Chapter Twenty-Eight
(I’ve Had) The Hex of My Life
Bellamy
The bond crackles between us, the pulse of the magic zinging across our lips. That seems to pull him out of his shock because his soft, pillow lips go from frozen to moving against mine.
I don’t know if this is what it feels like for everyone, but if this is what kissing feels like, I want more of it.
But like two teenagers who’ve never done this before, both of us aren’t touching more than our lips, until he moves.
No longer leaning off his chair, he kneels between my legs, his hands roaming up the outside of my thighs.
My muscles twitch with each gentle stroke of his hands. Something deep inside me is craving more, wanting to find out what all these feelings mean.
His hands tighten, pushing and testing exactly what will pull a reaction from me.
He moves even closer to the place I’ve never let anyone see, let alone touch.
Just when I think he’s going to dive down, he instead circles his hands around my ass, gripping it, and pulling me to the edge of the chair.
All while not missing a beat with his kissing.
My hands fly up, tangling in the silky pink strands of his ridiculous hair. I tug him closer, deepening the kiss, my tongue tracing the seam of his mouth–hungry, reckless, ready to taste him in a way I never have before.
His lips part, and I dive in like a woman starved, drinking him down like he’s the only thing that could ever sustain me.
He tastes like wine and exotic fruits, like the kind of addiction I should run from but never will.
My fingers twist in his hair, dragging him closer, greedily drinking in everything he’s giving me.
His whimper breaks against my mouth, low and desperate, and the sound shreds me in the most delicious way.
“Oh,” I whisper against him, surprised by the huskiness of my own voice. The praise tumbles out before I can even stop it. “That’s my good boy.”
He shudders, his entire body rocking from my words.
His grip on my ass tightens, and I feel the quake of his hands against my thighs.
The power in it intoxicates me. How only a few words could be his undoing.
As if he’s already hanging by one tiny thread.
A wicked little smile curves my lips. If that’s all it takes—
“You like that,” I murmur, nipping his bottom lip.
His breath catches, a wrecked sound in the back of his throat. “Bellamy…” My name is a whispered confession, curse, and a plea all tangled together. “You’re—Goddess, you are everything I’ve dreamed of.”
The reverence in his voice is my undoing. I’ve been called a lot of things in my life—dark witch, dangerous, cursed, vile—but never everything.
My hands run down the back of his head, tracing the strong line of his jaw, then lower.
I tug at the collar of his shirt, just to hear him groan again.
The shirt is soft against my fingers as I bunch it into my hands.
Easily giving away to my tug, it would be so easy to take it off and feel his heated skin against my own.
His knees press harder into the ground, as if even he needs something to anchor him into this reality. The chair scratches across the wood floor as it moves against his legs. My body aches to feel his strength without any barriers between us.
The purple lightning of my magic crackles along my arms, moving towards him as it seeks him.
It’s my own version of the mate bond, and I know it’s not looking to hurt him, instead it wants to bond with him.
Candles sputter around us, my magic showing just how much this is affecting me.
That same purple fog from last night fills the space around us, but this time it’s to cocoon us in our own magical moment.
He pulls back just enough to look up at me, lips already red and kiss-swollen, his chest heaving as if he’s ran a marathon.
His hazel eyes are blown wide, catching in the candlelight, flecks of amber glowing like wildfire.
His hands rub up and down the tops of thighs.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispers, his own voice husky.
I stroke my thumb across his cheek, softer than I meant to. “Maybe, I do,” I whisper back.
He leans into my touch, as if it’s the only thing keeping him alright. His lips press against my palm, his hand holding mine in his. “Since the moment my eyes landed on your own bright green ones, I’ve wanted to taste these lips,” he says as he thumbs my lower lip.
Then his lips find mine again, hungrier, surer. My body sparks at every point of contact, my magic rising to greet him in a way I’ve never experienced before. I should be terrified, but all I can think about is how right this feels. Because if this is fate’s leash, I’m not fighting very hard.
When we finally tear apart again, we’re breathless. He rests his forehead against mine. His voice is low, certain, and full of conviction.
