Page 21 of War's Witch
They clock me, watching as I walk up to Cleo’s front door. I smirk, liking that they could possibly be keeping an eye out for my woman.
Raising my hand up, I knock on the door and wait.
My heart starts to pick up speed, anticipation reeling through me.
I am a forty-one-year-old man and this fucking woman has me in knots. There is no answer, so I knock harder. Then I hear it.
“Freaking hell, give a girl a chance to get out of the shower.” Her voice sends a wave of remembrance and desire through me and the time we spent in the shower.
My cock likes the thought and jerks in my pants.
The door swings open and there she is, dressed in a purple silk robe that stops mid-thigh, her hair piled up on top of her head, and her skin is damp and flushed from the hot water.
“War?” With wide eyes she looks at me, shocked as shit to see me.
“Cleo,” I greet, my voice deep. It makes her shiver, her nipples poking at the material of the robe.
We stare at each other, neither of us speaking while the shock of her seeing me wears off. Her eyes, still wide, trace my face, as if trying to piece together why I am here—why now, after eight months.
She blinks, then shakes her head like she is shaking the shock away.
“What are you doing here, War?”
I take a breath, searching her expression for any clue as to her reaction to me being here. The sexual tension stretches out between us like we only fucked yesterday.
“You left before I woke up. Don’t you think I deserve an explanation?”
She scoffs, leaning against the door jamb, shaking her head at me.
“We fucked. We had one night and that was it, War. I do not owe you anything.”
When I step toward her, her eyes widen, her breath hitches, and I smirk.
“One night. Baby, I can still feel you riding my cock. How so fucking good your pussy squeezed me.” I moan, dropping my head to her neck, licking the warm skin.
“Stop,” she says with zero fucking conviction.
“I think we should take this inside, before we give your neighbors a show.”
She sighs against me, her hand gently gripping my T-shirt.
A sudden, high-pitched screech slices through the thick tension. Cleo jerks back like she’s been doused in cold water, her fingers releasing my shirt. She blinks, fast, her gaze darting away from me, as if trying to hide her desire but also her confusion.
“You know what you feel, baby. Let me come in, so we can talk. I want to know why you left me. I wanted more of you the next day, but found a cold spot instead of a sexy warm body.”
She takes another step back, the heat in her eyes dimming as she pulls herself together, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Can we just leave everything behind from that night? It has been eight months, War. I think we have both moved on.”
Anger rolls through me at the idea of her moving on. Letting another man into her body.
“You been fucking other guys?” I snarl.
Her eyes widen but not in fear. She folds her arms, popping a hip, looking all sassy and sexy. Cleo squares her shoulders, her breathing steadier now, the flush on her cheeks fading as she straightens. Whatever hold I had on her a moment ago, it’s gone—at least for now.
“Who I fuck is none of your business, War. Just go,” she hisses.
“Not fucking likely.” I throw her over my shoulder, ignoring her pleas to stop and put her down.
