Chapter Ten
Bridget Winslow
Whispers of Forever
The sensation of him—the rich, pine-and-leather scent that is distinctly his—overwhelms me, wrapping around my senses like a heady fog.
It’s incredible, intoxicating even, but his words…
Forever. I’m never letting you go. They cut through me, sharp and unexpected, like blades to my heart.
They shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be reacting like this, feeling this deeply, not when he’s just a means to an end.
I’m here for pleasure and for information. That’s all. I remind myself relentlessly, trying to ward off the dangerous allure of his touch, the seductive promise in his eyes. My sister’s life hangs in the balance—I’m on a mission for the Mathairs, and I can’t afford to forget that.
He has to believe I’m fully committed if I’m to learn anything about Meredith and the other witches. I dodged his probing question with a sharp command for him to take me, to lose himself in me, but I know I’m walking on a razor’s edge.
His desires, his wants—I can pretend they align with mine, but it means nothing. It can’t.
Yet when he touches me, every stroke, every caress feels laden with meaning. I’ve been intimate before, but nothing has ever felt this intense, this raw. Each touch feels like a confession, each movement a deeper connection than just flesh. It’s as though our very souls are entwining.
I must maintain control, keep my emotions in check.
His hands roam freely, and soon, our clothes are mere memories strewn across the floor. Our bodies are entangled, arms and legs intertwined to the point where I lose myself in him, unable to discern where I end and he begins. My entire being pulses with a deep, primal hunger.
“Condom?” His question is a husky whisper against my lips, our breath mingling in the charged air between fevered kisses.
“No, I’m protected.” The words tumble out, breathless, as I urge him gently until he’s beneath me, his back against the cool sheets.
I position myself above him, drinking in the sight of his powerful form sprawled out for me.
Moonlight casts shadows across his chiseled chest, highlighting the defined muscles of his abdomen.
His eyes, dark and intense, burn with desire as they roam over my body.
The raw hunger in his gaze sends a shiver down my spine.
Tentatively, I lower myself, feeling the intimate stretch as I take him in—slowly, ever so slowly.
It’s been ages, and he feels impossibly thick, a delicious challenge that sends a thrill spiraling through me.
His hands, calloused yet gentle, grip my hips, steadying me as I adjust to his size.
His rough palms against my skin send sparks of pleasure across my nerves.
“There’s no rush, love.” His voice is a soothing balm as he tenderly brushes a knuckle along my cheek, his touch as soft as the word he utters.
Love. The term hangs momentarily between us—startling yet sweet.
It’s absurd, I think, to feel a flicker of warmth from such a casual endearment when we are nothing but strangers.
Yet, somewhere deep inside, a part of me unfurls.
No one besides my sister has ever said that they love me.
Encouraged, I sink down further, embracing the slow, exquisite burn.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice unwinds the last of my defenses. I begin to move against him, more boldly now. I gasp at the completeness, the sheer rightness of it all.
“Bast,” I whisper, his name a prayer as pleasure coils tightly within me.
His response is immediate. His hands find my waist, anchoring me as he meets my movements with his own. We settle into a somewhat aggressive rhythm and I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, marking him as mine for this fleeting moment.
My skin burns and aches around my wrists, but I quickly forget the sensation when his hand ventures between my legs. The world narrows down to the electric sensation of his touch. What he feels. What I feel. It’s all mixing together and heightening the experience.
His fingers find my clit and pinch hard just as he thrusts deep with his cock. The world fractures in bursts of blinding light, pleasure cascading through me in waves more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced before. Being with Bast is definitely worth losing my magick for a few days.
He rolls us, putting me on my back, and pulls out of my body, leaving me empty.
An involuntary whine escapes my throat.
“I’m not leaving, just moving to taste a different part of your gorgeous body.
” His lips trail from one sensitive nipple to the next, worshiping with a fervor that leaves me breathless.
As he kisses down my belly, his tongue dances, teases, driving me wild.
He nestles between my thighs, his breath hot against my core, his tongue and lips an exquisite torment on my flesh, while his fingers pinch and pull at my nipples.
I writhe against the sheets, fingers knotted in his hair, as a deep moan escapes me.
He pauses, his eyes meeting mine in a look so intense it could almost be a touch.
No one has ever unraveled me like this. My skin tingles, my pulse races, and a fear like no other takes hold—the fear of truly feeling, of letting go.
Yet, despite the teachings of the Mathairs, despite my instinct to remain aloof and cold like a shark, here with him, I’m tempted to stop swimming, to stop and simply be.
He stretches out over me and pauses, his weight comfortably nestled between my parted legs, his hands gently cupping my face. His gaze locks with mine as he speaks in a low, soothing tone, “You’re safe, Bridget. I’ve got you. Forever.”
His words pierce me, a direct strike to the heart. I shouldn’t feel safe, I shouldn’t trust, yet everything about him—his touch, his gaze—whispers safety.
He resumes his exploration, his mouth returning to my clit, his tongue and lips coaxing another climax from me with wicked proficiency.
Pleasure ripples. Everything throbs. Desire coils.
I stare down at this man through the shadows and faint streaks of moonlight in his dark bedroom. His brown eyes seem more golden, almost glowing in the dark. The pure adoration in his gaze holds me spellbound.
One of his large hands is splayed across my hip, while he licks and kisses me. His other hand lazily strokes his cock. I’m jealous of his hand. I want to feel his cock.
“Bast. I want you back inside me. Now.”
His lips curve against my clit. “Not before you come again, love.” He nips a little harder and then sucks my swollen clit into his mouth, and I come with a wild shout. Everything contracts and pulses. My back bows and he hums against my clit, driving the wave higher.
A moment later he’s driven his cock back inside me with a deep animalistic growl. He pounds into me and I come again, flailing and reaching for any part of him to cling to. It’s so much. So many feelings all at once.
He pins my arms above my head, his movements relentless, driven by a hunger that seems to feed on my responses. Every thrust, every touch, is more insistent than the last. He dips his head to tease and torment my nipples with his teeth, each bite sending shock waves through my trembling body.
His breath is hot against my ear, his voice a low growl that vibrates through me. “Mine. You’re mine, Bridget. Say it.” His words are a command, a plea, a claim that stirs a war inside me.
No. I can’t. I don’t want to lie to you. Tears well, unbidden in my eyes.
“Say it, love.” His insistence is matched by a deeper, more desperate thrust.
“Yours,” I whisper, giving him what he wants. I wish it were true. Right now. In this moment, I wish it was true. I wish I could be his, but I’m caught in a web of secrets and duty that will never let me go.
He takes my mouth again and with a final thrust spills himself inside me. “You are everything.”
I feel the truth in that statement and it terrifies me. My instincts scream at me to run, but I have to see this through. He has to trust me.
He collapses slightly, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I feel him—raw, real, and unrestrained—his heart beating fiercely against mine.
I savor the closeness, wishing time could stand still, wishing I could capture this moment and live in it eternally. The happiness, the connection—I know I’ll never experience anything like this again.