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Ten.
And his face is with me, too. He’s outside again, sweat dripping down his cheek as he pushes the lawn mower over our grass. He’s lifting his eyebrow at me, inviting.
A challenge.
And then he’s hovering over me. Still sweaty. Shirtless.
I groan and roll onto my other side, pushing away the thoughts.
My bed shakes. Rumbles.
This fucking house. It’s been quiet lately, ever since Sterling first visited, but of course, it’s choosing this night not to let me sleep. And my brain—or maybe a part of me that’s a little lower, somewhere between my legs—won’t shut up either.
His head between my legs.
Throbbing. Awakening.
Damn it all.
I slip a hand between my thighs and sigh, rolling my fingers over my clit. How am I already wet? I’ve been walking around like this since I watched him outside.
The way he took off his jacket, revealing strong biceps underneath his T-shirt.
I half-hoped he’d take off his shirt next, but it’s probably not hot enough.
Truthfully, even though I’ve gone home with a few people in Starbrook, no one has ever managed to get me off like he did. Even now, when he’s not really here, I don’t find myself reaching for my vibrator.
Circling my fingers is enough to push me over the edge, shaking and biting my lower lip to hold back a whimper. Still not enough, but I don’t have the energy to keep going, not when my body wants more.
It wants him. It was so much easier to turn these desires off when he wasn’t in my life, but now he’s here, and my stupid, needy pussy won’t let me forget it. What would he do if I texted him? Laugh at me, probably.
The thought keeps me from reaching for my phone, at least, and my anxiety around the event seems to have settled. For now. Sometimes, a good orgasm is all you need.
When I fall asleep, it’s hard to convince myself he’s not there with me—that his body isn’t curled around me, his breath on my neck. It’s something I’ve only experienced once, but it lives with me even if I’ll never have it again.
The next morning, when I make my breakfast, the house is nicer than ever. The cupboards open without me begging. Nothing shakes. No crying. Not even the house’s weird laughter that only I seem to be able to hear.
It’s at peace, but I’m not.
Because I’ll need to talk to Sterling soon.
Day nine of trying to find something to do in this town—something other than what I’m supposed to be doing, that is. Planning an event. Meeting up with Jewel. Practicing my magic. My studies with her still feel meaningless. More than anything, she asks me about what my dad taught me, which is both grueling and a relief.
On one hand, it’s easy to hide that I’m a failure of a witch. On the other hand—
“I’m sure it’s hard for you to talk about your father,” Jewel says, peering at me with that wise gaze of hers.
We haven’t been working together for long, but I already hate it when she looks at me like that. It’s like when my mom gives me her all-knowing look, but, like, a thousand times worse. In my old coven, I never had any one-on-one time with the leader, and I still don’t know how to handle this level of attention.
I haven’t had a mentor in so long. Haven’t had a reason to care about my magic.
“It’s whatever.” I lift one of my shoulders. “Three years is a long time. I’m over it.”
Liar.
To be fair, how am I supposed to get over losing my dad? He and I had a rocky relationship. He expected big things of me—maybe because I’m the only one of my siblings to specialize in his magic—but that also means he thought I could do big things. It’s pressure. It’s also pride. And I still can’t untangle those two feelings.
Do I really want to, if it means untangling me with my father and the part of me that lost him?
