Page 27 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

eighteen

Tia kept her gaze on Henry steady, even with the way her heart was trying to break her ribs.

Shallow breaths lifted her chest with every second that passed.

She had enough sense to activate the soundproof barrier but even that slipped away as her hand fell back to her side.

She dragged her lower lip between her teeth and leaned heavily against the door. “Come here.”

Henry’s eyebrows arched. “That sounds like an order.” His voice was deep, rough, acting like light sandpaper over her skin.

“So?”

He shrugged and sat on the side of the bed. His pants strained over his obvious bulge. “So,” he said, a dark smile toying with his lips. Teasing. “Play nice, Celestia.”

She narrowed her eyes, ignoring the way he caressed the syllables of her name. He was trying to get the upper hand. That was familiar; when had Henry ever not pushed back? Now he thought he could be in control? Now she’d decided that she could handle being intimate without being intimate ?

She held back a wicked smile. Poor fool.

He didn’t remember who he was dealing with.

In the end it had been simple. He was offering something they both wanted and it didn’t need to be more than that.

Maybe they should’ve had a one-night stand years ago, but her pride wouldn’t have let her, even though she knew Henry would’ve said yes in the flick of a wand if she’d ever suggested it.

If they’d had a one-night stand, at least there wouldn’t have been years of need humming under her skin, ready to explode.

He didn’t get to win the upper hand here. She needed it.

She didn’t move from her spot, instead lifting her hands above her head. The movement pushed her breasts out, outlined in her sweater. “A gentleman would come to me.”

“A gentleman might,” he agreed, leaning back on his elbows. The mattress dipped welcomingly. “You think I’m a gentleman?”

“I hope so.”

Humor flashed. “No, you don’t.”

No, she didn’t.

He watched her for a moment with heavy-lidded eyes. “This isn’t going to be all your way, you know.”

“I think it is.” She trailed one hand down her neck, tracking how he watched. She traced a path to her breast, halting short of the hard point of her nipple. “I know you. I know what pushes all your buttons.”

“Touch yourself,” he ordered, raspy, glued to the inch between her stroking thumb and her nipple.

She held back. “Do it for me.”

His smile was wry. “You’re good.”

“Baby, you don’t even know.” She moved her hand down, away from one ache to a deeper one. Toying with the button on her pants, she cocked her head. “Still don’t want to come to me?”

“The show’s too good from here.”

Stubborn ass. It annoyed her how it aroused her, how he wouldn’t give in. How he always gave as good as she did.

“You see,” she continued, walking her fingers down her zipper, pressing against her clit.

Her teeth sank into her lip as sensation overrode thought.

When her eyes opened, his face was tight.

“You see,” she said again, breathless, “we’ve done this before.

In beds, against walls, in gardens and once at a party where you covered my mouth and I had to bite your hand to keep my screams in. ”

His throat bobbed.

She throbbed in response, the memories crystal in her mind.

Her magic bubbled inside her, adding to the ache.

“I remember how you go wild if I bite a certain part of your neck,” she said throatily, gaze latching there.

Imagining herself straddling him and nipping at it until he tossed her on the mattress.

“I remember how you swear if I drag my nipples down your chest. Your thighs are sensitive to touch, especially my nails.” She touched the seam of her pants, feeling how wet she was through the fabric.

Her chest was lifting and falling rapidly.

“And how you break if I take you into my mouth.”

His hands on the bed caught fire and he jerked, immediately moving to throw a pillow on the flames before it could spread.

Tia tutted softly. “Premature eruption? How disappointing.”

Fire out, he stalked toward her and every atom trembled in victory as he braced his hands on either side of her body. “Touch yourself,” he gritted out.

“Not until you say I win.”

Genuine humor shone in his eyes. “Brat.”

Her breath caught. She shored the gap in her defenses up, desperate to make sure her battered heart survived. Fucking, not feelings. That was what this was, for both of them. They didn’t need her tangling emotion into it.

Of course he saw anyway, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he took her hand in his. And said, “If you won’t do it, then show me. Show me how to touch you.” He dipped his head, brushing a kiss across her lips.

Her heart hitched. It was too much and not enough, the way he was looking at her, the affectionate nickname from the past, his words. He’d always been good at words. Just words.

