Page 40 of Charmed, I’m Sure (Witches of Bellevue #1)

Release the kraken

Magnolia

We’d barely made it through the front door before I was trying to climb Taylor like a goddamn tree.

The front door of the house he bought because I loved it.

If I wasn’t already falling for the man, I sure as hell would be now.

My arms wrapped around his neck as he kicked the door closed with a resounding boom.

His hand fisted in my ponytail, a gentle burn of pain where the strands tugged against my scalp.

The other was splayed across my lower back, anchoring me to him in the most delicious way.

With one swift movement, he backed me against the wall with enough force that I gasped against his lips, his hips pressing into mine as he slid his hand down my side to hike my leg over his hip.

A groan rumbled against my mouth as his fingers glided from the silk of my tights to the bare skin just above them.

I whined when he pulled his lips from mine, heat pooling low in my belly as his gaze roamed over my body. It felt like his eyes were touching me, caressing every inch of skin until they settled on where his fingers gripped my thigh.

“Fucking hell, sunshine,” he ground out, his hold tightening. His thumb brushed just beneath the band of my stockings, and even with his head tilted down, the smirk curling his lips was unmistakable. “You are a walking temptation, Magnolia Bellevue.”

The intensity in his eyes when he looked back up made my knees weak. If he didn’t have me pressed against the wall, I’d be a puddle on the floor.

“One I fully intend to indulge in.”

Mother, Maiden, and Crone, give me strength.

This wasn’t how I thought my night would go, but Blessed Mother, I was grateful I’d picked this outfit.

It wasn’t anything special—a maroon corduroy dress layered over an ivory turtleneck—but I’d paired it with black thigh-high stockings instead of tights.

I hated the way full stockings sagged by the end of the night, but apparently, my fashion annoyance was a blessing in disguise.

The heat in his eyes could have melted the iceberg that sank the Titanic.

If this were a movie, there’d be some sultry song playing in the background, like Play With Fire or You Put a Spell on Me. But this wasn’t a movie. This was real, and my brain was still catching up to the fact that I’d gone from loathing this man to craving him pressed between my thighs.

The only thing grounding me was the solid weight of Taylor’s body against mine.

“Bed,” I panted as his lips blazed a path from my mouth to my jaw. I’d let him take me against the Mother-damned wall—maybe one day he would—but right now, I needed to feel his weight on top of me, his skin against mine.

Taylor’s eyes locked with mine, and he slowly lowered my leg to the floor before sliding his hand back to my waist. The glow from the porch lights streaming through the windows illuminated his face, catching the sapphire blue of his eyes like moonlight on the ocean.

I may have been a witch, but the way he was looking at me made me feel like I was the one under a spell.

Suddenly, the inches between us were unbearable.

On second thought, the wall was fine.

I cupped his cheeks and pulled him back down to me. Our lips collided, fierce and desperate, tongues tangling in a battle for dominance. Clothes were tugged and discarded as Taylor backed us out of the foyer. We paused only long enough for me to pull his sweater over his head and toss it aside.

Our movements were hasty and clumsy. My fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt as he worked to undo my dress. It slid from my shoulders, catching on my boots and nearly tripping me.

This was an accident waiting to happen.

The thought had barely crossed my mind when Taylor stumbled, pulling me down with him. I yelped as we tumbled to the floor, landing in a tangle of limbs.

A loud crash followed, and our eyes snapped to a pile of toppled boxes beside us. Silence stretched for a beat before laughter spilled out of both of us.

“When I imagined you on top of me, cher, this wasn’t what I had in mind,” he teased, grinning up at me.

“Taylor!” I swatted his chest.

When I tried to climb off, his arms tightened around my waist, his smile turning wicked. “I’m not complaining, sunshine.”

“I am. Your house is a hazard, Hallows.”

I shifted in his hold, and he loosened his grip just enough for me to sit up. That turned out to be a mistake, as it left me acutely aware of every inch of him pressed against me.

It also gave him a very clear view of the most intimate parts of me.

