Page 35 of Head Witch in Charge (The Sherwood Witches #2)

Leona…

Evil adjacent?

Erik couldn’t be more wrong about me on that point, but I have to say it’s fun pretending.

The man is so close to snapping. The muscles in his thighs strain with the effort not to move.

And when I tilt my head just enough that my eyelashes brush against the skin of his inner thigh while breathing a little more, let’s say, emphatically than normal so that he feels it exactly where I want him to? It’s a thing of absolute beauty.

Maybe I am kind of adjacent to adjacent to being evil adjacent. I’d label it as being bad in a good way—and the power of it is delicious.

I bend one finger and drag the knuckle up Erik’s thick shaft, following the line of pre-cum to the swollen head. The sound he makes—half groan, half muttered plea to stop or keep going, I can’t quite make it out—makes my core clench.

Fine. I’ll go as far as saying I’m adjacent to being evil adjacent. After all, we Sherwoods didn’t become the deciding influence on governments and markets by being nice all the time.

“You win,” he says.

“What was that?” I ask as if I hadn’t heard him correctly.

“You heard me.”

“But I want to hear it again.”

He smolders down at me. “You. Win.”

They are two of my favorite words in the English language already, but coming from Erik Svensen, the man who’s been the bane of my existence since I foolhardily married him? There really is nothing better—not that I’m going to let him go so easily.

I give his thigh another soft kiss and stand up so I’m looking down at him as he sits. He still has one leg splayed open, the other draped over the chair’s arm, and one hand wrapped around his cock. I was so wrong. Erik doesn’t look like a guy who just lost, not even close.

Matching his smug attitude, I cross my arms under my boobs to give the girls a little lift and ask, “So what’s my prize?”

If I’d expected the answer in word form, I would have been sorely disappointed.

Lucky me, Erik doesn’t blather on about the bizarre attractiveness of my two-colored eyes or the way my hair is so bright it looks like a chemical fire at sunset, or that all my curves give so much more cushion (yes, I’ve heard each one of those before and worse).

Instead, he moves so fast I would swear he’s part vampire.

One moment he’s lounging in the chair and the next he is standing with his hands on my hips and whirling me around.

I land with a soft thwump, sitting on the smooth velvet chair cushion, my brain trying to catch up with my body.

Before it can, his hands are on my thighs, pushing them apart as he drops to his knees on the floor pillow.

Then he slides his hands around to my ass and tugs me to the edge of the chair so my more-than-ready center is just millimeters away from his very talented mouth.

“I should torture you like you did me.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a reward for me.”

“So you just want all the orgasms right now?”

“Yes.”

“No waiting?…No buildup?…No sweet, delicious anticipation?”

“Exactly.” I run my fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make his jaw tighten with the effort it must be costing him to tease me like this. “You think you can make that happen?”

“Wife,” he says with a grin, “you know I can.”

He barely has the words out before his face is buried in my wet core, taking slow, deliberately maddening licks that come oh-so-close to my clit without ever touching it.

If it were any other man, I’d magic him up a map, but I know this is just payback from Erik.

Oh, he’ll give me the orgasms—probably more than I can take—but first he’s going to make me really, really want them.

“You taste so good.” He takes another long swipe with his tongue, the tip just barely brushing my clit and making my whole body tense. “You like that, huh?”

As if he doesn’t know—which is exactly what I would have told him if he hadn’t followed up by doing it again and again and again before changing tactics and swirling his tongue around my clit in lazy circles as I make sounds I don’t recognize.

“What was that?” He rolls back onto his heels and looks up at me, his mouth slick with my pleasure. “I didn’t quite catch it.”

I open my mouth to answer, but on the next heartbeat I’m floating, not too high—there’s only a few inches between my bare ass and the velvet cushion—but it’s enough to bring me mouth level with Erik. Not that the damn man uses his mouth. No, that would be too expected, and Erik is anything but.

Instead it’s his thumb pressing against my opening, rubbing the sensitive entrance and then moving up and down along my slit, taking the time to press against the side of my clit once, twice, three times before going back and starting the whole process over again.

