Chapter Sixteen #2
My desperation to feel more of her is like a fire growing out of my control.
I circle my hands around to her ass, cupping as much of it as I can and lifting her up, holding her tight against my hard, aching cock.
She wraps her compact legs around me, shifts one hand to hold on to my shoulder, and then arches back, breaking the kiss—a move only made bearable because she starts rubbing herself against the hard length of my dick.
She has too many clothes on. I have too many clothes on.
Somewhere in the back of my lust-addled brain, I’m doing the math on how quickly I can get her naked and sink balls deep inside of her when I smell the honeysuckle.
A second later, there’s a pleasurable burn from her fingers where she’s gripping my shoulder.
The next thing I know, my feet aren’t touching the cave’s stone floor.
My wolf starts howling in alarm and rattles the bars of its cage while sirens sound off in my head.
I clasp her tighter to me, tucking my body around hers so that when we hit the ground, I’ll take the brunt of the blow. “What is happening?”
“We’re floating,” she says as she kisses her way down my neck.
I get the how but not the rest. “Why?”
“Because,” Effie says, pulling back enough to put nearly an arm’s length of space between us as the flowery scent gets stronger, “I’m going to show you what it’s like when a witch decides to give you a really good time.”
It is the weirdest sensation. It’s like the air is suddenly solid, but my brain refuses to process it and is sending out what-the-fuck alarm bells every 3.
6 seconds. But then she whispers a few words in Latin and my clothes are gone.
Poof. Disappeared like they never existed.
I’d be more concerned about how she did that, but her clothes are gone too, which is no hardship for me.
Seeing her floating in front of me with her thick curves on full display and that wild light red wavy hair of hers dancing in the air around her has me hypnotized.
I can’t look away. Not from her hard, pale pink nipples or the freckles dotting her heavy tits or the softness around her belly or the full roundness of her hips or her wet pussy that I cannot wait to taste.
The problem? I don’t know how to fucking move. I’m like a deer on roller skates trying to cross an oil slick.
“Did you mesmerize me?” I ask as I try to take a step forward and end up going backward.
“Why?” she asks as she traces her fingertips down the deep valley between her tits. “Are you enthralled?”
“I’m sure everyone is when it comes to you.”
I try moving toward her again, unable to look away as her hand moves to cup her breast, lifting it up almost like an offering if I could only get there.
Too bad I can’t get close enough to accept.
She bites down on her bottom lip at the same time that she pinches one nipple, pulling it taut.
Fuck me floating. I am going to die from having a heart attack with the effort I’m putting into moving three whole feet to get within touching distance, and she’s just ratcheting up the torture.
I’m only mad I didn’t think of it first.
“You’d be surprised,” she says with a wry shrug of one shoulder. “Most folks don’t see me as enthralling.”
I knew there were dumbasses in Witchingdom, but I didn’t realize some of them were so stupid they couldn’t appreciate all Effie Sherwood has to offer.
And it’s not just how she looks—although that’s amazing—it’s also the way her brain works so fast. I’m realizing that what seem like rapid-fire, impulsive actions to others have probably already gone through a whole decision tree in her head faster than most can grasp.
“Do I need to go kick someone’s ass?” I ask.
She lets out a little chuckle as if I’m joking when I most definitely am not.
And in that moment I realize two things.
One, I would do a shit ton of damage to anyone who fucked with Effie Sherwood.
And two, floating in the air is a lot like floating in the lake, so moving through it must be like swimming.
Effie watches me make my way awkwardly over—I refuse to say “air dog-paddling.”
Her cheeks are tinged with pink in anticipation when she says, “I might have a list of names of ass-kicking options.”
“I do love a list.” And I’ll get to it—eventually—but first I have other plans.
“Well, why don’t you mark this spot”—she draws an X with her finger on the smooth skin just above her pussy—“off your to-do list?”
“Oh, I will, but I need to start here with this spot.” I lean down and kiss that delicious space where her neck meets her shoulder. “And this one.” I deliver a nip and a lick to her clavicle on my way to the inside curve of her left breast. “I can’t miss here.”
“Darius,” she groans in blissful frustration.
“Don’t rush me.” I cup one of her tits, loving its weight in my hand, and dip my head down, hesitating just long enough to make her squirm with want before lapping the hard point of her nipple and then blowing on the hot damp left behind before taking a step back (as much as I can, considering I’m floating) and giving her a slow up and down.
All’s fair in love and mutual sexual teasing.
“Now I have to start at the top again to do the other side.”
“Don’t make me spell you.” Effie waves her fingers at me, but the heavy honeysuckle smell that seems to come with her magic isn’t there.
“You aren’t the only one with skills, witch.” I wrap my hand around my cock and give it a few long, hard strokes. “I can do this all night.”
“Oh yeah, wolf?” She lifts one eyebrow to dare me. “I wouldn’t suggest making a witch wait.”
I could. It would be fun. I could tease and torment Effie in all the best ways until she is dick drunk and desperate to come. But the thing is, we’ll have time for that later.
When we get back to Arcadia and I forcefully stomp Nikos’s delusions of ever being alpha into smithereens, I’ll marry Effie.
Yeah, our short marriage of convenience may be to save her from being ransomed off to the Council and buy me time to get the pack back on the path to thriving instead of just surviving, but that doesn’t mean the curvy little chaos witch and I can’t enjoy ourselves too.
“Come here, witch,” I tell her.
I half expect her to make a snarky remark, but she surprises me again, sailing through the air to me as smooth as my breathing is ragged in anticipation.
I squeeze my hand around the base of my dick, fighting to maintain the control I’m going to need when I touch her again.
Then she undoes it all by cupping my face in her hands and kissing me like she’s been waiting her entire life to do just that.
My ego is healthy—some would say too much so—but there’s no one who can tell me shit in that moment.
I am the one Effie Sherwood wants, craves, needs. Nothing beats that.