Page 19 of Witch’s Ruin

He hesitated a second more, then nodded. The hand around my wrists tightened again, past the point of pain, enough to make my eyes water. I squirmed beneath him, not to break free, never to break free. He’d turned me into a needy, desperate creature, after all.

His hips retreated, then slammed down again. I cried out, clenching. Each time I did, he froze, halting the potential orgasm I begged for. “If you tighten up, you come. I told you no,” he snarled, voice matching the thing inside me. Each scolding was accompanied by a painful squeeze of his hand on my wrists. If I hadn’t been a witch, there would be awful purple bruises left behind.

As it was, it only took twice more for me to learn how to behave. Each time I clenched around him, he withheld and hurt me. He was training me. And I? I had suddenly become the world's most compliant student.

Breathing hard, I forced my walls to relax, forcing myself to keep from tightening each time he swept in. A different kind of euphoric pleasure began to take hold, tingles starting at the base of my spine. Soon, tears slid down my temples. I tried. I tried so hard not to tighten up.

“That’s it, little demon. That’s a good girl. Just like that,” he praised, making me glow with pride. And then he gave a thrust that ended me, sweeping in, grinding hard against my clit. It took me by surprise. My body spasmed before my mind caught up, wave after wave of pleasure breaking over me.

“Fuck,” he growled, realizing what he’d done. And then, he was pumping into me. Emptying himself for my taking. And take, I did. Every last drop.

It was…incomprehensible.

When he settled down, pulling me into his arms, I continued to tremble. His hands were gentle as he swept them over my skin, caressing. He brushed loose strands of hair from my temple, kissing my damp forehead, humming with delight.

We lay there in the quiet morning confines of his suite, the sounds of our mingled breath twisting together. I trailed my fingers over his scars, at last capturing one of his hands as he tried to tickle me, twining our fingers together. I played with his palm, running my thumb over the skin. He had a deep scar that ran diagonally over the flesh. I traced it, as I often did when we held hands, then pulled my fingers away. “What demon gave you this one?”

“Hmm?” His voice was lazy, laced with the aftermath of his orgasm.

“Your scar here?” He had scars everywhere, wounds he’d picked up under the care of his former. Ena had mistreated him abominably, and almost never healed him as punishment. It was one of the reasons he’d been so wary during our initial days.

“Oh.” He shrugged against me. “That’s left over from my childhood, actually.”

I hesitated, treading very, very carefully. “I thought I knew all your scars. How…how did you manage this one?”

“Probably doing some stupid shit or another. Don’t remember, actually.”

“You must have been very young. It…it wasn’t your father, was it?” My stomach twisted.

“No. Certainly not. He was only physically abusive with his fists. Never a blade, or anything like that.”

I could have wept with relief, that he would admit this in light of his recent moods. But he had, and I refused to make a big deal of it. Instead, I made a humming noise and said, “It looks deep.” I lifted it closer to my face. Had it been fresh, I could have healed it; there wouldn’t have been a scar.

Unlike most witches, I had received specialized healer’s training from Juna, the witch in charge of the Citadel’s infirmary. As witches and wielders in training, we’d all been exposed to demons in controlled environments. But it was our wielders that took the brunt of the injuries. Before going out into the world, they faced them in special sparring rings outfitted with summoning stars, closed in with the beasts to learn how to fight them. Most of the time, they suffered wounds.

While all witches learned how to heal common maladies, flesh wounds and the like, I learned so much more. I could set bones, knit vital organs back together, and even reattach parts like fingers and toes. It had required more than just practice, but a thorough understanding of the human body. Hours spent pouring over texts to better understand how the lungs worked, how the intestines functioned—

A loud knock startled us both from our silent thoughts. “Breakfast, Your Highness,” a voice called.

I groaned and rolled over. “If I weren’t so hungry, I’d tell him to fuck off.”

Rixon merely hummed. I rose and snagged a robe, padding through the suite to remove the wards from the door and admit the servants. Rixon didn’t bother rising, but he did cover himself with a sheet. When I glanced back, he had an arm propped under his head, the other resting on his chest, watching me. His expression was lazy, content.

I pulled my lower lip between my teeth, already desperate to crawl back under the covers with him. But…we needed to visit the witches, get to the bottom of things. The sooner we solved the issue, the sooner we could leave this awful place.

Well, admittedly, I actually liked the city, what I’d seen of it. I also wasn’t too against the palace, either. It was vibrant here, beautiful, indulgent in a way I’d never been allowed to be. Too bad Rixon’s father had ruined all that, soured what could have been fondness for his childhood home.

“Forgive me, Lady Witch. Your breakfast,” the servant was saying. I recognized him from last night. Ansel. And sure enough, Florian scurried in right after him with a pitcher of juice.

“Just there, on the table is fine.”

They sent glances in Rixon’s direction. I didn’t miss the grin that pulled at my wielder’s lips as they saw him there, broad chest on display, sheet pooled at his waist. He was enjoying this.

As soon as the servants set out the food, they scurried away, shutting the door behind them. I strode to the table and looked over the faire. “Boiled eggs, oatmeal, bacon, fruit, and toast with jam and honey,” I called out, pleased. Then I took a seat and began fussing with it.

“Too eager to wait for me?” Rixon appeared behind me, leaning over my chair, burying his nose against my neck. “I could feed you, if you like?”

He loved feeding me, and the casual way he asked didn’t cover up what I already knew. “Well, all right then. Sit down.”