She couldn’t handle it. So she handled him instead, cupping his cock in one decisive motion. He swore, a harsh word that fell between them like a flash potion. His fingers clenched on the door as she took him firmly in hand.

She didn’t waste time with more words. Instead, she rubbed him exactly how she knew he liked, pressing closer and kissing his neck. He shuddered violently, a scraping sound telling her he was digging his nails against the door.

“You’re not…going…to…win,” he managed, groaning on the last word as she squeezed at the root. His back arched and he bit his lip hard. She recognized him fighting the pleasure, loved the dark torture on his face. He shuddered again and scowled. “Every time,” he finished, and fell on her.

She didn’t have time for victory, too busy with feeling everything else.

How his hands, familiar and not, moved roughly down her body.

He cupped her breasts possessively and she moaned as his thumbs caught her nipples.

He was gentle to begin with but when she only moved restlessly, he caught them harder between finger and thumb. He tweaked and her hips jerked.

“Yes,” she moaned. Her panties grew wetter.

He leaned back enough to strip her sweater away, then the cami under it. His gaze was hot as he dragged it over her yellow satin bra, before he reached for her pants, tugging them off. She helped, kicking them into the corner and standing in front of him in matching panties.

“You’re perfect,” he growled, shaping her curves with his hands. He clutched her hips, smoothing his fingertips under the flimsy barrier of her underwear. “I need to touch you.”

She read the intention and something flared under her breastbone. He wanted to go slow, take his time. She wasn’t having that.

She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she knew this man. He might not know her secrets, but she sure as fuck knew his. And nothing hit Henry’s detonate button like seeing her on her knees.

She dropped to the carpet, the plushness cushioning her as she unzipped his jeans, tugging them lower in one quick motion. His boxer-briefs barely contained his erection and she wasted no time before wrapping her lips around the shape of him.

He roared, one hand slapping the door. “ Tia .”

She barely had time to savor it before he was hauling her to her feet and shoving her toward the bed.

She landed with a small bounce and a victorious laugh.

He stalked toward her, pushing off his underwear as he stopped at his suitcase.

His cock bobbed, large, hard, as he opened a box of condoms, tearing one off.

He never moved his eyes from her as he took himself in hand, giving his cock a rough stroke.

She was soaked now, pulse a racing blur in her ears, and her fingers went between her thighs. He watched as she touched her clit, her back arching as lightning speared down it.

But she wanted it to be him. She let her legs fall open as she played with herself, panting as he stretched the condom over his cock.

That done, he prowled forward, not stopping when he hit the bed, instead crawling over her.

He caught her lips in a hard kiss, mastering her with his tongue as he let his weight rest against her.

Her breath hitched at the pressure, the pleasure of it.

Her hips came up and rubbed, again and again, frantic with the pulsing need.

An orgasm hovered and all she needed was a push.

Then his broad fingers were there, pushing aside her panties and spearing into her.

One at first, then another as he pumped, her own wetness making it an easy glide.

He crooked his fingers and she cried out, her body surging at the sensation.

Her gasps fell against his skin, sweat gleaming over her, over him, as she reached her peak and came.

He waited until she stopped quivering, until her eyes opened and his blurry figure came into focus. For a moment, she swore she saw something like relief cross his face.

“You ready?” he asked gruffly, need stretching his expression tight.

For an answer, she lifted her hips so he could slide her panties off. He positioned himself and began pushing in. He was thick and hard and even though she was wet, it had been a while. She felt every inch of him going in and clutched at him, at the cover, breathing hard as he bottomed out.

His eyes were brighter than she’d seen them and he stroked a hand up her thigh. “This good?”

He wanted to talk . Now?

She grabbed him by the back of the neck and yanked him close enough to bite his bottom lip. When he jerked, she glared at him. “Do me already.”

He grinned fiercely and, for once, did as she’d ordered. He started slow but was quickly powering into her, the wet sound of flesh meeting flesh overriding the noises both of them made as they charged toward climax. Something crashed around her and she couldn’t even care.

“It’s so good,” he groaned, holding her tightly. She moaned in response. “It can’t have been this good before.”