Page 22 of War's Witch
With a slap to her bare ass, she quiets down, and I grin, before lifting the material of her robe and biting her outer thigh.
“Ouch, War. What the hell? Put me down.” She thumps me on the back, earning her another spank. When I enter her living room, I see that the whole living space and kitchen are open plan.
The space fits Cleo. Cream walls with some tattoo art work around the room, and some skull decor also, like the skull planters and candles. In the corner of the room, there is a vintage looking tattoo chair, with a throw over it.
Her sofa is red/brown leather that fits the space.
I sit down, keeping her against my body so I can sit her on my lap. She struggles to get away from me, but I hold firm.
“Can we talk?”
“No. I want you to go, I am not a fucking home-wrecker. You fucking lied to me.” Her hair has shaken loose from her elastic, covering her face. I am stunned by her words, so I tighten my grip, but she stillfights.
“For fuck’s sake.” I flip us so that she is on her back and I am wedged between her legs, pinning her down.
“Let me up, War. NOW!” she screams.
“No,” I snarl. “You will fucking listen to me and answer my fucking questions. I will not hurt you, Cleo, you know this. Now quit fucking fighting me.”
She stops moving, opening her eyes and looking up at me. Her chest is rising and falling with her harsh breathing, and her robe has slipped open, giving me a view of one of her perfect tits. Needing her to fucking listen to me, I cover her up, as her eyes narrow at me in suspicion.
“If I get off you, will you not run and talk to me?”
She thinks for a second, and I believe she will toss my ass out the door, but she sighs.
“Fine.”
She sits up, adjusting the silk robe, the material flushing against her breast, and I have never been jealous of a piece of clothing before, but here we are.
I inch back but not too far so that I cannot touch her; I need her close to me. Not being able to touch her for months is killing me. The fucking spell she put on me that night has haunted my dreams, and left me with a broken dick.
Not that I went looking to get my dick wet. It just did not work unless I was thinking of Cleo.
“Tell me why you bolted.”
She keeps her arms tightly crossed across her chest, looking out the window.
“It was a one-night situation, War, you knew this.” Her voice is firm, but I hear the slight tremor in it.
She is trying to convince herself that we had our time and it won’t happen again.
“I don’t believe you.” Her head snaps in my direction, and I grin.
Chapter
Eleven
CLEO
He’s infuriating—impossibly, unfairly gorgeous, and so damn smug with that crooked grin as he tells me that he does not believe me when I said that our night together was a one-time thing.
Eight months I have not seen him, and every single night, he’s found a way to haunt me. Showing up in the kinkiest of dreams that leave me breathless and soaking wet, tangled in my sheets, I come with his name on my lips.
Damn this biker.
Now he is here—real and solid and sexy as hell in his biker getup—looking at me with those eyes that say he knows exactly what he does to me.
“I do not care if you do not believe me, War.”
