Chapter 14 #2
“They didn’t, but the nuns and priests running the orphanage were convinced I was demon-possessed because I kept talking about the future, and it kept coming true.
Normally, witches develop their talent in their teens, but I started young.
Something about trauma and not having a coven?
Blah blah blah. I didn’t know what was happening, obviously. ”
Trauma and blah blah blah? He ached for that tiny child.
She sniffed. “Anyway, the priests were trying exorcisms. On the off chance the visions were real, the twins hauled themselves overseas.”
He liked the two old ladies more than he had at any other time in their acquaintance.
He had never been to Romania in his life.
If she hadn’t gotten out, he would never have met her.
He cringed at his own selfish thought. If she hadn’t gotten out, there was a good chance she wouldn’t have made it to adulthood.
“Thank god you’re here,” he said, meaning it on every level as he put his arms around her to squish her closer.
“So now god is real?”
“Thank the twins, too, or the crab in the sky. I’m not picky.” When she pulled her head up to look at him, he frowned. “One of them is a crab, right?”
“Yeah, Cancer. They’re considered a water sign, vulnerable and sweet.”
“Wait. I just have to…” He shuffled her so he could see her clearly.
“You’re saying that the collection of stars that everyone thought looked like a crustacean with a claw and a hard shell is named Cancer, the horrible, endless growth of malignant cells that kills people, and the people born when that sign in the sky are sweet? ”
She laughed. “It’s not the sign in the sky, actually. The sun is in that part of the sky when you’re born, so it’s the only constellation that’s invisible the day of your birth.”
“Right, thus the ecliptic. That’s why.” A piece of astrology made sense for the first time. But no, it made even less sense. “And those people are soft and squishy and nice and watery?”
“When you put it like that…”
He knew well that many beliefs of many countries made little sense to anyone outside of them and that having a ritual was more important than accuracy, but astrology hurt his head.
“You’re such a Capricorn,” she said, and he just laughed, genuinely not wanting to know more.
He pulled her face back to hers and kissed her as he fiddled at the hem of her shirt until he could get his hands on her skin, hot and burning and perfect.
He didn’t want to stop kissing her, but he also had to see all of her. He had to be skin to skin here in this house with light streaming in the windows and not in the dark under a dozen blankets in the middle of a blizzard.
He helped her pull off her shirt as she undid the buttons of his. He reached for his glasses, and she shook her head.
“What?”
“You have no idea how hot you are.”
He laughed and took them off. “I’m glad you think so, but if I break those, I don’t have another pair in the state.”
She pouted as he hauled her closer. She was thin with surprising muscles, and her breasts were perfect, petite with dark nipples that contrasted vividly with her pale skin.
Her gaze darted all over his form, feeling like a brand. She’d seen a lot more of him every time he shifted, but it felt like she was looking for the first time. She dragged her hands over his pecs and down the ridges of his stomach with a groan that had him pulling her toward him.
After that, they were lost in a frenzy of pants, skirt, and underwear, squeaks, and blankets until he was laid out again on bare sheets, gritting his teeth and clenching every muscle he could physically control as she rolled the condom over him.
“Mountain size,” she said, sounding a little nervous.
“We fit together,” he insisted, terrified she would balk. They had already fit together.
She glanced up at him and swung her leg over. He helped her rise over him and fit him to her so she could sink down. He wanted to spend much more time preparing, but she was right; they didn’t have any time.
As she sank, her eyes flared, and he honestly couldn’t tell if it was in wonder or alarm. He kept still, breathing shallowly so he wouldn’t go off like a teenager to allow her time to adjust and set her own pace.
It seemed like an hour to him, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two before her hips met his, and they both groaned.
The scent in his nostrils doubled and tripled in intensity, which he didn’t think was possible.
He held her closer because he needed her weight on him.
He didn’t understand the impulse and knew she’d have less freedom to move, but he couldn’t help himself.
He raised his knees to spread her legs wide, taking all her choice away as he thrust up into her once and then twice.
The bed groaned in rhythmic counterpoint, but he didn’t care anymore.
He watched her eyes, looking for pain or distress, but felt gut-deep satisfaction when they rolled back in her head. He kept going. This felt like the best of both worlds to him; he could feel all her weight on him, and he could control how fast and deep he went.
