Page 18 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

Chapter

Thirteen

His hands slide under my thighs, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrap around him, instinctive and urgent. His mouth finds mine, hungry, hot, claiming. I moan into him, tasting heat and chaos and passion that hints dangerously of destiny.

Fierce, my fingers grip his hair, thick and soft against my palms.

Then we’re moving. My back presses against a wall, cold and rough, brick scraping my skin through the thin fabric of my shirt, but I barely register it.

My world has narrowed to only the maddening friction between our bodies, the hard press of him through his jeans, the grinding rhythm that has me crying out for more.

Pleasure coils tighter and tighter until it’s unbearable.

He tears his mouth from mine, blazing a path down my neck. His lips find the sensitive curve of skin between shoulder and throat and I shatter.

The orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave. Stars. Shudders. Light. I fall apart in his arms, and he follows a heartbeat later, groaning against my neck, every inch of him shaking with release.

We stand there, chests heaving, sweat slowly cooling on our skin.

And then reality creeps in. I can’t open my eyes and face him, not yet.

I can’t believe I did this. I got super horny and mauled Bennet.

Well, mutual mauling, for sure, and we didn’t even take our clothes off, but I basically forced him into it with the whole unlocking the shields so he could feel my arousal thing. Is that... morally gray?

Why was I so aroused? It was the magic. It had to be. We’re definitely unblocked now. Too unblocked. Is this going to happen every time we use magic, this insane arousal? This can’t be real.

“I’m sorry, Bennet, I don’t know what came over me.”

Horny magic. That’s what came over me.

Bennet lifts his head, brushing hair from my face with a tenderness that melts me all over again. “Don’t apologize. That was incredible.”

I shift in his grip and he releases me, letting my legs fall to the ground.

I wobble a little before finding my footing. “Incredible, yes. But we have to be careful. We can’t run around using magic all willy-nilly and then getting all, getting all,” I wave a hand, “frisky.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “Children live here.”

He presses his lips together, the corners twitching.

Is he laughing at me?

I cross my arms, still catching my breath. “So. What was that?”

“I’m not entirely sure.”

“I really hope this didn’t happen with the twins you told me about when they accessed their magic together because that would be some Game of Thrones shit that I am not ready to hear about.”

He chuckles. “I assure you, no thrones were involved in that story, but this did not happen to them, as far as I’m aware.”

“Then what does it mean? Why would using magic make us—lose our minds like a couple of horny teenagers?”

He rubs his chin. “I’m not sure. It must have something to do with the bond, or with Helen’s curse. I’m not sure.”

“So it was just magic. A side effect. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

He studies me. The laughter is gone. His mouth is a flat line. The silence stretches long enough that I fidget.

“It was just the magic,” I repeat, more firmly this time, like I’m daring him to contradict me.

He gives a small nod. “As you wish.”

That shouldn’t sting. It really shouldn’t. It is just the magic. Unexplainable, horny magic. Fuck my life.

He clears his throat. “I promise to be careful. In the meantime,” he gestures to the water heater, “I think the shower’s ready to go.”

I stare at him, suppressing the urge to throw myself at him again, no magic needed.

I need to get a grip. A hot shower sounds divine, but honestly, what I really need is an ice bath and an exorcism.

The hot water works. Better than before, actually—like Bennet didn’t just fix it, he upgraded it with ancient, mystical spa settings. I don’t question it. I’m too busy sloughing off the residual embarrassment and magic-fueled horniness in scalding peace.

He insisted I go first, and I wasn’t about to argue. The water pressure alone nearly makes me weep.

I wrap myself in my robe, mentally formulating the world’s most awkward post-sex small talk.

What do I even say?

Hey, great magical orgasm, sorry I mind-blasted you with lust. Do you need a towel?

I half expect him to be waiting in my room, maybe in my bed, shirtless and smug. But instead, when I exit the bathroom, he walks by me, fully dressed and holding a pair of sweats. “I’ll be quick.”

“It’s no problem.”

He shuts the door without so much as another word or heated glance.

I get dressed and lotioned up, then grab the extra pillow and blanket I had planned on bringing him earlier—before the madness—and take it into the office.

The lamp in the corner is on, casting a soft glow over the space. Kevin’s baseball gear is gone. My desk is no longer cluttered with papers and books; everything has been set in careful piles. The thin blanket Bennet used last night is folded on the couch.