Heat flushed my cheeks as his gaze drifted to the thin strip of cotton between my legs. A thrill raced down my spine as his hands skimmed down to bare skin before squeezing. The heat that had dimmed moments ago reignited into a roaring flame.

Was I nervous? Hell, yes. It had been embarrassingly long since I’d been with anyone other than my handy-dandy vibrator, Vib-ritzio.

Yes, I named it. Don’t judge me. Not to mention, most of my partners hadn’t exactly prioritized my pleasure.

There had been a handful of moments where I’d reached the finish line, but those were the exception, not the rule.

But the way Taylor was looking at me? I had a distinct feeling that wouldn’t be the case this time. Those nervous little caterpillars in my stomach transformed into fluttering, anticipatory butterflies.

Taylor’s grip tightened as I shifted over him. Feeling emboldened, I rocked forward slightly, a delicious zing sparking through me at the friction against my clit.

“Magnolia.”

The way he ground out my name had my heart pounding. His gaze flicked between my face and the place where our bodies pressed together, raw and hungry. It was intoxicating—empowering—and I wanted to see how far he’d let me push him, how long it would take for his restraint to snap.

Lifting his chin with my finger, I held his gaze as I worked my hips in slow, deliberate circles. The fabric of my panties dragged against me with every roll, sending shivers of pleasure through my body. I could feel him twitch against me, and the sensation only stoked the fire.

A muscle in his jaw jumped, his breaths coming in heavy exhales like it took every ounce of control he had not to take me right there. His fingers flexed against my thighs before sliding around to my behind to guide my movements.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked, voice strained.

“No,” I replied, feigning innocence. “Just seeing what it takes to unravel you.”

I sounded far more confident than I felt, but his villainous, panty-melting smirk made my boldness falter. My whole body thrummed with heat. If he so much as breathed on me, I might combust.

Without warning, he sat up, pulling me flush against him. One strong hand slid around the back of my neck, his whispered words tickling my ear.

“Two can play at that game, cher. And I’m very competitive.”

Oh, shit.

Taylor pulled me into a kiss that could only be described as punishing—one that promised my lips would be red and swollen by morning. His arms slid beneath my thighs, lifting me effortlessly as he stood. Mother above, that was an amazing feeling.

A moan escaped as his grip tightened on my ass, my legs locking instinctively around his waist. His lips never left mine as he carried me through the house, weaving between the maze of boxes.

When we reached the master bedroom, he set me gently on the bed. The kiss broke only long enough for him to strip my shirt over my head. I tugged at the last buttons of his dress shirt as he shucked it off, and for a moment, I just stared.

Sweet baby cheeses. I’d almost forgotten what shirtless Taylor looked like.

His chest was all sharp lines and lean muscle, with just enough softness to make snuggling feel like heaven instead of curling against a brick wall. The urge to run my tongue down the groove between his pecs was almost overwhelming.

Clad in only a matching black bra and panties—yay for wearing coordinating underwear for once—my thigh-high stockings, and boots, I watched as he took a step back. His gaze raked over me like a man starved, his fingers working his belt free from the loops with deliberate slowness.

My breath came in shallow pants, my body trembling with anticipation as I waited for him to release the kraken. I was soaked, my panties clinging to me uncomfortably. Watching him saunter forward, all swagger and intent, made heat rise from my cheeks down to my chest.

“You know,” I squeaked, swallowing thickly, “I could help with that.”

“Oh, I know you can,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. “And you will. But as I said, two can play this game. And, baby, it’s my turn.”

Holy forking shirt balls, Batman. I was sweating.

Figuratively, of course. Women don’t sweat—we glisten. And I was glistening like a damn Washington vampire in the sunshine.

Taylor didn’t just walk to me. He prowled. Each step was purposeful, like a predator cornering its prey. I couldn’t help the shiver that ran down my spine.

His hands moved to my boots, slipping them off with ease.

He trailed his fingers up my calves, his touch featherlight, until one hand hooked behind my knee.

He hitched it over his hip as he knelt on the bed, his other hand cupping my cheek with a gentleness that contradicted the intensity in his eyes.

