Page 5 of The Summoning Spell (The Holiday Glitch #1)

I Came, I Floated, I Forgot My Own Name

S he used to joke that she’d never had an orgasm that changed her life. That none of them had made her feel anything but spent and vaguely sad. But this, well, this wasn’t just sex. It was an unmaking.

Blair wasn’t sure if she passed out, or maybe died, or perhaps she just achieved the kind of orgasm that gave access to reality’s cheat codes.

Because what Ashar did next couldn’t be real.

One second, she was under him, breathless and wrecked, trembling and glazed over with sweat.

Next, she was weightless. Not just metaphorically, really. She was physically weightless.

Her brain tried to file it under dream logic, under too-many-TikToks-and-not-enough-sleep, but every nerve in her body screamed real. The air shimmered around her skin, cool and warm at once, like she was suspended in a heartbeat between dimensions.

Floating. Suspended in mid-air like she’d suddenly become the star of a demon-powered Cirque du So-Freaking-Hot.

“What the,” she gasped, jerking her head up. There was nothing but air beneath her. And he, still below her, hands on her hips, dark tattoos faintly glowing like molten gold under his skin.

His grip anchored her. His magic held her aloft. His mouth, fuck, his mouth,

Never stopped.

Ashar’s gaze never left hers as he leaned in again, tongue flicking and teasing, his lips slick and reverent, worshiping her like she was an altar and offering. And when he slipped lower, deeper, parting her with a hunger that bordered on devotion, she moaned loud enough to make the windows hum.

Every breath she took pulled his scent deeper into her lungs, smoke, heat, and something dangerously sweet. Her thighs trembled against his shoulders, not from fear, but from the pressure building inside her like a volcano being seduced into eruption.

Then it happened, he shifted only slightly, and her world tilted.

Because she felt it. Not just the heat and pressure, but something new, something forked teased her clit and entrance in two places at once, two points of pressure, moving in tandem but differently. Her eyes flew wide. “No way,” she gasped. “You have a split tongue?”

Ashar grinned against her, tongue lapping slowly and cruelly and divinely. “Now you believe me,” he purred, voice low and vibrating against her most sensitive skin.

And then he stopped talking.

Because his tongue started working like something designed in a lab for the sole purpose of fucking minds. One half curled around her clit, sucking gently while the other slid lower, teasing her entrance, dipping in just enough to make her lose her language entirely.

Her back arched in mid-air, nipples pebbled, mouth stretched in a silent scream. Her hair floated around her head like a halo of lust and disbelief.

He didn’t give her a moment to catch her breath.

He shifted his angle, gripped her hips tightly, and pulled her down against his mouth like he meant to devour her whole. One tongue teased. The other penetrated. And all of her came undone.

Again. Harder than before.

Violent in its intensity, her climax tore through her like a storm, leaving her limp, shaking, and sobbing out broken syllables that might have been his name.

But Ashar wasn’t finished.

He brought her down, slowly, gently, onto a conjured surface that felt like silk and fire.

She didn’t question it. Couldn’t. Her brain was melting.

Her limbs were useless. And he was above her now, crouched between her legs like a man who hadn’t just made her come so hard she saw into alternate dimensions.

“You okay?” he asked softly, brushing her hair back, eyes searching hers.

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears like the aftermath of a thunderclap. Her nipples were still tight, her skin hypersensitive to the whisper of air between their bodies. Even blinking felt like an effort.

She was wrecked. Properly, divinely, demonically wrecked.

She nodded, barely, throat dry, and she swallowed hard. He wasn’t human, not even close. “You’re not human.”

He smiled, and it was beautiful and terrifying. “No, not exactly, but I’m exactly what you needed.”

He pushed her legs wider. Stroked a hand down her thigh, then up, fingertips tracing the slick heat of her, spreading her open, just looking for a moment, watching her twitch, gasp, and moan.

And then, without a word, he slid two fingers inside her, slow, deep, curling just right. His mouth replaced his hand on her clit, and he began to move. Not too fast, just right. Building her again with maddening precision, like she was an instrument, and he was playing her into symphonic madness.

And when she started to come again, faster this time, messier, too raw to fight it, he added a third finger and whispered against her, “Let go.”

She did.

It wasn’t a scream. It was a wail, deep and cracked and desperate, her entire body bowing off the bed like the orgasm was trying to yank her soul out through her cunt.

She collapsed.

Ashar slid up her body, kissing her stomach, her ribs, her throat, until he was hovering over her, his face smug and soft at once.

