Page 113 of Bewitch

A scar.

I’ve already scarred him without meaning to.

I’ll give him this, heal that hurt, but if he thinks that he can be rid of me after this without having me still under his skin, he’s wrong.

We’ve both been scarred by the other, and maybe only we can heal each other too, from this hurt and all others we’ve experienced in our lifetime.

“Do you think you can handle me now?” he asks.

Before I can have time to respond, he reaches back and shoves my legs down, freeing himself from me, but he doesn’t stop there. He spreads my legs wide apart, and I think he’s going to enter me now.

But no. He bends down and licks me.

I squirm. I’ve never experienced this before, I don’t know how I feel about it, but then he licks me again, and a desperate need for him, for anything and everything he’s willing to give me overwhelms me, and I lock my legs around him again, only this time around his neck.

“More,” I all but pant.

For a second, one tortuously glorious second, he complies, but then he draws back as much as my legs will allow, which isn’t all that much, but the loss of his mouth on me nearly deflates me immediately.

“You don’t get what you want,” he growls.

My heart almost stops. Does he mean to bring me to the brink and then walk out on me? But he’s not going to leave me here in his place, right?

“If you think you’re the only one who is going to get something out of his,” I hiss as I maneuver myself to kneel on his bed, pressing my body against his, “then you’re wrong.”

“If you think I give a flying fuck about you getting pleasure out of this—”

“I think you do,” I argue as I reach down between us. But as soon as I start to stroke him, he pushes me back down again.

This time, he does shove my legs aside so he can enter me, nice and hard. Before, in the closet, he fumbled with getting himself inside me. I hadn’t realized it was his first time either, had been too consumed with where I should put my hands and hoping he wasn’t put off by my side and only pretending to want me. Now, he knows precisely what to do, and I don’t want to even think about how many girls he’s been with since that time.

I told him my number—him and one other. I’m not sure I want to now his number.

Not because I’m judging him.

But because I’m already comparing him to, well, himself, and he has to be comparing me to those other girls.

And undoubtedly, he’s going to find me lacking.

One thrust, though, and he’s deep inside me, maybe even deeper than any of those thrusts in that awkward, cramped space, and I let out a moan. It’s almost a whimper.

“See?” I pant. “Whether you want me to or not—”

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“I haven’t had much experience—”

“So much wetter this time.”

“Before… I was scared and nervous and had no idea what to expect,” I say as I lift my pelvis to meet his long, deep strokes.

“Who says you shouldn’t be scared this time?” he asks as he picks up the pace, going even deeper and harder.

And it hurts slightly. He might’ve lost weight and put on muscle to change his size, but I swear he’s harder and longer this time.

Maybe in the closet, he hadn’t been able to get quite as up because he had been nervous then.

“Go ahead,” I challenge, lifting my chin. “Scare me.”

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