Page 14 of Of Poison & Pumpkins (Of Witches & Men #3)

CHAPTER TEN

Elias

B lindfolded, in complete darkness, my cock is rock hard. Did Rynn figure out that I love restraints? Or is this a happy coincidence?

At our wrists, I’m loosely connected to Rynn, yet there’s enough slack to let my shoulders relax. Good. That’ll make this experience absolutely divine.

The hostess takes my free hand and guides me while telling us, “We’re stepping down ten times. Take it slow.”

I’m glad I’m descending first; if Rynn trips behind me, I’ll catch her body weight. My feet tap at each stair to check the depth and my muscles brace in case Rynn loses her balance.

“I’m glad you agreed to this,” she whispers behind me.

Without sight, all my other senses are on fire and the soft caress of her breath on my neck gives me gooseflesh.

At the bottom, the hostess stops and explains, “We’ll be going through a door. When you hear it open, silence is required. If you have anything to say, do so now. The poetry duel will start in five minutes and snacks will be served.”

“While blinded and tied?”

“Magic will tingle your lips and feed you things that symbolizes the poems’ themes. If you want a drink, turn your head to your left and a straw will appear by magic.”

Adrenaline kicks in. This is sexy as Sols.

“You okay?” Rynn whispers.

“Yeah, but how will we find Alexandra’s ex in the dark? If we’re tied up I doubt that?—”

“Oh, you’re here for Shannon?” The hostess’s high-pitched, casual voice is intense in this darkness. “I’ll let her know.”

“Oh, one more question, one or two chairs?” she asks.

I reply with “two,” at the same time that Rynn says, “one.”

Well, then. A fluttering feeling tussles in my stomach.

“Ready?” the hostess asks.

I take a calming breath.

“Yeah,” Rynn says.

I feel her fingertip brush against mine, still cuffed next to me. That slight touch alone makes my dick twitch. This might be my personal torture. Every inch of skin feels sensitive. As the door opens and we move forward, there’s a tingling in my fingers and toes.

Overwhelming incense fills my nostrils, and I instantly feel like I’ll get high on the thick, muggy scent.

A few scuffles and scrapes sound nearby, but I can’t tell how close people are or the size of the space.

There are a few sniffing sounds, followed by a quiet cough, and the sound of a microphone bumping against something.

The hostess stops and shifts my hips, then gently pushes me down onto a soft couch.

I sink into the deep cushions and Rynn’s arm moves with me.

I’ve never felt my heart beat so rapidly before.

It’s like I drank five espressos in a row.

My foot taps on the floor until I realize I’m supposed to stay silent.

Soft skin swipes against mine, warm and silken.

Rynn nudges my side and a body part rubs against my leg.

Oh my goddess, Rynn’s going to straddle me.

Holding my breath, I wait until she settles, her crotch against mine, weight on my lap.

Who in the bloody vampire invented this place? They deserve a Nobel Prize.

Her thighs are wrapped around my waist. Our wrists are still bound and connected, miraculously comfortable.

My free hand settles on her lower back to keep her steady and I resist massaging up along her spine.

Rynn’s torso leaves space between mine, and I thank my lucky stars that I had a mint in the car.

I want to ask if she’s still okay, but when she shifts her hips against my middle again, the message is loud and clear.

Not only is she fine, she’s enjoying this as much as I am.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve found my match.

The longing to kiss her is so intense I may snap in half.

Her soft breaths become audible, a little faster.

I’m on the edge of sanity. I crane my neck back as if I’m praying to some higher being and beg my body to control itself.

No grinding. No thrusting. Don’t taste her neck.

Don’t initiate. She obviously wants the power and control, and I’ll gladly allow it.

Part of me wonders if this is some sort of test since she knew how this café functions.

A loud thump causes Rynn to jump, and I groan as she jerks against my erection. I’ve never been this hard in my life.

“YOU TAKE!” a female voice hisses harshly into a microphone somewhere to my left, voice raw with urgency.

“YOU MAKE. MAKE ME. NO TIME TO SUFFER.” She pauses, for one, two, three beats.

I’m waiting for more, wondering what will happen next, when her voice hits me like a drum to my ear.

“YOU GRAB. YOU JAB. JAB ME. LOVE ME HARDER.”

The vulnerability in the voice is a strange, foreign nag under my skin. Has Rynn ever written a poem? Has she bled her emotions through ink onto a page? Does she have shadows buried deep that I don’t know about? Is that why she brought me here?

