Page 15 of Witch Please

“You’re only saying that becauseyouwantmeto ‘prance’ around your stage in a silk postage stamp.” I air quoted the word prance, as if I were one of my students using that action to challenge something they’d learned.

“Geenie—” the disapproval in his voice activated something in my blood stream. Whether it was panic, attraction, fear—I wasn’t quite sure. “Stand up.”

He extended his hand towards me, and my hand was in his without question. I unfolded from the cross-legged position I’d been in against the wall, forgetting even briefly we were trapped. I also became ensnared by Sebastian’s commanding voice, the kindness of his eyes, and the siren call of curiosity at where Sebastian was leading me.

“Please put this on.” He handed me the costume I’d thrown at him. “I’ll turn around until you’re ready.”

“Sebastian…” I could feel the panic clawing its way up my throat. There was no way I would let him see me like that.

“Geenie. It’s just me. Sebastian, your friend. Of thirteen or seven years depending on whose side of the mirror you’re viewing it from.”

“I can’t do this.”

There had to be a way to get the door open. I shook it again, trying to force it to obey my wishes. I was just about to start banging when he caught my hand in his, caressing it as he placed it back at my side.

“I’m standing here in just boxer shorts. Will you put on the costume, for me? Please.”

I bit my lip, shame running ice through my veins. There was no way. Never mind the fact that I hadn’t bothered to shave at all this week—the last person in the world I wanted to see my imperfections was the man who was practically perfect.

“Okay. How about this?” he asked, his fingers tracing around the neck of my sweater. “You have a cami beneath the cardigan. Can we start with your cardigan?”

I wanted to say no, over and again. If I had seen anything on Sebastian’s face that belied the assuring words he kept muttering I would have. With shaky fingers, I loosened the buttons from their holes, and shrugged out of my cardigan. It was no different than wearing a tank top in the summer, I told myself.

“You have the most gorgeous décolletage.” Sebastian’s finger ran the length of my collarbones, tracing each protrusion. The sensation of his finger lit every nerve ending on fire and had me swaying in an attempt to stay upright.

“What about your jeans?”

A dissenting comment formed on my tongue. Taking off my jeans? That felt different. Intimate. I wasn’t sure if I could do that. As if sensing I was about to balk, he placed his hand on my shoulder, catching my gaze.

“It would be no different than a bathing suit right?”

I nodded, wordlessly giving him permission without the words my voice couldn’t form. The button of my jeans popped with ease, the zipper sliding down seemingly much faster than it typically did. As if every piece of my body and clothing has conspired with Sebastian to get me naked.

“Could it really be possible that you don’t know just how beautiful you are?”

Those serpentine words wound their way into the depths of my psyche, cradling the part of me that sat shamed and hiding in the darkest corner. The one that said I would be a laughing stock parading around in such a get up. That all the years I worked to prove my value as a scholar, the hard work it had taken to accumulate all of my academic achievements would be for naught if suddenly I was reduced to something sexual. All of those thoughts were momentarily strangled by the ten words Sebastian spoke.

Chapter 12

Imogen’s reaction to her costume made absolutely no sense. The lingerie was short, yes, but it wasn’t even provocative. The simple scoop neck showed next to no cleavage, and while there was a potential to reveal the globes of her ass if she stretched in the wrong direction, I thought it was no different than a short summer dress. Her reaction completely baffled me.

She had a point about sex versus seduction though, so I would absolutely reconsider the costume as soon as I could figure out where this insecurity had come from. If she were someone studying to be an actress, it would be a place that we could examine and utilize during scenes to highlight vulnerability. But Imogenwasa friend doing me a favor. I had to honor and hold sacred that fear. My conversation with Patrick was still on the surface of my conscience, and the last thing I wanted was for her to think me mean.

Imogen had made it to a cami and her underwear—which were well hidden behind the hem of her top. There was a clock ticking in my head, reminding me that someone was bound to come looking for us soon, and the last thing I wanted Imogen to fear was a scandal or gossip. However, I needed to create a space for her that she felt comfortable enough with her body to be on stage in something less than covered from head to toe.

“Imogen, it is you who is the goddess.”

I chanced moving close to her body. My own anatomy proved there was no lie in my statement. Today’s boxer choice left little to the imagination.

“Sebastian, I’ve seen the women you keep in your company.”

Her voice cracked. While it had been softer since we’d begun this little strip show—it had still held a tone that gave me pause. She sounded hurt.

“What kind of women are those?”

The apples of her cheeks had the most precious glow. In that moment though, the fullness of her lips had drawn into deep frown, and the soft crinkles around her eyes that normally drew you in to her kindness, had flattened as if exclamation points to the bewilderment in her eyes.

“Tall, willowy, model like, well-heeled and fashionable. I’m sure they can discuss Proust one moment, and readFifty Shades of Grayin a teddy and fuck me boots the next.”

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