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“Great, what’s an enchantment and how do I do that?” The infuriating witch flexes her fingers on my tusk, then glances at her hands as if only realizing they’re grabbing me. “Sorry,” she says and quickly releases me.
I don’t like that.
“The spell you crafted to trick me into believing this is a real mate bond,” I explain with a scoff. “Reverse the magic.” It’s an insult to Hecate to mimic her bonds. There’s still time for the witch to undo this and escape the wrath of a goddess.
She swallows. “Magic? Where are we?” Her lip quivers ever so slightly, face draining of color.
A jumble of confusion and panic slam into me and my hands tremble ever so slightly in response. My heart pounds in my chest, and I frown. She’s truly confused. I sit back. Have I misjudged her? “You’re in monster territory,” I say slowly in case she hit her head during the fall onto my cock.
“Monster territory,” she parrots, eyes bouncing between mine. “You’re a monster.”
I bristle at the slight edge of fear in her voice. Hadn’t she cast that stupid spell to eternally bind herself to me? Hadn’t she been using me to service herself? Why is she afraid? “I’m an ogre.”
“Ogres are like onions.” Her voice is so soft I can barely hear her, and her eyes are widening more and more with each passing second.
“What?”
“Never mind,” she says quickly, nervously wetting her lips.
My cum would look much better moistening that pretty mouth. If Hecate weren’t a goddess, I might have some words with her about how the bond forces attraction. Though, I don’t think there’s much forcing to be done. This witch is gorgeous.
“This isn’t Earth?”
“What’s that?” I scrunch my face and give her a once over. She’s much smaller than me. Maybe she’s not a witch; perhaps she’s one of the non-magical folk. But then that would mean the bond is real and I refuse to believe that.
“What’s that?What’s. That? Cool, cool, cool. Um,” she says with a choked laugh. “I’d like to wake up now.” Then she sobs.
My cock deflates and the bond clenches tight with her emotions, making my chest ache so fiercely I’m scared my ribs might crack open. Fuck, she’s leaking. It sounds painful. Itfeelspainful.Shit, shit, shit. I broke her. I stand, clutching her to my body. Water drips off of us and every part of her presses against me, but the liquid sliding down her face is so concerning that I can’t even enjoy the way she feels.
She squeaks and her arms wrap around my neck as she clings to me. I step out of the tub. The bond—pretend or not—is rioting inside my chest, and I drop her onto the bed, grabbing a towel and pressing it to her face.
“Keep pressure on it.”
“What?” the witch asks, voice strained.
“The wound,” I say, tipping her head back and scouring her pale skin for an injury. The freckles on her nose are like little stars. Mesmerizing if not for the cinch of emotion tightening around my throat. “Where is it?”
“I’m. Not. Injured,” she manages between sniffles. “I’m crying.”
Lies. This isnotcrying. Monsters don’t do this. I’ve seen my mother cry once, but it was quiet and barely noticeable. But looking at her now, what she’s going through is so… violent. Like it physically pains her. Her skin is bright red, like she’s been slammed face first against a wall, and her eyes. Hecate, they’re filled with so much moisture I don’t even know how it’s possible. Fat tears roll down her cheeks and another wave of distress hits me right as the creature hiccups and groans like she’s in absolute agony.
The bond screams in protest, and my chest clenches until her distress becomes my own. Shemustbe using some kind of spell on me. There’s no other explanation for how desperately I want to fix things. Panic. Fear. Sadness. The emotions are horrible. I don’t like it.I hate it. She whimpers again and my spine threatens to break under the weight of her suffering. “Make it stop.”
THREE
Grumpy ogres and caves and crying, oh my!
DAISY
Make it stop? I sniff, the sound full of snot and distress, and swipe the towel over both cheeks, not caring that I’ve gone from riding his tip—something I can’t quite process yet—to full on meltdown in the middle of a huge, luxuriously soft bed.
“Stop,” he demands with so much conviction I start cry-laughing. He rears back and takes several steps away, as if trying to distance himself from the tears. “What was my father thinking sending a witch? I told him I didn’t want this.”
I don’t think he’s stopped talking about his dad, even while I was on top of him.
“Daddy. Issues. Much?” I choke out between sobs. I’m full on losing it, but either this is the wildest wet dream I’ve ever had or this really isn’t Earth. The stretch felt real, but maybe that was part of the fantasy. Reaching up, I pinch my arm and make a sound when it hurts. I do it again and blink away the last of the tears which have fled in place of pure, wide-eyed panic. “No, no, no.”
“Why are you pinching yourself?”