His lips brushed against mine, soft and unhurried, parting them just enough to allow his tongue to slide in and coax mine into a dance. Every move was delicate, deliberate, and maddeningly restrained.

It was driving me insane.

“Taylor,” I whimpered, arching beneath him as he moved his lips along my jaw.

“What do you need, Magnolia?”

The gravel in his voice sent shivers cascading down my spine, pooling heat low in my belly.

“I need you to touch me. Fuck me. Something. I’m dying here,” I groaned, raking my nails down the muscles of his back.

The bastard smirked—actually smirked—against my neck before pulling away and piercing me with his Southern sky blues. “Tell me exactly what you want, cher.”

He was asking me…what I wanted…? The fuck?

I blinked, thrown. No man had ever asked me that before.

Not knowing how to respond, I defaulted to my usual defense: sarcasm. “What, no quips about being a doctor who can teach me things about my body that even I don’t know?”

That cocky smirk broadened and the heat in his eyes could’ve scorched the earth.

“I could say that,” he murmured, his hand ghosting down my body, “and I’d probably be right.”

His fingers skimmed the valley between my breasts, grazing just enough to make my nipples pebble beneath the lace of my bra. They trailed lower, so achingly slow that I thought I’d crawl out of my skin.

“But even with every anatomy book, lecture, and residency, the only person who can tell me how to make you come, how to make you scream my name until your lungs give out, sweet Magnolia,”—his hand flattened against my stomach and slid to my hip, grinding me against his thigh—“is you.”

Holy Mother of fucks. I was so beyond screwed.

“You know your body better than anyone… for now, anyway.”

Yep. Totally screwed.

His fingers teased the edge of my panties, his pinky dipping just beneath the elastic. My breath hitched, every nerve ending sparking to life. Every word I knew seemed to evaporate.

“Talk to me, sunshine.”

“Lower,” I managed to whisper, barely audible.

He started to pull back instead, a devilish grin tugging at his lips. Instinctively, I grabbed his wrist.

“Be more specific, Magnolia,” he murmured, brushing his nose against mine. His lips were so close, his voice so deep and intimate, I shivered. “Or I’ll do it my way.”

The worst part? That didn’t sound like a threat—it sounded like a promise. And part of me wanted to let him. To let him decide, to give him full control and see what he’d do.

But I knew what he was asking for. He wanted me to take ownership of my own pleasure.

Of course, my brain had turned into goo and could barely form words, much less a coherent response. The first thing it managed to come up with slipped out before my filter caught it.

“I’m not very good at following directions.”

Smooth, Mags. Real smooth.

Taylor’s grin softened into something warm and unbearably tender. He freed his wrist from my hold and cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly along my skin. “Lucky for you, I am.”

He pressed a soft kiss to my lips, then whispered, “Think of it like a recipe.”

“A recipe?” I squeaked, tilting my head back as his mouth moved to my neck.

“Mmm.” His lips grazed the sensitive spot where my shoulder met my neck, and I swore my brain short-circuited. “One for your pleasure.”

Sweet baby cheeses.

“I need to know the ingredients, and only you can give them to me.”

His hand slid down my body again, inching closer to where I wanted him most. My breath hitched, every thought scattering.

“I need your words, Magnolia.”

Words. Right. What were those again?

“I, uh. I need you to touch me,” I stammered, feeling heat bloom in my cheeks.

“I am touching you, sunshine. Be more specific.”

When my brain still refused to cooperate, he pulled back just enough to look at me, one brow quirking in challenge.

“Don’t tell me the firecracker who could set me ablaze with a glare is shy in the bedroom.”

I scoffed. “No!” Though it didn’t even sound convincing to me.

“I’ll tell you what,” he began, the glint in his eye making my heart stutter. “If I’m doing something you don’t like, tell me to stop. Otherwise, I’ll do what I think you need. Deal?”

I swallowed hard, nodding. “I can do that.”

His smile turned wicked, sending a thrill straight through me. “Good girl.”