Page 38 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

“Definitely not the teasing,” she answered, arousal heavy in her impatient voice. “You used to bait me all the time and laugh when I exploded. Said it was a good thing you were born with fire magic so you could tame me. Then I’d tackle you and we’d end up naked.”

He laughed.

Her lashes fluttered as she skimmed her hands under his sweater, making the muscles there suck in.

“I missed the quiet,” she told him, so softly it was practically a whisper. A confession. “Even when you challenged me, you—I thought you accepted me. My mom has always pushed me to be better, to try harder. With you, I could be me. I didn’t have to be a Hightower. I could be…quiet.”

Words stuck in his throat. Big words. Meaningful words. Ones he shouldn’t say yet.

Before he could break, she uttered a self-deprecating sound. “But then that went to shit,” she said in her normal voice, walls slamming back into place. She gave him an arch look. “And then I didn’t miss you at all.”

Just a little more time, he told himself. He’d fix this.

So he made his lips curve. “Not even when I did this?” He used his hands to push her dress up, encouraging her to lift her hips so it was above her waist. Red panties against soft brown skin.

The image was enough to make him come in his pants.

He closed his eyes, breathed in. And dropped to his knees.

She didn’t protest, instead eagerly submitting when he yanked her to the front of the dresser. Her panties were roughly stripped and dropped to the floor.

No, this was the sight that was going to make him blow his load. He hissed out a breath and pressed a hand to his cock, throbbing with need. “You’re fucking perfect, Celestia.”

She leaned back on her elbows, watching him with heavy eyes. “Words, Henry Charles. Always just words.”

It was a taunt, but he sensed more. Maybe when all his blood wasn’t in his cock, he’d be able to decipher it. For now, he forced her legs wider with his shoulders. His hands eased up the tender skin of her inner thighs, making her quiver.

“Words are important,” he told her, skimming a finger closer and closer to her heat.

“Not when action doesn’t back them up,” she hissed. “Kiss me.”

“As my lady witch commands.”

Tia was nervous to go slow, which was why he took his time, teasing her shallowly with his tongue as she groaned before thrusting deep, using his fingers to work her in tandem. Her hips rocked under him, moans increasing, wilder and louder, almost nonsensical…until he backed off.

Her eyes flew open, half-crazed. “ Don’t. Stop .”

He felt drunk as he grinned, lopsided. “My turn to ask a question.”

Her head fell back against the mirror. “ Fuck .” Her hand went to herself, fingers playing with her clit. He stared, transfixed, roaring in his ears before reason forced through. He clamped his hand on hers.

“Ah ah ah,” he warned, the Southern in his voice thicker. “Remember the rules.”

“That’s not the rules.”

“My rules.”

She bucked her hips uselessly and then scowled. “Ask your damn question.”

He bent and kissed her inner thigh. Licked it and felt her shudder under his tongue. “Do you like me?”

Tia stared at him with half-lidded eyes. “Your head is between my thighs. What does that tell you?”

“Evasion won’t get you off, Tia.” He summoned heat to his fingertips and carefully traced a line down her inner thigh.

She sucked in a breath, body clenching. “W-what…? How did you learn to do that?”

“Fire is my magic,” he reminded her, dodging that his control had come back with his memories. “And we’ve been practicing.” Enough heat to tingle the sensitive flesh but not hurt. Never hurt.

As she watched, he circled his fingers to her clit, summoning flame again. Her fingers fastened around his wrist, her back bowing and her head falling back, hair skimming the dresser.

“Goddess,” she panted, breasts heaving. “Yes.”

“Answer the question,” he reminded her, his control at breaking point at the sight of her undone.

Her eyes squeezed closed. “Yes, damn you. I like you. I didn’t want to. I hate that I do.”

“Why?”

“Henry, please.” Her plea was broken as her whole body shuddered.

It was that shudder that tipped him over. He dipped down and clamped his lips around her clit, sucking hard the way she liked. In the next breath, he sank two hot fingers into her. She was slick and tight and he groaned around her clit, driving her to the edge and beyond.

Her fingers clenched his hair and her head hit the mirror as she came, a strangled moan spilling from her throat.

As her body trembled in the aftermath, Henry lazily continued to pump his burning fingers in her channel, crooking them slightly, enough to make her jerk.

She altered her grip on his hair. “Because,” she said breathlessly, “I refuse to give you power over me again.”

His mind wasn’t at its sharpest but he didn’t think that answer made sense. He put it aside to think about, when a naked Tia wasn’t above him like the Goddess made sinful flesh. He pulled his fingers out of her, getting to his feet. He gritted his teeth against the ache in his throbbing cock.

Tia noticed. “Regretting the game?” she cooed, flushed and panting.

“Not even a little.” He slid his hands up her thighs, skimming higher and taking her dress with them. He pulled it over her head and arms with her help, tossing it behind him. All she wore now was a red lace bra, basically transparent.

“I love red,” he said absently. “I love you in red.”

“I know.” She looped her arms around his neck with that soft admission. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

The second his came off, question time would be over. But his cock was an insistent scream, balls tightening with every brush of her fingers against his nape. He couldn’t hold out any longer.

One more question. For now.

He pulled Tia off the dresser, spinning her until she clutched its edge, meeting her startled gaze in the mirror. He breathed her in, skimming his nose along her jaw, hands splayed at her hips.

“Unzip me,” he ordered into her skin.

Tia’s smile was slow. She didn’t move her hands, instead using magic to tug down his zipper.

He used one hand to urge her flatter, the other to shove his jeans and underwear to the floor. Retrieving a condom from the dresser drawer, he made short work of rolling it on. He was so fucking hot, he had to squeeze himself at the base to keep from coming.

“Watch,” he gritted out as he sank in, driving himself into her snug channel as she panted hard, fingers curling against the wooden top. She rippled around him and he shuddered, sweat beading his forehead as he bottomed out.

He caught her gaze in the mirror. Her eyes were wide, blurred, her mouth a perfect O.

Still keeping her stare, he pulled his hips back torturously slowly, dragging his length against her. Her breath caught and she clenched as he lifted almost out before pushing in again.

“Watch us ,” he breathed, chest rising and falling rapidly, heart a riot in his chest. His fingers dug into her hips as he picked up the rhythm, unable to keep the slow pace.

She didn’t take her eyes off him, bending farther so he hit new places inside her.

Places that made her gasp, that made her squeeze his cock until his vision went hazy.

He moved faster, faster still, bending over her, rattling the dresser with every downward stroke.

He swore he smelled smoke and couldn’t give a shit.

“See me,” he said, barely hearing his own words. “See me .”

“Yes,” she moaned, biting her lip hard as she rose onto her toes to thrust back against him. “Henry…yes.” Her hazel eyes softened in the mirror.

“Do you regret leaving me?” he rasped, needing to know. Needing her answer as she was looking. Seeing.

He saw the truth reflected in the glass for one heart-stopping moment before she shot into climax, clamping so hard around him that he cursed violently, pumping into her as she cried out and reached back for him.

He caught her hand, threaded his fingers through hers as he thrust home and exploded, black stars behind his eyes.

He had no idea how long they stayed slumped over like that, his rapid heart beating out a rhythm some might call a heart attack. But he wasn’t fully relaxed, and it had nothing to do with the fact he smelled burning fabric.

She might not have said it aloud, but her answer had been there.

Did she regret leaving him?

No.