Her head flopped on his chest, and he buried his nose in her hair and sped up.
She spread her legs wider until her knees were clutching his ribcage, and he marveled at her flexibility, thankful for it as he pressed his hips up into her, his breath going ragged. He lost it as his vision went white around the edges.
She was close. He could feel it in the fluttering of her walls and the unevenness of her breathing, as if she barely had enough oxygen. He tried to keep the same angle and pace, driving into her again and again…until she froze, and not in a good way.
She scrambled at him, and he tried to pull out, but he didn’t have much leverage in this position either.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered.
She put a hand over his mouth, and he heard it. A door opened downstairs, and voices chattered.
He was on the edge of orgasm and so was she, and the idea of stopping nearly killed him, but the bed had been squeaking up a storm, a hilarious and addicting counterpoint to the roar inside his head.
Cautiously and slowly, he thrust again, and the bed groaned.
Her eyes went wide above him, and she shook her head vigorously.
He widened his own eyes and moved again, even more slowly. This time, the bed barely let out a tiny squeak.
She tried to sit up or move away, but she was beached above him and had no leverage, and he just kept moving, now trying to find the pace that wouldn’t rock the bed.
It was torture of the best kind, and his orgasm built even higher.
In moments, she stopped fighting as her eyes glazed.
At this new pace, he found he had much more control and tried with every stroke to find a new and deeper angle.
She gasped at one deep thrust. He grinned and stayed there, pulsing just the slightest as the bed protested in little grunts that even he could barely hear.
He heard a voice shout her name and knew they could not prolong this, so he thrust hard once and felt her shatter around him and came with her.
The illicitness and the fear of discovery only added to the bliss pulsing through every inch of him and her, judging by her shuddering, wordless cry above him.
“Catarina Griffin! We chased off a werewolf!”
“One sec!” she shouted in a strangled cry, an octave above her normal voice.
He chuckled and then groaned as she pulled away from him. She put a hand on his mouth as she flopped over, and the bed gave a strangled squeak.
She bounced out of it and looked at the wreckage of her room. The duvet cover, her pillows, and all of their clothes were in piles around the rug.
“Oh my god,” she said and shook her head. “Oh my god!”
“Is everything okay?” an unfamiliar voice asked from just outside the door.
“Absolutely!” she cried. “One sec!”
The bliss was leaving, and he was beginning to feel a bit of alarm at the situation. How many witches were here? Witches who were armed to fight werewolves. He silently promised Nicolo the biggest steak he could find for playing bait and giving him as long as they had.
“You have to go,” she whispered.
He put his hands behind his head. “I’ll just stroll out of here like this?”
She hit him with his shirt before she pulled hers on backwards and inside out.
“Um…” As the sex bliss ebbed, he knew he really could not be discovered here, and he wasn’t helping her.
He tied off the condom and left it on the bed for lack of anywhere else to put it as he rolled to his feet in another aching squeak.
He stopped her hands as they searched through the wreckage of her room and pulled at her shirt.
“We can’t!”
He just raised an eyebrow, and she looked down at herself.
She groaned and ripped it off, shook it out, and put it back on as he found her skirt, but not her underwear.
She just pulled it on. He was glad that she was a witch and not a werewolf, because every shifter within a quarter mile would smell him on her and what they had just done together. She grabbed her leggings herself.
She ran a hand over her hair, normally sleek and straight, and now a bird’s nest. He looked around, and she whispered, “What?”
“Hairbrush?”
“Cat!” someone shouted
“I had a vision! A big one! I’m writing it down!”
She pointed to one shelf, where he saw a few bags of makeup and a hairbrush.
He didn’t let her take it out of his hand once he’d grabbed it and instead pulled it through her hair.
He didn’t let her turn around so he could see what he was doing, just held her, and slowly—as slowly as he moved in the bed—brushed through her hair and breathed.
After a minute, her cheeks returned to their normal color, not the high red flush they had.
She looked roughly like she had when he came in.
“You’re good,” he whispered.
She laughed, a reaction he wasn’t expecting.
“I have a naked alpha werewolf in my room. This is the opposite of good.” She left the room, slamming the door on him.
“Well, when you put it like that.”