“You’re glowing,” he said, voice like velvet and sin.

Blair opened one eye. “No, I’m not.”

“You are. A little. Happens sometimes when I overdo it.”

She groaned. “You overdo it?”

He kissed her forehead. “Only for the worthy.”

And Blair’s thought, boneless and dazed, was:

No way I imagined that.

Blair wasn’t sure how long she lay there, breathing like she’d just outrun God. Her limbs wouldn’t move. Her brain was soup. The shiver in her thighs had yet to settle.

Ashar just watched her.

Kneeling between her legs like temptation incarnate, like he’d done nothing but warm her up.

She blinked slowly. “You’re still hard.”

He didn’t deny it. He just smiled, a lazy, predatory, patient expression.

“I told you,” he murmured, trailing his fingertips along the inside of her thigh, “I’m not here for me.”

No one had ever said that and meant it, and certainly not without strings attached, not without guilt or games. But Ashar, he didn’t feel like he was bluffing. He was baring something older than honesty.

Her gaze dropped.

He was thick, hard, and darkly veined, the head flushed and slick, already leaking with restraint he hadn’t yet broken. He looked like a possibility she didn’t dare believe. Her mouth parted. Her body responded instantly, that slow ache building again, begging without words.

“I want to make you feel everything,” Ashar said. “Every inch. Every breath. Until you forget what it was like before I touched you.”

Blair barely managed a nod.

He moved over her slowly, skin brushing skin, heat pressed to heat. And when he kissed her, this time soft, deep, filled with all the chaos he hadn’t yet unleashed, she felt it like a fuse being lit.

He lined up with her entrance, not yet pushing in. Simply resting there. Letting her feel it. The thick, heavy promise of what was coming.

Blair’s hips tilted instinctively, her body already arching toward him like prayer, like need. Her skin prickled as his cock teased her entrance, her body screaming yes before her lips could remember how to speak it.

“Are you ready?” he asked, mouth at her ear.

She gasped. “Yes. Please,”

The word fractured as he pushed forward, not all at once.

Slow.

Stretching her, filling her, claiming every inch of her inch by inch until her breath caught and her nails raked down his back.

He was big, too much, and somehow perfectly right at the same time.

She whimpered, hips tilting, legs wrapping around him like her body had already decided it would never let him go.

Ashar groaned, deep in his chest, a sound like hunger made flesh. “Fuck, Blair. You feel perfect.”

He began to move.

A slow, devastating grind that made her arch and cling and gasp. Every thrust dragged across a spot inside her that made her eyes roll back, that pulled another helpless moan from her throat.

No more floating, she was grounded now, every nerve tethered to him. Anchored to this moment, to his body, to the rhythm that took her apart and remade her with every stroke.

It wasn’t frantic. Not yet, it was deep and deliberate.

He kissed her as he moved, mouths crashing and breaking and fusing together again between panting breaths. His hands were everywhere, gripping her hips, threading through her hair, cupping her jaw like she was something precious, even as he drove into her like he owned her pleasure.

And fuck, perhaps he did. Because she couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

She could only feel .

Each thrust built heat tighter and tighter in her core, a pressure that curled her toes and made her cry out. He shifted her legs higher, hips angling, and the new position made her scream.

“Right there,” she begged. “Ashar, right there, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He gave it to her; he gave it all to her.

He pounded her harder now, still controlled, but feral at the edges. His breath came hot and ragged against her ear, hips slamming into hers, cock hitting that spot with ruthless precision.

And when she shattered again, raw and gasping and writhing beneath him, he fucked her through it. Didn’t let her come down. That drove her higher again.

He came moments later with a growl, hips jerking, body tensing as he spilled inside her, teeth gritted against her neck. She felt it, every pulse, every twitch, every inch of him locked deep inside her as he lost control.

They collapsed together. Sweaty, shaking, silent except for the ragged sound of shared breath. Blair’s body pulsed, slow and sated.

Ashar kissed her shoulder, gently now.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She turned her head, dazed.

“Pretty sure you have ruined me for all future sex.”

Her voice was hoarse, half-laugh, half-confession. She wasn’t sure whether to high-five herself or call an exorcist.

He smiled. “Good.”

She didn’t speak again, because words weren’t built for whatever that was. There was only the afterglow and the faint scent of fire and sin.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Blair didn’t feel like she’d been used.

She felt chosen. Not in spite of her mess, her chaos, her moods, but because of them. Like the universe finally looked her way and said, This is it.