Chapter Thirty-Two-Donny
My legs locked around his waist the second his arms banded around me, and then—BAM—we were moving. No, flying.
Ryan tore through the house with inhuman speed, carrying me like a prize he’d fought a thousand battles to win.
And maybe he had.
We landed in my—no, our—bedroom in a blur of magic and desire, his mouth crashing down on mine like I was air and he’d been suffocating.
When he pulled back, his dark eyes gleamed with hunger and affection, and he grinned like the damn cat that caught the canary—and then built a bakery just to feed it pastries and pet it every morning.
“You’re mine now, Honey,” he growled.
Oh, fork me, I loved the sound of that.
Before I could snark something back—maybe a quip about collars or claiming—his callused hands slipped under my dress and up my thighs, rough fingers grazing over silky skin and making me arch like a spell-struck hussy.
The skirt bunched at my waist, and then his shoulders nudged between my legs, forcing them open wide as he settled in like he was home.
Because he was. Right there. Between my thighs.
On his knees.
In my bed.
With that look in his eyes like I was his Goddess-damned religion.
I propped myself up on my elbows just in time to see his wicked tongue lick a path over my lace panties—from one hole to the other.
Oh, sweet steaming lattes.
I nearly combusted.
He sucked and licked like a man on a mission, the friction of the fabric against my sensitive flesh dragging sharp moans from my throat.
“Ryan—”
I tried to speak, to plead, to curse—but all that came out was a strangled sob of please.
As I tumbled into bliss, he growled low in his throat, lifting himself onto his knees and pushing my panties aside with reverent urgency.
My eyes went wide when I saw his cock, thick and throbbing, nestled in his big hand.
And then—sweet moon above—he was pressing inside, inch by impossible inch.
Stretching me. Claiming me. Filling me in a way no spell, no curse, no fantasy ever could.
And for the next eleven and a half minutes, Ryan McLeod proved it—thrust by delicious thrust, until my soul felt branded and my body hummed with the kind of afterglow that could power half of Castor’s Corner.
“Love you, my beautiful blonde Witch,” he said, his voice thick with emotion and need.
“I love you too, mate.”
And then I think I blacked out for a few moments.
But when I opened my eyes again, there he was, taking care of me, and I just knew I was one lucky Witch.
I finally had my happy ever after.
And he was better than I dreamed.