“Not yet, Violet. First, I want another taste.”
My mouth descends on her silken flesh, licking and sucking, fucking her with my tongue while I tease her clit with the device, her thighs trembling, her breathy moans making me so hard it aches, and when she finally rakes her nails across my scalp and cries out my name, I nearly come right there.
I can’t fucking take it anymore. Not for another second. I need to fuck her, hard and deep. Now.
Ditching the vibrator, I fist my cock, capture her last breath with a desperate kiss, and sink deep inside her.
That’s it. All at once, she’s falling over the edge, and fuckinghell, the feel of her. The slow, hot slide into all that softness and heat, her body tightening and pulsating around my rock-hard cock, and I break our kiss just in time to hear her cry out my name once more as she comes completely undone.
“Beautiful,” I whisper, because she is—everything about her, sweet with a side of naughty—and when she finally comes back to earth and opens her eyes and reaches up to touch my face, I nearly falter.
It strips me to the core, the closeness of it all. Terrifies and enchants me both, like stepping into the flames to enjoy the view of the fire, oblivious to the danger until you’ve bloody well incinerated yourself.
I claim her with another fiercely possessive kiss, my hands in her hair as she hooks her heels around my back and urges me in deeper, andfuck… I don’t care if this is the final act that burns me to ash. I need this too much to stop now—needher. Wrapping my arms around her, I flip us so she’s on top, wild hair spilling across her shoulders, glasses askew, the dark peaks of her nipples begging to be sucked. I sit up beneath her and take one between my lips, licking and teasing, a gentle bite that has her moaning and rolling her hips, a slow, seductive dance that’s damn near got me seeing stars.
Free of my control, Mr. Wiggles buzzes back to life beside us, but we don’t stop for him. Or for the curious cats meowing and scratching outside the door. And when we roll again and end up on the floor, tangled in the sheets, it only stokes the flames higher.
My sweet, shy witch has lost all inhibition, begging me to fuck her harder, taking what she wants—all the hot, filthy things I’m more than happy to give her, until I feel her tightening around me once more, that tingling heat racing through my balls. She cries out for me again as she rides me harder, faster, and when the next orgasm takes her, she shudders and tosses her head back and laughs that happy, awkward laugh, and that’s it. That’s fucking it. I’m gone.
“Fuckinghell, woman,” I growl, gripping her hips and coming inside her in a blissful, white-hot fury that leaves me spent and trembling, no strength left in me to do anything but lie on the bedroom floor, close my eyes, and wait for death to finally claim me.
Still laughing, still panting, Violet curls up by my side on the floor, bare but for the sheets we brought down with us, her cheek warm against my chest, hair a wild mess. I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in the lemon-coconut curls, grateful that death decided to give my immortal bones a pass after all.
“Are you all right, love,” I murmur.
She props her chin on her hands and looks up at me, glasses finally gone, lost in the tumble, and smiles. “I’m actually perfect.”
“No lies detected.” I trail my fingertips up and down her spine, making her shiver. “Call it irony if you will, but in the old days, witches were thought to be the Devil’s consorts.”
Her cheeks flame and she averts her gaze, but not before I catch the light dancing in her eyes. The teasing grin gracing her lips. Draping a thigh across my hips, she says, “Is that what I am? The Devil’s consort?”
“Oh, mushroom. You are so much more than that.”
“Good. ’Cause I’m not ready to give you up just yet.”
Fuck. Me.
I’veneverfelt this way before. This sudden, overwhelming need to make her happy—not just in the bedroom, but everywhere. To keep her safe. To promise her the world and do my damndest to deliver it on a silver fucking platter.
Tonotsaw off my own arm to escape.
Whatisthis madness?
“Gigi—my grandma?” she says softly. “She knew you were coming. She tried to warn me, but I didn’t want to listen.”
She tells me about her grandmother’s magical Tarot cards, the often unexpected messages from across the veil.
“Anyway,” she continues, “your card kept showing up—The Devil. For two days straight, I couldn’t get away from it. I tried to make it disappear, chase it away, set it on fire, and yet… you were relentless.”
“I’ve been called worse.” I laugh. “Did you really think you could destroy a magical Tarot card? The Devil, besides?”
“It was more like a symbolic gesture.”
“Symbolizingwhat? Your desire to murder me?”
“No. I was trying to convince myself that I had even ashredof control over my life.”
“Control is an illusion pedaled by a capitalist society that does everything in its power to convince you you’re losing it, just so it can sell you something to convince you you’ll get it back.”