He cleaned up.

After his attempt at washing dishes I expected him to be more, I don’t know, like a spoiled trust fund baby expecting maids and room service.

But instead he’s been sort of... helpful.

And amusing. Earlier, when he helped with chores, he tried to battle the vacuum before realizing it wasn’t sentient, then used it on every rug in the house because it was “like cleaning with thunder.”

I settle on the sofa, clutching the blanket and pillow against my chest. This whole evening has been surreal. Hell, the past few days have been surreal. I don’t know what to think about any of it.

I must be staring into the distance for a while because when Bennet opens the door and steps inside, I startle so hard the blanket and pillow in my lap tumble to the floor at my feet.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. I wanted to bring you more bedding.” I reach down and grab the items from the ground.

“Thank you.” He steps around my legs to the couch, plopping down next to me and taking the items from my arms, setting it all on top of the other blanket beside him.

I’m waiting for some kind of signal that he’s weirded out or confused or—I don’t know— freaked out by what just happened.

But there’s none of that.

He glances over at me. “You’re staring.”

“No I’m not.” I totally am. “Just surprised. I thought this might be awkward.”

“Why would it be?” He raises a brow.

A startled laugh escapes me. “Because I acted like a sex-starved lunatic and mentally broadcast my horniness at you like a human speaker system?”

He considers this, then shrugs. “It was mutual.”

The weirdest thing about all of this, sitting here with him, chatting about all this, is that it isn’t weird. Somehow, this is less weird than every other interaction I’ve had with a man in the last decade.

It’s not just the lack of weirdness. It’s the way he fits into the space, into my space, like it’s natural.

There’s no tension. No guilt. Only the glow of the light, sharing silence that isn’t heavy at all.

And he’s not flustered or concerned at all. I’m not sure if I’m more alarmed by the magic-induced orgasm, or by how completely normal this all feels.

“I wanted to thank you, too, for thinking of the healing thing with Jackie. I never would have even considered it.”

One shoulder lifts in a shrug. “I might be wrong.”

“But it makes sense. It explains why the doctors can’t find anything, because she’s not actually sick. She’s draining herself.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I can’t tell you what it means to have a plan.”

Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing, getting tied to Bennet. It will be worth it if Jackie gets better.

I glance toward the door, debating whether I should go back to bed and stare at the ceiling for another two hours. Instead, words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Can I ask you some questions?”

His head cocks to one side. “What would you like to know?”

I hesitate before settling on, “What were you thinking earlier? About the ifrit attack? You acted like you weren’t saying everything.”

His expression darkens. “The only person who knew where I went was my uncle. He was supposed to explain our absence to the visiting courtiers while I retrieved Helen.”

“Why didn’t he come after Helen while you stayed behind?”

“He is not powerful enough to travel between dimensions, and he cannot track her the way I can.” His jaw tightens.

“The way I could. The way we should have been able to. It’s like she’s hidden herself from being found, blocked even from me.

I suspected that might be the case when she trapped me in the lamp, but I had hoped. ..” He shrugs.

“We’ll find her,” I say automatically, even though I have no idea if the swamp witches will even deign to help.

But one way or another, we’ll figure it out. We have to. And once we do, he can go back to his djinn life in Aetheria, and I can go back to my wonderful life of raising my siblings, working for pennies, struggling every day, and grieving the still unresolved loss of my parents. Best time ever.

“Your uncle.” I shift my knees in his direction. “He raised you and Helen?”

His head bobs in a short nod. “Yes. My mother’s brother.

Before their passing, my uncle was meant to marry.

His fiancée was heir to her own kingdom, and once they wed, he would have moved there to rule alongside her.

” He looks down at his hands. “They were returning from meeting her family when the ifrit attacked. Everyone else—our parents, the guards, even his fiancée—was killed.”

I wince. “I’m sorry.”

“He barely survived,” Bennet murmurs. “And after that, he raised us. Taught us how to be ruling djinn. Especially Helen, since she is the heir. She always had more pressure, more eyes on her.”

And being sequestered away from her only sibling, as a child, would definitely have decreased that pressure. Not. “That must have been hard, to be separated from your sister when you were so young and had just lost both your parents.”