Page 62 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

She turned and walked away from him, toward the cave’s entrance, a determined clip to her steps. With every inch of distance between them, he felt colder, emptier, and more afraid.

His breaths sped up and he surged forward, closing the distance between them. If he could stay close, he might keep himself under control. When the scent of her chamomile and honey intensified, he felt calmer. His skin itched a little less.

“You’re doing that thing again, Wolfie.”

“What thing?” he growled.

“The thing where you follow me around.”

“I like following you.”

She stopped walking. Just stood staring at the cave entrance. When she glanced at him over her shoulder, something had shifted in her expression. “I can see that.”

Was she pleased? Good.

She started walking again. “So…all the little gestures, the meals, my bunnies, decorating the house. Was it because you felt guilty?”

“I was a right ass.”

“Yeah, kinda. You did a good job crushing my heart and hurting my feelings. Didn’t stop me from replaying our kiss over and over. Imagining it each time I touch myself before I fall asleep. In your bed.”

She kept walking, but he’d stopped dead in his tracks. Because there was only one image playing in his mind. The sight of her in his bed, hair fanning the pillow, legs splayed, her fingers stroking through her slick folds, writhing in his sheets.

“Fuck.” His blood rushed south and his cock instantly hardened.

When Rebecca turned to look at him, there was a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Little witch,” he growled.

Her eyes darted down, fixing on his pants. She licked her lips. “Hmm. Looks like you’re struggling with a biology problem, Wolfie.”

He stalked forward, took her by the waist and spun her around. She let out a puff of air as he pressed her against the rock wall next to the cave’s entrance. Then he was on her, his mouth fused to hers. His tongue pressing inside, forcing entrance.

Demanding to claim her.

She moaned and he swallowed it up, eating the sound with a hungry growl.

The notes of her scent changed, sharpened with the tang of lust. It made him harder. Made his balls ache.

Until Rebecca had come along, he’d forgotten what this felt like. This painful need for release. It had been decades. Now, he was taking himself in hand almost daily, usually in the shower when she was at work, forced to make himself come just to take the edge off.

His mouth grew rougher, one hand cupping her throat, the other gripping her thigh, pulling it up around his until her hips were better angled to the press of his cock. He ground into her, hard. Then pulled his mouth free. “How did it feel? When you touched yourself thinking about me?”

Her eyes were bright and slightly glazed. “Good. Good. It felt…good.”

“Bet it didn’t feel as good as the real thing.”

She licked her lips, which made her tongue brush his. His chest heaved. “I bet you’re right,” she decided. “We should test that theory.”

“You’re playing with fire, little witch.” He flexed his fingers around her throat and she let out a little whimper. “You like that?”

“Yes.” The word was breathless.

“You want me to rut you right here against the rock? Squeeze your soft little throat while you come on my cock?”

“God, yes.” Her pupils blew wide. The effect this had on his male pride was phenomenal.

Every thought in his mind honed in on the scenario playing out in his mind. Her legs wrapped around his hips. His cock filling her. He’d start slow, with deep, torturous thrusts. Then he’d give her the roughness she craved. He’d rut her hard enough that the sounds of their flesh echoed against the rock surrounding them.