Page 84 of Soul of a Witch

“Pleasure yourself for me,” she said. “But don’t come until I give you permission.”

I obeyed, grasping my cock in my bound hand and stroking. Rebellious thoughts of discarding these ropes and seizing her, throwing her onto the bed, and fucking her mercilessly made my hands begin to shake.

“Be good,” she said, and I was weak for her,again.

Pricking my claws into my skin, I groaned at the sting, but it helped me remain in control. I’d had countless lovers, both dominant and submissive, beings who could play my body like an instrument; but Everly made me feel things I hadn’t experienced in centuries.

She was too pure, too sincere in her intentions. Her face hid nothing; I saw her fascination, her desire, her pleasure. Her fingers tightened on the arms of the chair, and I wished they were still gripping me instead.

I was riding the edge of orgasm, mercilessly close to losing control, held back only by my determination to obey. My eyes were locked on her, waiting, pleading silently for her lips to move and her permission to come.

“Mistress…please.”

She smiled, the expression so sudden and unbridled that I groaned, bowing my head as I kept stroking. My claws had dug in so many times that blood streaked my hand, but that only made me more feral. A beast consumed by ravenous need.

Finally, like a blessing from a goddess, she said, “Come for me, Callum.”

My mind fractured; the growl that came out of me purely animalistic. My seed spilled across the floor, pearlescent in the firelight. My body was in rapture, seized for a moment in perfect bliss as I curled forward, unable to keep myself upright. My forehead came to rest against her bare foot, dangling from the chair, and I kissed her warm skin as I said, “Thank you, Mistress.”

“You’re not done yet. Clean up the mess you made.”

Every inch of this room smelled like her. The rug, the drapes, the furniture — and yes, even the floor itself as I lowered my head to obey her command. Still tightly bound, the ropes dug in as I moved, bent over my knees to lick my own cum from the floor. Her foot pressed lightly on the back of my head, and I stroked my tongue along the wood to get every last drop.

For a moment, my cheek lay at rest against the floor, her foot still pressing me down. Like a ship in the aftermath of an ocean’s brutal storm, I drifted, quiet but tired, full of relief.

It had been decades since I’d last felt so calm; centuries, perhaps. I’d forgotten the sensation, how it melted through my body, soothing the writhing energy inside.

Her foot moved, and she softly called my name. Lifting my head, I allowed her arms to guide me closer so I could rest on her lap instead. Kneeling at her feet, my wings were limp at my sides, my face buried against her thighs as her fingers stroked through my hair.

“Did I please you?” It ached to hear myself sound so vulnerable.

“Yes, Callum.” Her voice burrowed into my very being, surrounding my heart like cradling hands. “You did so well.”

For the first time in nearly two thousand years, I felt an emotion I swore I’d never feel again. I tried to beat it down, tried to smother it with fear, but it was useless.

I’d learned long ago that love could not truly be killed.

29

Everly

As eager as I was to get back down to Sybil’s laboratory and dig through her notes, Callum insisted I couldn’t until I was confident in my ability to protect myself. I needed training; I had years of magical knowledge to absorb, and a very short time to do it.

Grams warned me the training would be exhausting – I still wasn’t fully prepared.

The weather was clear, so I took the radio out into the yard, to the rose garden behind the greenhouse. A fountain trickled nearby, crowned with a statue of a faun spouting water from its mouth. The roses were in bloom, the fruit trees were blossoming, even the vegetables were growing. The season didn’t matter to these plants; magic sustained them, and they were tended to by Darragh.

Callum accompanied us, remaining quiet throughout my lessons but watching me carefully, occasionally giving his input to adjust my technique or change my stance.

“Keep your feet planted firmly on the ground,” he said, as I attempted to shatter a row of crystal goblets set atop the garden wall. “As you release the spell, shift your weight forward as you exhale.”

He made it sound so damn easy. At least I had leather gloves now; I’d found them locked in a chest in one of the other bedrooms, alongside a grimoire written by Aunt Cynthia, my grandfather’s sister. I’d never known the woman existed, but her grimoire now sat on my bedside table, filled with her notes and experiences using fire magic.

“Let the heat build within your chest,” my grandmother said, the radio turned up as loud as possible. “Focus it there as you breathe in, then release.”

Widening my stance, I inhaled deeply. Heat gathered within me, throbbing in my chest like a ticking bomb. My hands twitched. My legs felt unsteady.

When I shifted my weight, I was off-balance. Bolts of fire shot over the wall and exploded in the sky, with a bang loud enough to hurt my ears.

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