Page 70 of Soul of a Witch

Glimpsing myself in the large, framed mirror leaning against the wall beside the tub, I paused. I tried not to pay too much attention to my looks. I’d never had Victoria’s grace or seemingly effortless beauty. I didn’t have much skill with makeup, and honestly didn’t like wearing it. I’d always been plain; painfully average. Too tall and too skinny, as Meredith frequently pointed out to me. Jeremiah used to say I looked like a giraffe, and that insult still lived on my hunched shoulders, as if I could make myself smaller.

Now, with scars on my body and bruises on my arms, I didn’t know how Callum could look at me like that. When he looked like a Greek statue brought to life, not even his scars could diminish his looks.

Biting my lip, I turned away from my reflection. That mirror would have to go, so I wouldn’t have to see myself every damn time I came in here.

Callum stepped closer behind me, taking the towel and tossing it aside. He wrapped his arms around me and I fought the urge to hide my face.

“Why do you look at yourself with disdain?” he said, his tone truly confused. “As if any part of you is shameful. As if this beautiful body wasn’t perfectly designed to appeal to every single one of my senses. This soft skin, tender and warm.” His lips brushed against my ear, while his claws caressed up my arm. “The sound of your voice, sweet as a siren. The sight of you is enough to make me a beast with need. And thesmellof you…” He gripped me tightly, sinking with me to his knees on the thick rug in front of the mirror. As I knelt before him, he leaned close over my back. “Intoxicating. The taste of you?” His forked tongue stroked along my neck, his eyes closing for a moment. “Divine.”

He uncorked the bottle of golden liquid and poured some of it over his fingers. His hands moved slowly over my abdomen, working the oil over the scabbed cuts. It was a firm touch, but gentle enough not to hurt my wounds.

“These scars are our bond,” he said. He watched me in the mirror, fascination softening his dark eyes. “They tell the story of your survival. They’re the regalia of a warrior.”

It was impossible to tear my eyes away from the sight of his hands caressing my skin. His movements were so slow, so reverent.

“Gorgeous, every inch of you,” he murmured. “I adore the way you react to me, the sounds you make, the way you feel. So soft and yet so strong.”

His words filled me with a warm feeling, and I squirmed, unable to bear looking in the mirror a moment longer. But he immediately reached up, grabbing my face and pulling my gaze back.

“Don’t look away,” he said. “You’re exquisite.”

He dipped his fingers into the oil again, then lifted his hand, allowing it to drip over my chest. Shining droplets streaked over my breasts, and his fingers chased them, grasping me and squeezing. This gentle appreciation, the tenderness of his hold, was so unfamiliar to me it was overwhelming.

He hummed gently, his body rocking against mine. His hard length pressed against my back, tenting his trousers. I longed for the brutal ache of him inside me, demolishing every thought until nothing was left but pleasure.

“Relax,” he said. “You’re safe with me.”

He massaged me, moving from my stomach to my breasts, then my shoulders, my back. I was jelly in his hands, nearly limp as he moved me.

“I can feel your anxiety,” he said, speaking close to my ear. “How it sits inside you like a knot, how your brain feeds it lies to keep it alive. Let me help you.”

Everything felt so new, so unfamiliar, so strange. And yet…

“I trust you,” I said. He met my gaze in the mirror, and his eyes made me think of the sky just before dawn. Those deep depths kissed with light and warmth.

“Do you trust me to give you pleasure?” he said. “Or to give you pain?”

“Both.”

I wanted every experience he could give me. I’d spent my life behind locked doors, and now those doors were flung open, and I intended to indulge gluttonously.

An eager grin revealed his sharp teeth.

“Stay where you are,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

He vanished, the absence of his arms leaving me cold. He returned, carrying something in his hand.

A leather flogger with numerous soft tassels.

My eyes widened as he dragged the brown leather tails through his fingers.

“There is an entire world of sensation waiting for you,” he said. He trailed the flogger across my shoulders. “A spectrum between pleasure and pain that you cannot even imagine. I intend to show you all of it. To guide you on a journey of indulgence toward whatever bliss you desire.”

He guided me so that my back was resting against his legs. Slowly, teasingly, he caressed the tassels over my breasts, igniting a storm of goosebumps across my skin. I shivered when the leather brushed over my nipples, the buds swiftly hardening.

With a gentle hand on the back of my head, Callum pushed me forward. “Brace your hands on the mirror’s frame,” he said. “Watch while I use this flogger on your back. See how beautiful you look, how every expression on your face is a masterpiece.”

Part of me wanted to melt into the floor in embarrassment. He couldn’t mean it, not truly, because I was —

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