My thighs are starting to shake as the pleasure pulses in my core, but I can’t stop watching him as he plays with me.

The expression of absolute fucking promise on his face as he sees what he’s doing to me, how his touch pushes me closer and closer, just adds to the hedonistic thrill of the moment.

Here we are in a satyr’s orgy room, surrounded by sex everywhere we turn and the scent of our magic combining, and all I can see is Erik just living for the moment when my orgasm hits.

It’s not because he wants to get that done so he can get his or because of some weird power trip, but because it’s plain as the thin, pale scar on his chin that he just wants me to feel good.

The realization hits like a mini orgasm, and Erik must take this as his cue to lean in and get his whole mouth in on the action.

My ass is in the air and I’m gripping the carved ends of the chair’s arms like they’re the only thing keeping me from flying into the atmosphere, and he continues to feast on me.

He slides two fingers inside me, stroking in and out as he centers his mouth on my clit.

It’s more than I can take. My orgasm crashes into me, making the lights in the room flicker and buzz from the power surge.

Body slack and eyes closed, I hover above the chair, held up by Erik’s coffee-scented magic, too blissed out to make a fuss about the fact that he’s kissing his way down my thighs, massaging my ass with his strong hands, and just in general making me a boneless mass of a sickeningly satisfied woman.

“You’re smiling,” Erik says, sounding way too sure of himself.

I don’t even crack open an eyelid—honestly, I can’t yet. “It’s an illusion spell.”

He snort-chuckles against the inner curve of my knee. “You’re so full of it.”

“I’d rather be full of something else.”

“Is that your way of asking me to fuck you now?”

“Asking?” I lift an eyebrow. “I thought tonight was all about me being selfish and demanding what I want.”

“Yes, wife.”

The layer of rough want under those two words sends a delicious shiver through me.

And when he stands up and takes a few steps back from the chair, it’s all I can do not to magic the doors locked forever.

It isn’t just the way Erik looks—the man is fucking gorgeous—but it’s the way he’s looking at me as if he’s seeing through all the layers of practiced Sherwood heir bullshit right to the actual me.

It’s enough to steal my breath and make my heart stutter as every single thought I have in my head scatters like crisp yellow leaves in a fall breeze.

He wraps his long fingers around his cock and strokes its hard length. “Tell me who you are.”

“You know who I am,” I say, needing to draw out this game even though we know how it’s going to end, because each time I say it, the words increase in power like an ancient spell.

Erik makes a tsk-tsk sound as he shakes his head at me and continues to jerk off to the sight of me spread out before him. “Say it.”

My heart is beating so hard in my chest I can’t believe he doesn’t hear it. “Why?”

“Because hearing you say you belong to me and I belong to you is the hottest thing in the whole damn world.” His hand stills and his jaw hardens as if he’s forcing himself to step back from the edge. “Who are you?”

Pushing away his magic so I stop floating, I land softly in the chair and grasp the curved wooden ends of the chair’s arms, knowing that what’s coming next is going to make it hard to remember that this is only happening because of the Nullam Inhibitionis.

Yeah, the fates help me, I want Erik Svensen, but I can’t keep him.

I can’t stay his. I can’t fail my family by putting my wants first when keeping Witchingdom safe from the Council’s control lies in the balance—that’s not how life works when you’re the Sherwood heir.

But tonight?

Here?

Under the auspices of the Nullam Inhibitionis?

None of that matters. I can be who I want to be.

“I am Leona Sherwood Svensen.” I stand and cross over to Erik. “I am your wife.”

Magic thunders in the air as a blast of warm donuts and fresh-brewed coffee sweeps through the room, knocking over the smaller statues and knocking me off my feet.

Maybe it’s the lingering power of that last orgasm, but I don’t worry for a second about what is going to happen next, I just know it’s going to work out.

And when Erik catches me, drawing me to him as the wild wind curls around us both, part of me is absolutely one hundred percent certain he always will.

Am I a fool?

Without a doubt, I’ll get all angsty about that tomorrow, but as soon as Erik’s lips come down on mine, there is no way to think about anything else except what he’s doing to me right now.