Page 66

Chapter Sixty-Six

C lover’s heart jumped into her throat. As she stared back at Whit’s determined expression, she knew she’d heard him right.

Her stomach clenched. “What happened? Did your grandfather say you couldn’t have the house if you didn’t bring me back?”

Whit shook his head, moving toward her slowly. “I told him I was moving out. I dissolved the pact so he wouldn’t lose his magic. But I won’t get the house. He can do whatever he wants with it. It doesn’t matter.”

Clover’s mouth dropped open. “It doesn’t matter? It doesn’t matter!” she shouted. “The only reason you married me was to get that house, and after everything, you just throw it away?”

Whit stepped into her personal space but didn’t reach out to touch her. His dark eyes stared down at her, soft and enraptured, as if she were the only other living thing in the world.

Her heart skipped a beat. She’d never thought he would look at her like that.

“It’s just a house. It’s nothing if you’re not in it,” he said.

Clover’s face flushed. “Be serious.”

Slipping his hand into hers, he laced their fingers. A spark ran up her arm, setting her aflame.

“Winter sorcerers are always serious.”

Her heart raced ahead at his touch, at his words, but she pulled it back and frowned.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his eyes suddenly vulnerable. “I…didn’t understand. I didn’t recognize. This doesn’t feel anything like last time. And”—he shook his head—“I tried so hard not to make a mistake that I messed up in an unexpected way. Did I…”

His desperate expression tugged on Clover’s heartstrings.

“Did I ruin everything? Is it too late? Can you forgive me?”

Clover shook her head.

Whit’s expression started to sag before she could clarify.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Husband. I didn’t expect you to love me right away. I just…wanted to know it was somewhere in our future.”

Whit lifted her hand and brushed it with his lips, never taking his eyes from hers. “I didn’t know summer witches were so patient,” he commented against the back her hand.

Clover shivered. “Of course, we are. We have to wait all summer for our seeds to bear fruit,” she murmured, stepping in even closer and lifting her free hand to his chest. She could feel the summer magic warm on her fingertips. Raising her chin, Clover tilted her head back—a clear invitation.

Whit leaned his face in closer, stroking her cheek with his thumb as he pushed her hair away. The trail of his touch left a cool sensation as his winter magic danced across her skin like the first frost on dewed grass.

“I love you, Clover Bronwen,” he whispered.

A bright glow pulsed inside Clover, and she smiled up at him. “That’s Clover Crawford,” she corrected.

Whit captured her mouth with his, his fervent urgency slamming into her. She gasped, dizzy from the sheer intensity of his attention.

He pulled back, huffing a heavy breath as he looked down at her. “Are you?—”

She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to keep him from retreating. “Don’t you dare stop now, Whittaker Crawford.”

Whit grinned down at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

Wrapping her arms around the back of his neck, Clover lost herself in his kisses. His breath was heavy, and his hands burned her hips through her threadbare thirty-year-old T-shirt.

As he pressed her to him, she felt every inch of his manhood through his thin workout pants. She shuddered as desire shot through her. How could she ever have thought he wasn’t attracted to her?

Tugging at his shirt, Clover couldn’t seem to coordinate what her brain wanted and what her hands were doing. Lucky for her, her husband was smart. The stitches cracked in protest as he hastily removed his shirt.

Clover took a moment to appreciate the sight of her husband—his abdomen and arms a testament to how seriously he took his carpentry hobby.

He reached for the hem of her shirt, bunching it slowly as if he wanted to savor every inch she revealed to him.

She shivered when he lifted it over her head, goose bumps raising on her arms and legs as she stood in only her panties in the middle of her bedroom.

The chill melted as Whit pulled her close. Even if he had the magic of winter, he was still flesh and blood. His skin heated hers as he drew her into another dizzying kiss.

Every stroke, every lick, every breath had her wanting more. But she didn’t have the wherewithal to ask for it. She couldn’t form the words to move this to the bed.

Her knees started to wobble, and her legs trembled under his passion.

Effortlessly, Whit bent and scooped Clover’s knees, lifting her into his arms while never breaking their kiss. He strode purposefully across the room and climbed the stairs that led to her loft bed.

Gently, he laid her down on the bed and placed his knees on either side of her with his weight supported by his hands near her head. His dark eyes fixed on hers were filled with a purpose that both awed and pleased her.

As their lips met again, their magic swirled together like hot fudge slowly melting vanilla ice cream.

Despite his purposeful trek across the room, Whit didn’t seem in any rush. And Clover squirmed against the need pooling in her core. Her thighs rubbed together uncomfortably in her desire for relief.

Cupping her breast with his hand, he rubbed the calloused pad of his thumb across her sensitive nipple. She arched her back, clamping her mouth shut to stifle her moan.

Clover’s insides blazed like a bonfire on the summer solstice, her magic heightened as it mixed with his.

She was surrounded by him, by his body, by his magic, by the vehemence of his desire for her. It wasn’t enough.

Wiggling beneath him in protest, she trailed her fingers down his torso and slipped them into his pants.

Whit tensed atop her, groaning against her lips when she wrapped her fingers around his heavy cock.

When he pulled out of her reach, she frowned. She liked feeling him stiff and throbbing in her hand. It was solid proof he wanted her. But as he slipped her underwear down her legs, she smirked. He’d gotten the message just fine.

Locking eyes with Clover, Whit slowly trailed his hand up her inner thigh. She trembled, biting her lip and praying to any gods who were listening that he wouldn’t stop.

His thick fingers found the slick wetness he’d elicited, and he smiled a reward at her.

She jerked and shivered, whimpering as he rubbed her clit with his thumb. The slow rhythm made her rock her hips, and her mind slipped into the foggy abyss as she closed her eyes.

Clover gasped, grunting an inhuman sound when she felt him lick her clit, wide and slow. Her face started to go numb, and her legs shook as she begged him to enter her.

Trust a winter sorcerer to be efficient.

Whit slid inside her, shuddering as he made space for himself.

As he settled his weight atop her, she smiled, wrapping her arms around him to feel the tight muscles of his back. His moan in her ear, his muscles tensing and twitching under her hands, the throb of him deep inside her—she was doing this to him. She was giving him this pleasure. And that only made the pleasure he was giving her even greater.

“I love you,” she breathed in his ear as he thrust inside her again.

“I love you, too,” he said, lifting himself up to meet her gaze.

“Come for me, Husband.”

With another hard thrust, she gasped while she approached her peak.

“You first.”

Her face contorted. “Then don’t stop!” she moaned.