the air.
Every brush of his mouth sends pleasure crackling over my skin. The insides of my thighs are wet. His lips are soft, his touch achingly gentle, but there’s an intensity behind it all that has me sucking in air like I can’t breathe. The magic is building in the room, thickening the air, swirling around us. The pressure’s dropping, the way it does before a sudden summer storm.
He straightens and kisses my wrists, my throat, my collarbone, and when he pulls back and our gazes collide, I see the hunger in his eyes. He re-traces the symbol on my collarbone, making sparks dance across my skin. I feel like a live wire, every nerve ending standing at attention for him.
“Ezra,” I whisper. I feel…I don’t know. It’s too much and not enough. He leans in, his lips brushing against mine in a gentle kiss, anchoring me.
