Page 47 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Oliver

W illow’s kiss was unexpected, but it only took a fraction of a second for me to adjust. To wrap my arms around her, pull her into me, and kiss her in a way I hoped communicated everything I felt.

You’ve been the proof magic exists this entire time.

I’m sorry I didn’t recognize it sooner. Please don’t leave.

I pulled her up from her chair and walked her backward until we reached the wall, cushioning her head with my hand and nearly collapsing when she moaned gently into my mouth.

Whatever reservations we had, whatever she believed her magic was going to do, whatever uncertain future lay ahead, none of it mattered.

All that mattered was right now. The feel of her body against mine, the night that stretched out ahead of us, the chance to show her how I felt. To find out if she’d been feeling the same.

We didn’t need to finish our conversation.

Maybe someday, but based on the way she kissed me, it seemed safe to assume the chaos of the full moon festival was water under the bridge.

Right now, with her hands in my hair and her tongue in my mouth, she didn’t appear worried about the spell at all.

If she heard what I said—which it definitely seemed like she did—then she would know she’d completed the list. All she had left to do was the spell itself.

And since she couldn’t do it until tomorrow, that meant there was nothing more to be done tonight. We could give ourselves over to this spell, the one we seemed to fall under every time we were together, and we could enjoy it. No strings, no stress. Just each other and quiet moans and candlelight.

I hiked her leg up over my hip the way I had in the woods, only this time there was no risk of paparazzi.

Just the two of us and the divine privacy of my flat.

She pulled me closer, and my head was spinning.

Already lined up against her, I could hardly catch my breath, and we hadn’t even made it out of the kitchen.

Hadn’t removed a stitch of clothing. Bloody hell.

She tugged at the bottom of my sweater, her fingers a cold shock against my skin. I released her leg only so my hands were free for her to pull it over my head, then quickly scooped her back into my arms, trying not to laugh at her gasp.

I planned to walk her down the hallway to the bedroom the same way I had in her flat, but with her arse in my hands and her lips on my neck, I couldn’t bring myself to move.

Instead, I lowered her right onto my kitchen table, relishing the way her eyes flew open in surprise before her gaze turned wicked.

She wanted this just as much as I did, and the bedroom just wasn’t close enough. “Are you sure?” she asked as I laid her down, kissing a line over her jaw and down her throat.

“You’ve no idea,” I mumbled into her skin, tasting every inch of what was exposed.

It wasn’t enough. I pushed her sweater off her shoulders, holding her by her lower back as she slid her arms out.

“All of it,” I said, running my hands over her ribs, bunching her T-shirt over my wrists until I could slide it over her head. “I want to see every inch of you.”

She arched her back so I could unhook her bra, a black, lacy thing that cupped her so perfectly I was almost sad to see it go. Until her breasts were free and I forgot about her bra altogether.

Her curves haunted me. From the first time I saw her in the shower, I was unable to forget the shape of her body. Her thick thighs, her soft stomach, her breasts that fit perfectly in my hands. The smattering of freckles over her collarbone. The dip of her waist. The taste of her.

With her jeans thrown over my shoulder, I was free to admire how she looked in nothing but a pair of panties, the same black lace as her bra, before I slid those off, too.

Only instead of tossing them blindly over my shoulder with the rest of her clothes, I folded them neatly into my back pocket.

Something that sexy shouldn’t be thrown on the floor of my flat.

Before I could fully appreciate her nakedness on my kitchen table, she pulled me closer by my belt, undoing the buckle with deft fingers.

“You’re not the only one who wants to stare,” she whispered, pushing my jeans and my briefs down my legs at the same time.

I was already painfully hard, and it felt good to be free of any constraints.

“I don’t think I could ever get enough of you,” she said, taking her time dragging her eyes back up to my own. “I know this is only the second time we’ve done this, but—”

“I know,” I said, leaning over her with one hand on either side of her body and kissing her hard. “I know.”

And I did. This could have been the thousandth time we’d done this and it wouldn’t have even been close to enough.

I wanted every single piece of her. Every moan, every whisper, every inch of skin, every second of pleasure.

I wanted to know exactly what brought her to the edge and what she liked when she was alone.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” I whispered, realizing I had the chance to find out.

