Chapter 7
MANNY
With fear still coursing through my veins after Blossom’s plummet off a cliff, I can’t find it in me to evade the truth a moment longer.
I listen to the ragged cadence of her breath, her chest pressing into mine with each inhale. As much as I want to claim her mouth and kiss the hell out of her—make her want me—that’ll only drive the witch away.
And I don’t want to force Blossom.
I want her to choose me.
With a shift of my muscles, I flip us over, rolling onto my back so Blossom is straddling me.
Giving her every inch of the high ground.
Not that I mind how the core of her is only inches from my half-hard cock.
“As you come to terms with the fact that I want you,” I say, attempting a teasing tone, “I’d like it noted that I’ve confessed this in the middle of an apple orchard. I hope you take this as a sign of submission. The amount of ammo available puts me at a great disadvantage.”
Blossom gazes down at me. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” Carefully, I lay my hands on her thighs. Kneading the thick muscles with my fingers and trying not to think about how they’d flex if she rode me.
Blossom sits up straight, crossing her arms over her chest. But she doesn’t climb off me, and I take that as a promising sign. As the beautiful, infuriating witch studies me, I pluck a few stray leaves off her cotton sleep shorts.
“So, this is a new thing?” she asks with narrow eyes. “You wanting me? You saw me clutching that scarecrow tight and were like, Damn, I wish I were the straw-filled doll?”
I snort and grin up at the sassy witch and fall for her a little more.
“No. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’m definitely jealous of every inanimate object you’ve ever held tight against your boobs like that.” As I speak, I let one hand creep up to her rib cage and risk my thumb by brushing it over the lower curve of her breast. “But wanting you isn’t new.”
Her brow furrows in the most adorable scowl. “Explain.”
“Happy to.” Especially with her like his, astride me, as if I were her own personal mount, not protesting my sneaky, roving hands. “When you turned thirteen, you hit puberty. And you started to smell good. Really good.”
Like warm apple pie and teenage fantasies good.
“Are you serious?” Blossom gapes.
I nod. “I realized it was the mating scent. That you and I had … potential.”
My parents had explained how mates work for werewolves. How when someone smells amazing, that means The Clawed One is identifying them as a potential partner. Unlike some mythics, werewolves can scent more than one possible mate, which means a potential partner doesn’t mean they’re the only option.
But it’s hard not to at least pay them attention.
“When I hit puberty …” Her eyes widen, and even in the low glow of the half-moon, I spy a blush darkening her cheeks. “Oh my fucking goddess! Are you telling me you smelled my first period?”
Blossom’s embarrassment has me wanting to strip her bare and do all manner of depraved things with her until she’s burning alive with blushes.
But I settle for a shrug. “I smelled all your periods. It’s a natural part of having a uterus. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
The little wood witch presses her palms to her cheeks, as if that could cool the inferno radiating off them.
“I need you to shut your mouth,” she groans. “Teenage Blossom is dead. Literally. I just felt the ghost of her leave my body, murdered by mortification.”
“You’re cute when you get dramatic.” I drag my hands up and down her sides, enjoying this simple act of touching her.
And Blossom doesn’t bother to stop me. Or to magically chuck an apple at my head.
This feels like progress.
“And am I the only potential mate you’ve met over the years?” she asks after a few beats of silent contemplation.
Not sure how she’ll respond, I slowly shake my head. “There’ve been two more. Both times, I tried dating them. They were both nice. But …” When an explanation doesn’t immediately come to mind, I trail off as I reach for an answer that won’t send her running.
“But what?”
I slip my hand up her chest, pressing flat against her pounding heart. “They weren’t you.”
Blossom scowls, but instead of pushing me away, she flattens her palm over mine, holding me in place. “I don’t get it. You’ve always been a dick to me. If you liked me, why didn’t you do something about it?”
“I wanted to,” I admit. “But you were thirteen. I was sixteen. You were my best friend’s little sister.
And you might not have realized this, but your dad was always more of a parent to me than my uncle was.
I knew if I pursued you and messed it up—which I think we both know I would have because teenage Manny was a mess—I would’ve lost Heather and Root, along with you.
So, immature kid I was, I decided to act like an asshole to keep you away from me. ”
Blossom glowers at me. “You did that spectacularly.”
I can feel my rueful grin. “By the time you were old enough to date, you hated me. I’d screwed myself over.”
She slaps my chest. “You told all the guys I dated in school that I was high maintenance and whiny!”
I grab her palm and bring it to my mouth for a kiss. “I was a jealous asshole.” Needing a taste of her, I drag my tongue over the lines on her hand, like a horny palm reader.
Blossom gasps and squirms, which has her ass brushing my cock. A groan rumbles from my chest, and the witch freezes. Not that it helps when I can see how her nipples pebble against the thin cotton of her T-shirt.
“Can you forgive me?” I rasp, tense with restrained lust and fear of her answer.
She stares down at me, face unreadable.
As I wait for the final dictate, I catalog every piece of Blossom I can—from her round, flushed cheeks to the flare of her hips.
If she turns me down, what will that mean for the future? More avoidance? Will we be able to go back to our competitive banter?
I’d rather argue with Blossom for the next five decades than have her leave the room whenever I walk in.
Don’t cut me off. Please. Don’t shut down—
“I’m on birth control.”
Now, it’s my turn to gape. Blossom is still glaring at me, so I’m pretty sure I misheard her.
“What?”
“I got the contraception tattoo. The spell. You know about it, right?” She tugs down the waistband of her shorts, and I see the small symbol.
