Page 115

Story: Bespelled

You can let go, a small voice inside me says.He will catch you.

Don’t fall,another voice cautions.Once you do, there will be no going back.

Let go.

Hold on.

Fall.

Don’t.

I grasp Memnon’s ass, my nails digging in as I brace myself, each thrust throwing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Tell me to stop and I will stop,” he says, unaware of my thoughts. “Bound or not, I’m still your captive.” He means it too. I see that.

But I can’t tell him to stop. Not when each stroke feels like a slice of heaven.

So instead, I stare at him as I climb and climb and?—

My nails dig in. “Memnon.”

That’s all I manage to get out before my orgasmshattersthrough me. Memnon watches me as I come, his strokes relentless, his eyes greedily drinking in my expression.

I stare into those smoky amber eyes, locked in whatever spell he’s cast. Or maybe this is the magic of our bond—the one fate made for us.

Fall. Don’t. Fall.

Memnon comes then, his body crashing against mine again and again and again.

His orgasm seems endless, and his expression is the definition of bliss. His eyes never leave mine, even after his climax has rolled through him.

My heart thunders.

Will either of us know when the bond between us is broken? Will we sense it? I want to give him a command, just to check. But then he’ll know I’m checking the bond, and he’ll quickly put together just how close I am to falling for him. I don’t want him to know. I still have my sliver of control, and I want to wield it until it disintegrates away.

Memnon slows, studying me as he pulls out, a slight frown marring his lips, as though he senses the undercurrents of my thoughts. But then the expression is wiped free from his face, and I have no idea whether I imagined it all.

Before I get the chance to flee, the sorcerer gathers me to him, and…it’s nice. Really nice.

Maybe I’ll just lie here for a little while…

The shackles were fun, Empress.

They were.

Too bad they didn’t hold you,I say.Where am I going to sleep tonight?I ask. I don’t know why I ask. He’s already given me this bed, this room. But now he’s in it, and our bodies are cooling, and this situation feels hasty.

Right here, in my arms.

There’s no hesitation to his words, just a shit ton of kingly authority. It’s pretty ballsy, considering I’m the one with the commands. At least I think I can still command him.

But his arms feel nice. No,betterthan nice—they feel like home, even if I’m loath to admit it.

How long are you planning on holding me?I ask.

As long as I can get away with.

Warmth suffuses me. Damn this man.

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