Page 116 of Soul of a Witch

Fuck, I loved that tone. Tugging my trousers down and tossing them away, I sank to my knees and gazed up at her. My cock throbbed, standing rigidly at attention as she touched my face. She brought the mead to my lips so I could drink, then placed the remainder beside the small cake and jar of cream.

She circled me, her fingers dragging over my shoulder and across my back before coming to rest on my nape. She leaned around me, one hand braced against my neck while the other wrapped around my cock.

“Spit on yourself,” she said. “Get that cock nice and slick for me.” I obeyed, and she kissed my cheek. “Good boy.”

She stroked me slowly. My hips rolled, thrusting into her hand, and she released my shaft to grip my balls instead.

“Fucking hell, you’re wicked.” I groaned, practically doubling over as she tightened her hold.

“Lie back,” she said, her voice alone nearly making me groan again. “Make me come on your tongue.”

I was flexible enough to remain on folded knees as I laid back, my back arching to accommodate the position. It kept my abdominal muscles tense, my breathing quick and shallow as Everly straddled my face. That perfect ass and pussy entirely filled my vision before smothering me, and my eyes rolled back as I sunk my forked tongue inside her. At the same moment, she gripped my cock again and stroked, fingers teasing over the sensitive ridges near my head.

“How does it taste, hellion?” she said. Her voice echoed in my ears, thrumming with magic, but I couldn’t answer with my tongue inside her. Instead, I mumbled the words against her, every movement of my lips and tongue making her twitch and shake.

Wrapping my arms around her thighs to keep her in place, I splayed the forked sides of my tongue inside her, probing in and out. I closed my mouth over her clit, sucking as she stroked me, her hand trembling slightly as she edged me even closer to madness.

“Come for me, darling,” I groaned.

As her body shook with the force of her ecstasy, a tremor of power went through the air. Goosebumps prickled over my arms — a reaction I seldom experienced, save when in the presence of extremely powerful beings.

My instinct was to rise up, to put my witch behind me and act as her guardian. But that was not my duty tonight. My witch’s power was on full display, and who was I to get in the way of it?

The Old Man was coming.

He was already close.

His blessing would not be extended to someone who was incapable of wielding their own power, let alone the power of the fae. Everly had to prove herself. Prove she was immoveable, a force of nature as great as the waves, the rumbling Earth, the churning fire at its core.

Her flesh was pulsating against my lips, my tongue. The essence of her filled my head: her taste, her scent, her writhing magic.

My hips jolted upward as she stroked me, chasing her hand. She edged me mercilessly, pursuing my pleasure right to the edge of explosion before pulling back. She rocked herself against my tongue, groaning with abandon as she lost herself in the sensation. The words were muffled against her as I begged, mindlessly pleading formore, more, more…

She got up, leaving me dazed and twitching with overstimulation. With a wave of her hand, the fire she had lit fled from around the knife, and she withdrew it from the charred pile of wood. The blade was red-hot but cooled as she held it, the heat of it not bothering her at all.

She straddled my lap, positioning herself over my cock before sinking down, impaling herself. Her eyes fluttered, rolling back the deeper she took me. She made a sound like a wild cat in heat as I filled her entirely, and traced the tip of the still-warm blade down my chest.

“Are you ready to bleed for me?” she said in a voice that would have made me fall to my knees if I wasn’t already flat on my back. She pressed the knife beneath my chin, giving me a smile that was dazzling in its beauty.

“Only for you,” I said.

She laughed softly as it pricked my skin, the slight pain making me shiver with anticipation.

“Beg me,” she whispered. The gentle part of her needed that. She needed the assurance I wanted this, I was willing, that I truly desired giving my blood and body to her.

“Please, my lady,” I said. The knife was poised threateningly above my chest. “Hurt me. Use my body, use my flesh, make me bleed.” My cock twitched inside her, so desperately turned on that I craved the sweet release that knife would bring. The blossoming pain, the heady feeling of blood loss, the magical rush that would ensue. “Cut me, please. Make it hurt. Make me feel every drop I give you.”

She drew the knife down, a long deep cut across my shoulder, and my eyes nearly rolled back. She moved her hand to grip my throat, keeping eye contact with me all the while. She made another cut, this time even deeper, ensuring my blood coated both sides of the blade.

I was suffocating and didn’t even care. She traced her fingers through the blood, playing with it, creating designs of pleasure and pain across my chest before she cut me again.

Four cuts in total, two on either side of my chest, just below my collarbones. They were already healing, but I rather liked the placement of them and considered keeping the scars as a memento. All these thoughts floated through my feral brain as the fog thickened around us, roiling over the ground like a sea.

She leaned down to kiss me, and as we did, I took her wrist and pressed it down, encouraging her to dig the blade in one more time.

She did, and I groaned aloud to feel my body split open for her. Desperate muttered words fell from my lips, switching rapidly between numerous languages because I couldn’t keep track of where or when I was in that moment. The magic around us was a drug and my brain was wrapped in a haze, but one thing was perfectly clear.

As the knife sliced me again, drawing across my chest with gentle brutality, I said breathlessly, “Fuck, I love you.”

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