There was no going back after I hurt her like that, and looking into her eyes would be a loaded gun. Seeing the pain—the pain that I caused—it was enough to pull the trigger.
Was I a little chickenshit? Absolutely. I’d become what I despised about every other fuckwit that dumped a devoted girl.
I fell back on the bed and pressed a pillow over my face—a feeble attempt at smothering myself. If I held it here long enough, maybe I’d forget to breathe, maybe forget that Maggie's uncle just witnessed an ungodly amount of cum shoot from my dick over a video of his niece masturbating.
Fuck.
I pressed the pillow to my face harder—imitating a smothering that was too good for me. Lifting it off my face, I sighed. Goddamn it, I couldn’t do that—if I did… most likely Raife or Ryker would find me. Dick out. Dead. Maggie’s moans on repeat. Cum-soaked laptop and all—Jesus Christ, that’d be a sight.
The pillow hit the wall as the most irritated groan tore from my throat.
I needed to man up and fix it. That dearly departed pain in my ass had togo.
Maggie
“Tighter,” Derek rasped as he thrust his dick between my lube-slicked tits in the warmly lit sunroom of the estate.
I’d never titty fucked anyone before… or been titty fucked—if that’s even possible. Who was the actual “fucker” in this scenario? I mean, you’d think that between the flashing cock rings, blindfolds, and nipple clamps my boobs would have found their way around a dick or two. But they hadn’t. This was an entirely new experience—the titty fuck and the fact that it was Derek—of all people—getting off between them…
“That’s it… just like that, pretty thing,” Hunter directed, moving the camera in closer. “Now, lick him, Maggie.”
I did as he asked, opening my mouth so that when Derek pushed himself through my tits, the first rung of his Jacob’s ladder grazed the tip of my tongue.
Yeah, I was shocked, too, the first time I saw it.
With as disgruntled as Derek was about Katie and my sex lives during the Valmont investigation, I never expected him to have a seven-rung Jacob’s ladder piercing his dick. Then again, Katie did say he was a “freak in the sheets” so…
You might be wondering how I got into this situation, the one where Derek’s dick was about to go off between my tits while my freshly hexed boyfriend filmed it.
Well, I was no longer a target in some crazy murderous plot, so I started taking on cases—paranormal ones—that needed some form of psychic intervention. But it was short-lived. The calls still came multiple times per week, but more often than not the clientele consisted of cases like Mrs. Miller, who hired me to help the ghost of her Shih Tzu cross over. Or Delilah Jones, whose toilet was possessed by a poltergeist that made the pipes rattle to the tune of The Real Slim Shady.
No matter the size or severity of the spectre...the pay wasn’t great, and living in Port Grey, Massachusetts was fucking expensive.
Luckily for me, the man I cursed into obsession owned an adult film company and was scouting for new talent when he “succumbed” to my spell. I was a new girl under the direction of Hunter Devereaux of Velvet &Vice Productions—Katie too. And Derek? I asked—no, begged him to join us.
He initially declined because he didn’t “do” the whole sex for money thing, and he didn’t want to tarnish his reputation as a paranormal investigator. But the instant Hunter told him he could hide his identity, that there was an entire market for pierced masked men with pretty good pay and his choice in the women he slept with, he jumped at the chance.
And what could I say? It was fun—and necessary.
Because even though Hunter was absolutely obsessed with me, he was just an okay lover. He never purposely tried to get me off. But thankfully, between work at the production company and our open bedroom back home, I was orgasming more than I needed—sometimes enough to numb the Graham-sized hole where my heart should’ve been.
I owed it to Derek, though. Because when Graham left, I never thought I’d get over him—and I never would have guessed Derek would be the one to help me through it.
Before I cursed Hunter, Derek and I were getting close—BFFs with benefits close. He’d been the reason I was still alive more than once.
Like the last time I went to the club—before Hunter. I was shitfaced and talking nonsense about how easy it would be to just end it, thinking that if I died… the spell should theoretically break and stop the pain I was causing in an instant.
Derek cut me off, drove me home, and stayed up with me, convincing me that it was worth doing whatever had to be done to break the spell without killing me in the process.
The next thing I knew, we were curled up together in the papasan, watching Friends, smoking weed, and lazily making out. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I’d seen—and felt—allthe places Derek was pierced.
Mind. Blown.
Also… Platonic fucking? Katie was right. It’s a thing. It’s great. Look it up.
Okay, okay, I know it was a bit dramatic to want to end it all over a guy I’d only known for a few weeks and wasn’t even technically dating—but itwasn’t Graham that made me contemplate suicide. It was the fact that I was a really shitty person—I’d hurt too many without even considering their lives.
Good people didn’t cast love spells on people, especially when they learned the spell made them lovestruck zombies. But I did. I was selfish, and Graham was right—it was borderline rape—hell, maybe even kidnapping. The guys I’d cast my spell on only wanted to fuck me. They hadn’t signed up for anything more than a one-night stand.
