Chapter 5 #3
Memnon clearly wanted to impress upon my body that we are officially a thing. My traitorous stomach flutters at that, and my core heats, the hussy.
I lift my hand into the air to take a look at the ring on my finger, watching as the carnelian catches the morning light. It’s lovely.
I bite back a semi-hysterical laugh when I realize that I’m going to have to tell my parents about this.
Goddess save me from that conversation.
A thump comes from the other side of the room.
I peer down the length of the bed. There, to the left of the door we cracked open last night, is Nero.
His tail swishes then smacks against the floor, making that thumping noise again.
Clearly he’s annoyed, probably that he didn’t have a cozy bed to sleep on.
Never mind that he grew up in the actual wilderness and lived much of his life without said cozy bed.
He sees me looking and very deliberately gets up and prowls out of the small house, his tail flicking behind him.
Just as I lay my head back down, Memnon’s arm tightens around my midsection, and he pulls me against him.
“Good morning, wife.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to stop myself from smiling like the giddy little witch I am.
“Morning…my most evil overlord,” I say, trying to steer this conversation far, far from anything so cutesy that it would engage my gag reflex.
Memnon leans forward and nips the edge of my ear. I don’t miss his heavy hardness pressing against my backside.
“I need to get back to Henbane,” I breathe, annoyed that already I’m getting aroused by the feel of him against me.
“Do you have classes today?”
“Yes.” Henbane Coven has toyed with the idea of closing its doors due to the recent murders, but so far, it remains open.
“Tell me who your teachers are,” he whispers, “and I will convince them to cancel today.”
“Memnon.”
I feel his smile against my back. “Love it when you get that surly tone. Makes me want to fuck it out of you.”
Hell’s spells. I don’t know how much more of a pounding my pussy can take after last night. Even as I think it, my core begins to throb pleasantly. Pretty sure she’s up for more.
“You know,” I say casually, “you were much easier to deal with when there was a bond keeping you in line.”
I feel another grin at my back.
“Fine, little witch,” he says, “how about I simply convince you to skip?” He runs his hand down my torso until he’s cupping my sex, his middle finger dipping in.
To my mortification, I’m already soaked.
I mean to say no, but all that comes out is a choked moan.
He huffs out a laugh, withdrawing his hand. Before I can say anything more, he moves down my body, trailing kisses along my spine.
“I’ll let you go,” he breathes. “But before I do, I will make it worth your while to linger for a bit, my sweet, devious witch.”
This is where I make a stand and insist I attend to my studies. But his mouth! Goddess his mouth. It’s hot on my skin as it skims from the base of my spine, then over my hip.
Memnon gently rolls me onto my back, and I let him, far too eager about his plans to rush off.
I cannot shake how destabilized I still am by all of the things Memnon got me to feel and say last night. I’m even more unnerved that I want more of it. Sex with emotions—all of them. How wickedly perverse to indulge in this.
I look down the line of my torso. Memnon has moved back between my legs, his light brown body on glorious display. Naked Memnon lifts my hips, drawing my core close to him.
“This poor, tormented pussy,” he says. “Last night was a lot. I should probably give it a kiss to make it feel better.”
He draws me to him, as though meaning to do just that.
I think about the rounds of sex we had throughout the night and how I haven’t showered.
“Memnon—” I protest.
If you say what I’m doing is dirty, like I fucking care, I won’t stop eating you out until you’ve come at least three times on my tongue. Until my lips have scoured every last inch of you.
I swallow my words but do release a wave of magic that cleans me.
Memnon’s mouth touches the juncture between my thighs so softly that last night’s soreness is eclipsed by the delicate pleasure he pulls from me.
He licks up my slit, his touch remaining featherlight. Soon his magic joins in, working me softly until I’m rocking against him, needing more.
He answers my unspoken demand, his body moving up mine.
He slides into me without any pretense, and though I am a little sore, I sigh with satisfaction at how perfect he feels inside me. This is the sentimental morning sex that I imagine people in stable relationships have. Familiar. Gentle. Lazy in the most decadent way.
Today, as the morning sun shines into this small house and limns our forms, I find I’m not nearly as shy about meeting Memnon’s gaze—meeting it and holding it.
And it’s me who drags his mouth down to my own and demands a kiss, and me who pulls him closer because though the sex itself is amazing, I simply want to get closer to him.
Love is definitely a drug that’s going to screw me over once I get properly addicted to it.
And I’m getting addicted fast.