With her on my lap, a line has been crossed. When we leave this café later, I know there will be a tectonic shift in our relationship. It’s up to me to make sure it’s a positive change.

A soft touch feathers against my cheek. I open my mouth, without a clue as to what flavor or texture will be dropped inside.

I hear soft crunching sounds from Rynn, warning me it’s something that needs chewing.

A thin, salty substance slips over my tongue.

A cracker. I munch and munch, ultra-sensitive to the crisp, rough, texture, then how it develops shapes and builds into a moist ball before I swallow.

I turn my neck and a straw pokes at my lips.

I may grunt in surprise because a tiny laugh slips out of Rynn.

The sound itself makes my dick twitch again.

Fantasies start to play out in my head that I must ignore to survive this.

Uncoordinated, I use my lips to position the straw, then slurp a cold, tangy liquid that reminds me of a sugary juice I always had as a kid—maybe kiwi-flavored. My cheeks pucker in response and I shake my head, not expecting something sweet.

“Lost at midnight,” a deep male’s voice says into the microphone, a voice made for radio. “Leave me in pieces.”

A gong chimes somewhere, vibrating through my bones.

“Slices of my soul,” the poet continues, “edge of infinite or never. Breathe in or fall, fall, fall to the depths.”

A finger swipes at my cheek. Something soft and squishy is placed on my tongue. Strawberry. Its juices spill into my mouth and I want to taste Rynn’s lips, to check if she’s having the same food.

“Wake up to the prickling sensation of a goosebump

Standing on edge awaiting courage to jump …”

Rynn moans softly and my hips instinctively thrust up. The sound she makes travels directly to my dick faster than a shooting arrow.

“Wake up to the rush of air whipping by

Taking a long leap off, finding faith to dive …”

“Elias,” she whimpers, blowing out a long exhale.

Focus. Focus. I command my body to stay still as a statue.

“Wake up to an icy splash of intensity

Suddenly surrounded by foreign territory …”

I can’t concentrate on the rest of his poem; arousal does not describe what’s happening to my body. I want to bathe in Rynn’s delicious sounds and intoxicating scent.

The poets continue to duel, their words stripped bare, heavy emotion in the air, clawing out my heart. The vibe evokes a combination of fear and lust mingled.

I catch a few fleeting words from the poems here and there … “shudder” …. “caress” … “curl” … “seize.”

After who-knows-how long, I wonder if Rynn is still comfortable sitting with her legs stretched wide? I break the rules and lean forward, whispering where I assume her ear might be, “Lean against my chest if you want, Sunflower.”

Surprisingly, she does, and I’d cheer to the heavens if it were allowed. My entire body grows hot with her nearer. Tingling pleasure floods my veins and my groin desperately needs the friction of her against me. But I don’t give in. Don’t move. Even though my hands ache to explore.

Her chest rises and falls fast as she presses against me, thumping chaotically, threatening to explode from her chest. Just like mine.

Another gong chimes. Lights flash on behind my blindfold and I cringe, blinking away the abrupt change. They go off again. On. Off. On. Another chime, but this time it dings three times.

When Rynn’s body finally slumps, resting against me, I know it’s over. Half of my brain wants more, unsure how long the experience was, and the other half of me is grateful for the freedom.

A fresh wave of strong incense blows through the room, washing over me in a fog of tranquility.

The hostess’s voice whispers near my ear, “Thank you for joining Raven Slam. We hope the poems introduced you to something new. Please enjoy the rest of your meal in the light.”

My blindfold is peeled off and a pair of hazel eyes, red rimmed, gaze back at me. The tears trickling down her cheeks are a punch to the gut. My dick goes limp in a single breath and every new detail of the room in my peripherals turns fuzzy.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Why are you crying?” I search her expression. “What do you need?”

Rynn leans forward again, resting her chin on my shoulder as her body shakes softly. I rub her back with my free hand, soft strokes up and down until her breathing slows. Once she no longer trembles, I survey the scene.

Our red, oversized chair sits in the middle of a small room without windows, among a sea of other mismatched furniture.

Some are wooden, some are soft couches or benches.

About twenty other people are seated, half paired with someone, half not, yet all are cuffed in some way.

Colorful murals decorate the walls and there is no shortage of plants draped on every possible surface.

A little stage in the middle of the room sits empty, but the far corner holds staff members who dip behind a bar, full of liquor on the shelves.

Rynn sniffs, then abruptly rises from my lap, standing next to me. “I can’t remember the last time I cried.”