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But just as my arm pulled me to him, his body is pulling mine to his on some metaphysical level. I stare up at him, worried I will be consumed by the lust that only seems to be growing hotter with no end in sight. “Leo? Don’t let me kiss you.”
It is only then that I realize his breathing is syncopating, and he’s staring at my lips while he wets his own. “I don’t think I…” His free hand reaches out and thumbs at my cheek, then sweeps across my lower lip.
Everything in me is screaming for me to calm down, to get up and not let this happen. I don’t know this man. I am here under very odd circumstances. I have no right to be this attracted to a perfect stranger who will get into trouble with his pack just for having me in his home.
His face inches nearer, and I feel the last vestiges of my control slipping. “Leo, I…” But I don’t finish my sentence. I’m not sure I had more to say, other than one last plea for him not to let me make things even more confusing for us both. My lips magnetize to his because they can’t not. It’s not even a desire; it’s a need that cannot be quenched or questioned.
He lets out a helpless noise that goes straight through me, lighting more parts of my body aflame with desire. I’d hoped that once I kissed him, the fire would die down, but the opposite happens. This flame isn’t painful, like when my arm was burning. This is a soul craving that nothing but his kiss will satisfy. I’m hungry for him, this man I don’t know.
Is he a psychopath?
Does he recycle?
Does he hate witches, and this is a spite kiss to assert dominance?
But when our lips begin to move together in a hedonistic rhythm, all those hesitancies fly out the window. His kiss washes over my entire being, clicking parts of me into place that I didn’t realize were out of sync. When his tongue sweeps over mine, a flourish of fantasy overwhelms my senses, sending my lust into overdrive.
“Is this a spell you’ve cast?” Leo mumbles between kisses, his hand on my face in a tender yet guiding way. He regards my body as if I am special, so I remember that’s exactly what I am, and what this moment is.
“I’m not that talented a witch,” I admit, to which he snickers.
I love the way his hand traces my cheek, tilting my head and then gripping the back of it to kiss me harder.
Yet we’re still not close enough.
The kiss deepens, and I want more. It’s not him leaning me back onto the couch, but me who climbs onto his lap, straddling the man I barely know. Only it’s not me. Not really. It’s something inside of me that craves this man in a way entirely unnatural to anything I’ve experienced before. I’m the third date before a kiss girl. I’m the one who barely makes time for a social life.
I’m the girl who lives alone, dines alone, and wishes it could be different, but makes absolutely no change to get myself closer to a life I want.
It can’t be this easy.
But as Leo’s fingers thread through my hair after pulling out my ponytail, the hesitance borne of logic deserts me. I feel his member rise between my spread legs, showing me that everything I want is exactly what he craves, as well. My fingers creep under the hem of his shirt, and sure enough, those ripples on his abs are just as hard and tight as I thought.
His nostrils flare after I tug his shirt over his head, revealing the bare torso of the man I hardly know. “You’re beautiful,” I whisper, entranced by his body, as if that is the most important thing about a person.
He shoots me a wry look laced with humor before kissing me again. “You like that word.”
“Only when it applies.”
Leo chuckles. “That’s new.”
I sit back, my fingers flitting over his chest and stomach like tiny butterflies looking for a safe place to land. “It shouldn’t be. You look sculpted from granite.”
He motions to several scars on his form that he uses as evidence. “Except all these that make it clear I am not beautiful, nor am I sculpted from anything but flesh, bone and fur.” At his words, he grips my hips to keep me in place before I can seal my lips to his again. Then he tilts me back so he can examine me with a more critical eye. “I’m a shifter, Ivy. And you’re a witch. Why are you here?”
I open my mouth but then slam it shut. Before I can blurt out something embarrassing, I go back to the facts we both know. “The tether led me to you.”
“And we’re just supposed to give in to it?” He fixes me with a firmness to his features and then tilts me sideways, dumping me unceremoniously on the couch. “Whoever did this is sick.”
My hopefulness and any shred of dignity crushes and cracks the bravery that led me to climb onto his lap and have my filthy way with this stranger.
That’s not me. I don’t know why I thought it could be me. I was tall and powerful with purpose just seconds ago, but now I feel small and foolish, thinking a boy might be able to see me and notice something special.
It’s a punch right to my insecurity that I thoughtlessly left exposed to a complete stranger. Spell or not, it was real to me.
But being with me is sick to Leo. He kissed me like a man who knows how and ruled the whole experience sick. I stand from the couch carefully, surprised that I have any scraps of control left. I move to the door, slipping my shoes back on.
“Where are you going, witch?” Leo says to me, using my race like an uncouth slur.