“You’re my home, Bellamy.”
The word rattles the walls I’ve built, the first crack runs down the wall. As if it’s already carving itself into my bones. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like running.
For the first time, I feel like I’m home too.
Maybe fate knew what she was doing after all.
Miles
Home. That’s what the bond has always been to me.
Not a leash or a magical binding to one another.
But a person who will always be there, always making you feel complete no matter what is happening around you.
My mom always said that home isn’t a place, but a person.
Now I understand what she’s always meant.
Before I can process all the thoughts running through me, she’s kissing me again.
Harder. Wilder. As if she too is part beast, just like me.
Maybe she has a wild side too, even if she’s not a shifter like me.
Her lips are bruising, desperate, like she’s been starving as long as I have.
My hands fumble—gods, I’m fumbling like a teenage boy—as I try to hold her, to touch her everywhere I can.
“Bellamy,” I groan against her mouth, “I—I need…”
Her laugh is a low, dangerous sound that vibrates straight through me. “Need what, puppy?”
I damn near combust. My face goes hot, my body flushing as her words wash over me. I never knew I would be into something like this, but here I am panting. I am pretty sure that if she pet my head right now, I’d come in my pants.
“Everything. All of you.”
She smirks, wicked yet soft at the same time.
She drags her nails down my chest, my shirt straining against the pull.
Goddess I want to feel that against my skin.
I want the scratch marks down my back, the sting of it burning between us.
Her fingers twist into my shirt and I can’t stand it anymore.
This barrier between us has to go, I want her hands on my skin.
I tug it over my head with shaking hands—the collar of it getting stuck on my head—and turning something that was supposed to be a smooth action into a bumbling idiot moment.
She giggles, her fingers hooking under the collar and helping me pull it off.
Everywhere her fingers graze my skin sends electricity across my body.
I can’t help the whimper that slips past my lips.
“Smooth,” she teases, breathlessly.
I grin sheepishly. “Chalk it up to first time jitters?”
Her laughter dies the moment her eyes roam down my toned chest. She bites her lip between her teeth, damn near puncturing it with how hard she’s biting down. That look alone is enough to make me whimper again.
“You are so gorgeous when you blush like that,” she whispers, almost like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.
I lean in close, voice rough and too honest. “I’ve only ever wanted you and will only ever want you.”
Her breath stutters, and then her hands are all over me—exploring, testing, nails digging into me.
Milo is practically clawing at my insides, begging me to claim her, to make her ours.
To sink our teeth into her creamy, white skin forever marking her.
It would be so easy to give into my baser instincts, to let him take over.
To feel her skin giveaway against my sharp canines as I claim her for everyone to see.
This is more than our bond and the claim I’ll have over her, it’s all about this gorgeous woman and seeing our bite marring her silken skin.
But I force myself to stop wanting to ensure she’s okay, that she is ready, truly ready, for this.
“Tell me if it’s too much. Tell me if you need to stop.
” I don’t wait for her. Kissing down her jaw, along her throat, watching her skin pebble as I go.
My fingers tremble as I try to memorize every inch of her.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she says as she tugs on my hair, pulling me back to her, swallowing my whimper as her lips crash against mine.
And just like that, every nerve in my body sings. I’m clumsy, overeager to taste her. Probably kissing her like a man drowning, desperate for oxygen. But she doesn’t push me away, instead she clings tighter. She whispers a soft praise that shreds the last of my control.
“Miles, be a good boy, and take me.”
I groan, completely wrecked. Every muscle in my body locks, torn between dropping to my knees to thank her and throwing her over my shoulder like a caveman to do exactly as she’s asked.
Thank you Moon Goddess, for giving me this impossible, beautiful creature—with all her sharp edges.
If this is fate’s leash, then go ahead and buckle the collar around my throat because I’ll do anything to hear her call me a good boy. I never imagined that would be my thing, but I’m here for it. Because Goddess help me, I’ll be her good boy forever.
Her command echoes around my skull, something I never thought she would say to me. Be a good boy and take me.