“Okay …” I draw out the word, worried about coming to the wrong conclusion.
She huffs out a sigh, shoves my hand off her chest, and tugs her shirt over her head, baring her glorious boobs to the starry night and my starving eyes.
“So, we doing this or what?”
My mind is set in slow mode as I try to keep up. “And by this, you mean …”
“Come on, Manny. You’re naked, and you just told me I smell like your mate. You going to ravish me or what?”
My fingers grab hold of the remaining fabric on her body, moving out of sync with my mouth. “You don’t want to talk?” I ask, my voice a deep rumble in my chest.
Blossom holds up her hands as if they were a scale. “Talk, orgasms. Talk, orgasms.” She raises them up and down, as if considering both options, then lifts her right hand high. “Look at that. Orgasms it is.”
“I mean, if that’s what the scale says.” With a fierce grin, I tear her shorts in half and then sit up fast to capture her mouth in an intoxicating kiss.
Blossom moans, wrapping her arms around my neck as she kisses me back and rocks her now-bare pussy against my quickly hardening cock.
This is everything I’ve hoped for and feared. A pivotal moment where she’s giving me a chance.
Don’t fuck this up.
Fisting my hand in her silky hair, I grasp the strands in an unforgiving grip as I drag my mouth from hers. Blossom whimpers, her lips looking bee stung from my aggressive kisses. What I wouldn’t give to see them wrapped around my cock.
Not tonight. This is all for her. To show her exactly why she should forgive me. Give me a chance.
“You hold still, Bud,” I growl at her.
Her wrist twists, and an apple pings off my shoulder, the magical assault more surprising than painful.
“Don’t call me your buddy when you’re trying to seduce me,” she hisses, looking like she might bite me if I wasn’t holding her head in place.
A slow smile steals over my lips. “Is that what you think that nickname means? Buddy?”
Blossom’s lips pucker, and I let out a dark laugh.
“Oh, Blossom. You tasty little wood witch. I mean bud, as in flower.” My cheeks ache with a grin as I watch her skin color.
“That’s right. A flower bud. Small, sure, but full of life and potential and beauty.
Hiding all its secrets from the world until it’s ready to burst forward in the most glorious bloom. Just waiting to blossom.”
She bites her lip now, her eyes closed, as if she can’t handle what I’m saying. But I plan to make it impossible for her to ignore my adoration.
“And how about this little bud?” My free hand slips past her intimate curls, pushing apart silky folds that remind me of petals until I discover that perfect bundle of nerves.
“You want me to tell you how much I love this bud, don’t you?
How, most nights, I imagine you stroking this spot while I fuck my fist.”
Blossom’s body tightens, thighs gripping my hips.
Chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm with her pants.
I can feel the puffs of her hot breath against the cool sweat on my skin.
Each one brings the scent of her arousal, mixed with spiced apples, and I swear I’d never need another meal in my life if I could always breathe her in.
The delicate skin between her legs grows slick the more I stroke her. She wraps a clawing hand around my wrist, but not to pull me away. Instead, Blossom holds me in place as her hips rock. Each movement presses her ass against my cock, and I can’t hold back my needy grunts.
“You close? You gonna be a good little witch and come for me?”
“Oh goddess.” Blossom stares at me through half-lidded eyes, and the flames in her cheeks scald me with erotic heat.
“Say my name when you come,” I demand. “Say it.”
Her throat bobs with a swallow, and she whimpers. But I don’t go easy on her, keeping my grip tight in her hair. I refuse to let her hide from me in this moment. The animal in me wants to speed up my ministrations, but I keep steady.
I’m relentless.
I’m rewarded.
“Manny!” she groans as her body shudders and tenses, curling inward as the sweetest inarticulate sounds spill from her throat.
Releasing her hair, I tuck Blossom against my chest, holding her head under my chin.
But I keep my fingers on her clit, pressing down to encourage the orgasm to linger, enjoying the way her body grasps at empty air.
A wordless request to be filled.
“You want my cock inside next time,” I murmur against her hair, “don’t you?”
Blossom’s nails dig into my shoulders, but she doesn’t say anything. Only drags in deep breaths.
And she nods.
“That’s my good little wood witch. I’ve got what you want.” My fingers shake with anticipation before I dig them into her hips. Then, I lift the woman I love and carefully ease her pliant body onto my shaft.
Blossom’s gasp mingles with my pleased growl.
Right. This is exactly right.
Her tight grasp threatens to undo me, but I grit my teeth and push the orgasm back. Just for a moment. Just long enough to revel in this reality I was never certain would occur. Blossom Fernmore softening for me. Wanting me.
The wood witch presses her body closer to mine, rocking her hips.
“You slowed down,” she complains. “Don’t slow down.”
I let out a satisfied chuckle. “You want fast?”
With a quick shift, I have Blossom on her back, and I drive into her, every thrust deep, demanding, and unrelenting.
“You’re going to feel me tomorrow, Pumpkin Princess,” I growl with a toothy grin. “I know you’re still going to try to win. Try to beat me. But with every move you make, you’re going to remember that I had you pinned.”
Blossom smirks up at me, even as lust drags a dark flush over her cheeks. “Big talk for a wolf who hasn’t even reached the finish line.”
Then, she wraps her legs around my waist, arms around my shoulders, and crashes her mouth into mine. Her heated kiss ends with a sharp sting on my lip and blood on her mouth.
The animalistic move does it. With a low groan, I spill everything I am into the witch, her triumphant laughter almost as beautiful as the way she moans my name.