Page 48 of Soul of a Witch

“You understand the desire, don’t you?” Leaning into her hand, I gave her my very best I’ll-be-a-good-boy look. “It’s easier to slap me down here, isn’t it? Try it, go on.”

She didn’t move. She took her time contemplating, then said, “You killed Sam, didn’t you? I saw the Missing Person signs.”

“Sam went for a walk in the woods,” I said innocently. “At night. Very foolish of him.”

She drew her lips between her teeth, suppressing a smile. “You shouldn’t murder people, Callum.”

“Punish me for it then.”

She tapped my cheek. I refused to call it a slap. To give her a little encouragement, I snapped my teeth at her hand, fangs clipping together just inches from her fingers.

This time, her slap rang out loudly enough to echo around the room. Within a split second, horror, fear, and then excitement flashed across her face. When she saw my grin, her arousal smoldered, flaring like gasoline poured on a flame.

With a groan, I said, “That’s it, darling. Harder.”

The crack of her hand rang out again, the sting blooming across my cheek. My bliss pushed even higher, and I laughed, reveling in the pain and the way her eyes brightened at my sounds.

“No need to be gentle.” I rolled my head back, gazing up at her. “I want all the pain my lady can inflict.”

She straightened up, her expression unreadable as her clever eyes examined every inch of me.

Then she lifted her bare foot and pressed it against my chest.

“Lie back,” she said, and I obeyed. My cock was rock hard and aching; I was dizzy with need. Skirting the edge of madness to please her.

She straddled my chest and used one hand to grip around my throat. Her fingers didn’t extend far enough to throttle me, but simply the weight of her hand was enough for me. She reached beneath her soft pajama pants and grinned when an unbidden growl burst out of me.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” she murmured. She rolled her hips, and I salivated at the thought of burying my head between her legs. “Will you beg for it?”

“You’re a cruel girl, aren’t you?” I could turn the tables on her easily. I could pin her down and have her screaming my name within seconds. But the struggle to earn her approval and her permission was far more pleasurable.

Blame it on a lifetime of living as nothing more than a machine built to kill, a warrior encouraged to be as vicious and violent as possible. Pain was a familiar, understandable comfort. Control was necessary for life itself. Without someone to counterbalance my baser desires, I was no better than any other wild beast.

“A little sadist hides behind that pretty face,” I said, as my hips thrust up mindlessly. She laughed, and my cock twitched with desperation as her delicate fingers tightened their grip.

“How can I resist when desperation looks so sexy on you?” She didn’t say it like it was a line, like she was trying to flirt. She said it as if it was fact, as if she’d only just begun to understand how her own desires tied into mine.

I couldn’tmakeher dominant. I couldn’t force her to feel confident in her power. I could only guide her in the right direction, and let her make the journey.

“You’re powerful enough to kill gods.” Her hand moved slowly, her eyes fluttering as she pleasured herself. “Yet you’re allowing me to push you around. Why?”

“You give me what no one else can,” I said. I lost myself in the scent of her arousal; mind hazy, body on fire.

“What do I give you, Callum?” Her voice was a siren’s song in the fog rolling over my mind. As I bucked my hips again, her nails pressed demandingly into my throat.

“Someone to please. Someone to serve.” I could feel her fingers as they moved, hidden by flannel as they pumped in and out of her. Her eyes were half-lidded, the air around her shimmering faintly.

“I’ve never met a demon whowantsto serve a human.”

It was likely she hadn’t met many demons at all, but I wasn’t going to argue.

“When a demon becomes a warrior, we are trained to be violent.” I struggled to string together enough cohesive sentences to explain. “We are encouraged to abandon any efforts at civility or domesticity. We live to destroy. But destruction needs boundaries. Every weapon needs a handler.”

I didn’t expect to see such gentle understanding in her eyes…

Right before she lifted her arm and backhanded my face.

“Fuckyes, darling. Hurt me.” My hips thrust up and nearly threw her off balance. Her legs squeezed against my sides, and she moaned when my struggling pushed her fingers deeper.

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