“Only if you promise to do the same,” she said, already dropping her hand between her legs.

Saints alive. This woman was going to be the death of me.

I watched with heavy-lidded eyes that undoubtedly matched hers, glassy and wanting. She rubbed herself in slow circles, and I matched her pace, already eager for my hand to be replaced with hers.

“You drive me crazy,” I said, trying like hell to keep my eyes open so I didn’t miss a second of this. “I could come just watching you like this.”

She increased her pressure and speed at the sound of my words, and if I continued to match her pace, I would be finished before we even started.

“Touch me,” she said.

Who was I to disobey?

I closed the gap between us, running my fingers over the length of her and moaning in appreciation. I couldn’t help it. She was so wet, I was desperate to be inside her, but I knew I had to be patient. I wanted to make this last as long as possible.

I slipped two fingers inside, kissing her throat when she dropped her head back on a sharp inhale. When I settled into a slow pattern, feeling her pulse around me, she grabbed my wrist and whispered “More” into my ear.

As soon as I added a third finger, she sank her teeth into my shoulder, grinding against me. I wrapped my arm around her lower back, pulling her closer, cupping her clit with the palm of my hand to give her more of what she was looking for. More friction. More pressure. More of us.

“Please,” she breathed, ragged and shaky. She didn’t have to say any more. I curled my fingers toward me, pressing against her walls in the rhythm of her hips, holding on to every ounce of restraint I had as she came apart around me.

“Take me to bed,” she mumbled when she came back down to earth. “I want all of you.”

Lying on my bed, naked, with her auburn waves around her head in a halo, she was an angel. Otherworldly. I’d never before had a reason to use the word ethereal , but there was a first for everything, I supposed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, sitting up on her elbows, giving me an even better view of her face.

“I’ve just discovered magic exists, Willow. Give me a minute.”

Steadying my breathing was even harder when she was smiling at me. But this wasn’t about me. This was about her. Pleasuring her. Worshipping her. Giving her everything she wanted.

“Come here,” she whispered after a minute. “Let me feel you.”

I rested my hands on either side of her head, inhaling through my teeth when she put her hands on my chest. Holding my breath when she slid them down my stomach and wrapped them around me.

“Sit back,” she said, and I nearly turned to dust just at the thought of where this was going. I leaned back on my hands, watching intently as she took me in her mouth.

“Fuck, Willow.”

She hummed around me, getting into a rhythm that already had me dangerously close to the edge. I wrapped my left hand around her hair, holding it off her face and winding it around my wrist. She whimpered, and I had to pull her away before it was too late.

“I need to be inside of you,” I said. “I need to be in control.”

“I’m all yours,” she said. How I wished that were true.

I flipped her over onto her hands and knees, pressing a line of kisses down her spine as I rolled on a condom then worked her with my fingers. She was nearly dripping by the time I pushed into her, both of us letting out a groan that was entirely unholy.

“God,” she exhaled. “Oliver.”

I let my hands roam over her breasts, the curve of her waist, her arse as it pushed back against me. She felt so good I was seeing stars. I reached around to feel the soft skin of her stomach, holding her tighter against me when she sat up and dropped her head to my shoulder.

When she reached back and wrapped her hand around my neck, lacing her fingers tightly through my hair, I lowered my hand to touch her, whispering praise into her ear over the sound of her moans.

She fit perfectly against me, and as we moved in a steady rhythm, her nails on my scalp, my fingers against her clit, my cock inside her, I nearly went blind.

“Oliver, I’m going to—”

She didn’t even finish the sentence before her words turned to screams, dragging me into her orbit.

I was only a second behind, one arm tightly around her, the other hand still against her clit, letting her pleasure drive mine.

It was the hardest I’ve ever come in my entire life. And I already wanted to do it again.

When we finally collapsed side by side on the bed, the duvet twisted in a heap at the bottom, I watched the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing returned to normal, wondering when mine would do the same.

I had an arm draped over her stomach, partly because I couldn’t resist touching her and partly because my limbs were all too heavy to move.

She rolled over under the weight of it, pinning me with her golden-brown eyes. “You’re going to have to let me go eventually,” she said, and laughed.

The problem was, I didn’t think I could.