Page 105 of How to Flirt with a Witch

She doesn’t stop me, letting out a breathy, “Katie…”

Fire licks through me as she grins and slips her fingers back under my dress.

As much as I relish these stolen moments to make out—and more—while we’re on assignment, frustration simmers beneath the desire. We can only meet strategically. We can’t be seen together too often, which means I usually take meals alone. I still haven’t been to her room because she lives in a corner unit at a busy intersection. Any time we have together is quick and frantic. But while the secrecy was once exciting, now, it’s confining.

I slide my hand into her jeans, and her eyelids flutter closed, a shaky breath escaping.

She grips the back of my knee and lifts my leg, giving her better access. I clutch the back of her neck and whimper.

All that heated kissing made me so ready for her, and as her fingers glide along my center, hunger passes over her expression. “I can never get enough of you.”

“Same,” I whisper.

As she touches me, I bite back a moan. Everything in me melts in a rush of pleasure, and it’s a good thing I’m being held up between her and the wall. I surrender to the rhythm of her fingers, letting out tiny gasps.

She feels excruciatingly amazing, making me question why we don’t throw caution to the wind and do this every day. Multiple times a day, even.

“We’ll have to—figure out how to sneak me into your room,” I murmur between hitched breaths.

She hesitates for the briefest moment. “Maybe on a holiday—when people leave to see their extended families. But then…”

Then I would be with my family, too. Are we ever going to get a chance to be in a normal relationship? One where we can go on dates, hold hands in public, and spend unlimited time together?

She claims my mouth again, distracting me from that train of thought.

Our rhythm quickens as we get lost in each other, our breaths coming faster.

With my knee on her hip, the purple gemstone in the pocket of her trench coat thumps against my outer thigh, our trophy from neutralizing the curse. A reminder of how much I don’t understand about magic.

I try to ignore it, but a spark of frustration returns. Despite our assignments, despite taking the oath, I still don’t know CSAMM’s secrets—or Natalie’s. What are they keeping from me?

Natalie pauses, sensing my distraction. She meets my gaze with a soft, concerned expression. “You okay?”

I nod quickly. “Yeah. Keep going.”

Pushing down my doubts, I sink back into the present. We don’t have long, and I’m ruining this fleeting moment by overthinking.

I should be grateful for each second with her, whether we’re in a dressing room or a train station. Because between the coven and the Madsens, there are too many reasons it could all come to an abrupt end.

Balancing my life doesn’t get any easier. One minute I’m pressed against Natalie, frantically kissing her while a curse blows up whatever room we’re in, and the next, I’m in the calm CSAMM courtyard with my laptop, pretending to be a normal university student. It’s a dizzying double life, but I keep afloat through sheer stubbornness, refusing to let any part of my life sink.

On the first day of February, as I’m catching up on sociology lectures in the courtyard, a Director named Amir strides toward a group of Shadows at another picnic table. His brow is pinched, his face lined and solemn.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, straining to hear the conversation.

His low voice barely reaches me. “…Freddie and Oaklyn…cemetery…”

“Looking for a curse?” Hayley asks.

“Seems so.”

A shiver runs down my spine.

Natalie and Sky enter the courtyard too, both wearing black trench coats. Their expressions are grave, a palpable tension raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

I catch Natalie’s eye and glance pointedly at the group, a silent question.

She nods and says something to Sky, motioning in my direction.