Page 28 of The Witch's Pet

Her fingers brush the back of my neck, and…

Oh no. OhGod.

The feel of this woman’s fingers on my neck sends an embarrassing lick of heat through me, making me want to step back before I make it obvious how this is affecting me.

Then her fingers knot in my hair, and her touch becomes demanding. She pulls my head back, forcing me to tilt my face up toward hers.

“Good,” she breathes, her other hand closing around my throat firmly enough that I feel my pulse hammering against her palm. “You need to learn to open up for me if we want this to work.”

Something in her tone weakens my knees. I try to nod, but her grip won’t let me.

Her fingers tighten in my hair. “Mine until we break this spell. Just like this. Understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

I should be terrified by how good this feels. How much I like the way she claims me.

She begins the incantation, her grip never loosening. A strange pull builds inside me as the Latin words flow from her lips. It shivers across my skin and breaks like a wave on a rock, cold and sudden. Pleasure pulses through me from where her hands are touching my scalp and throat. Then the wave becomes a riptide, overwhelming, dangerous, and impossible tofight. My insides tumble. My chest flutters. It’s wrong how good this feels, how I’m arching into her touch like I’m starving for it.

She pulls me closer. Our bodies are pressed together, her warmth seeping through my hoodie and chasing away the chill that’s been gnawing at my bones. Every point of contact burns. I can feel the softness of her breasts against mine, the curve of her fitted bodice, the firm line of her hips. It’s too much and not nearly enough. My body has apparently forgotten who she is. It only knows how perfectly we fit together.

She continues the incantation, letting go and running her hands down my neck, over my shoulders, and down my arms. She grips my wrists, brushing her thumbs over the tendons, the veins, the sensitive skin of my forearm. Her cool breath skims my cheek, my jawline, my throat.

It’s like she’s touching me everywhere at once, making my core clench in anticipation, making me want to beg her to keep going even though black spots are bursting at the edges of my vision. A small sound escapes me, half gasp, half moan. I bite my lip, but she must have heard it because her eyes find mine.

Our gazes lock. She’s standing so close that her breath grazes my lips. Her pupils are dilated. Her breathing is unsteady.

God, she’s intoxicating. Her round, icy eyes pierce straight through me. Her lips are full as she recites the incantation. Her thick, dark hair falls in waves around her face. For an absurd moment, I get the urge to ask her to touch me in a different way. In any other scenario, I would swear we were about to…

No. That’s not what this is.

The sensible part of my brain fights for control—the part of me that still loves Riley and hates this murderous woman I’m stuck with.

I swallow hard and drop my gaze, but I only end up staring at the tantalizing line of her clavicle.

Dammit.My body is confused by the intimacy of this ritual—all the touching and closeness.

“So eager to sacrifice yourself for strangers.” Julia combs her fingers through my hair again, gentle enough to make me shiver. “Are you sure you aren’t enjoying this?”

Heat rushes into my cheeks. “I hate everything about you.”

Her lips curve. “Curious. Your body seems to disagree.”

Before I can form a retort, she releases me, stepping back with a satisfied sigh. Magic crackles around her fingers like black lightning, and I can see the renewed power in the way she holds herself. She’s somehow become even more beautiful.

“Better,” she purrs, examining her darkened fingers. Even through the nightfall, the same chilling darkness is visible around her eyes. Her chest heaves, deep and shuddering, like she’s restraining herself from something.

As she turns back to the grave, I stay rooted, touching my throat where her grip bruised me. There’s a pang in my temple, and my mouth is dry. It’s like a hangover, but instead of alcohol withdrawal, it’s…Julia withdrawal.

Fuck. I can’t think of her like that. Like an addiction my body craves.

But having her hands on me, being pressed against her, and seeing that hunger in her eyes? There’s no questioning what the primal part of my brain wants.

Is this who I am now? Have I always craved this and never knew it, or is this magic rewiring my brain?

“Now, let’s find out where dear Florence’s descendants are hiding,” Julia says, bending over Florence Kwan’s grave while I catch my breath. My body aches where she grabbed me—and likely marked me.

I run a shaky hand through my tangled hair, blinking back to reality.