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I licked my lips, eyes ablaze as I stared her down.

“And you love it,” I said.

Juniper laughed, breathless and feral.

She reached for me again, her hands going south and undoing the fastenings of my dark trousers. My cock sprang free with little effort and there it was—hard, flushed—and she wrapped her fingers around it with a challenging glance at me.

“What?” I bit out, a tad self-conscious. Which was concerning, in and of itself. I was fucking LUST for fuck’s sake, and here I was, nervous about what some witch thought about the size of my cock?

She isn’t just some witch, though.

And that was part of this continuing problem for my brothers and I, wasn’t it?

“Can you bottle both of us?” I asked, the intrusive thought bursting from me unintentionally, and distracting myself from my ‘problem’.

Her hand tightened a little around my dick, a thoughtful expression marring her brow, before she brightened.

“Let’s try!” she said excitedly, turning around and scooting toward me until her head dangled over the wooden table. With gusto she took me inside of her mouth. It happened so suddenly, and was so warm, I almost lost control and snapped the table in my grip. Her lips stretched, throat tightening around me, but she took me all in, eyes fluttering closed as her moan vibrated against my length. I groaned—guttural—and let my head tip back as her mouth worked me with wild devotion.

My hands found her breasts, my hands rough, my palms hot. I rolled her nipples, kneading, pinching, and savoring the way her thighs twitched as we drove each other wild. My hand slid lower, between her legs. She was soaked already.

“God, you're dripping,” I rumbled.

Two of my fingers sank into her and she arched, gasping around my cock. I thrust slowly, our mouths and hands moving in tandem, dragging moans from each other in a slow, sensual dance. Her body writhed beneath my grip, caught between the stretch of my fingers and the anchor of my cock in her throat.

It built like fire—low, brutal, unstoppable.

I felt her tighten and groan, her inner walls clamping down around my fingers. Her moans turned desperate, muffled but unmistakable around my cock. I increased my pace, playing with that spongy place deep inside her.

And then she came—violent and shaking—her whole body bowed, throat flexing around me in a rush that tore the breath from my lungs.

That did it.

My hips snapped forward with a growl. I pulled away and spilled in her hair, since I didn’t know if coming in her mouth was something she even wanted. She let me go, panting hard and riding out the waves of her own orgasm.

I pounded the table with one fist, gripping her hair and wrapping it around my cock as I emptied myself down her hair. She took it all, never looking away, her eyes wide and feral.

I pushed her back down, among her herbs and paper and glowing sigils.

“We forgot to bottle anything.” Her disappointed statement broke the tension of the moment, and I laughed. This witch had my fucking cum dripping from her hair, and she looked at me with a level of disappointment akin to G when I forgot to bring him another case of his favorite wine.

A great, glowing wave of gold and amber burst from my chest, flooding the room like molten starlight. Juniper’s eyes widened.

I clutched my arms to my chest, as if I could keep it inside of me.

She tried to bottle it—fingers flying and frantically uncorking a massive crystal phial and chanting—but the emotion came too fast, too pure. It spilled over, unable to find somewhere to go fast enough and sank into her.

She screamed as it hit, a sound not of pain, but of overwhelming want. Her body arched up off the table and she came again, violently, as my name—Lust—tore from her lips like prayer.

I groaned as anotherrelease followed from me—hot, endless, soul-deep. My knees went weak and I collapsed beside the table, both of us shaking, dripping sweat and magick.

For a long moment, there was nothing but breath and the hum of residual power.

Eventually I clawed my way back to my feet, leaning on the wooden table with my elbows, and wincing at the state of her. She looked like she’d been through a tornado–a cum-tornado, but a windstorm of magnitude nonetheless. I brushed a lock of hair from her flushed face, confused, sated, terrified, and happy all at once.

“What have you done?” I asked.

The air lay thick with enchantment and musk. A storm outside had begun—a real one this time, thunder rolling as if the sky itself was acknowledging the weight of what had just occurred.