Page 58 of Will It Hurt?

Shit. She was pale everywhere like liquid moonlight and the lightest silk. I heard my gulp echo between us as she tugged the shirt from her shoulders and let it fall away.

Deep pink nipples stood out from her chest, tight and hard as though they were waiting to be suckled. Her breasts hugged her chest as she moved across the bed.

“Now,” she said, rising above me on her knees. “Open your legs and prove to me just how much I don’t affect you.”

“What?” I could barely hear her over the erratic thumping of my heart.

“You heard me, little wytch,” she breathed. “Let go of that quilt and open for me.”

There were so many reasons I shouldn’t.

Reason one: she’d tried to murder me.

Reason two: I didn’t trust her.

Reason three: she was clearly dangerous.

Reason four: letting her see me naked would change everything between us.

And yet…

The look in her eyes was making it difficult to breathe.

Her fingers fisted in the quilt, tugging it away with a slow, deliberate slide.

“Say no,” she said, a challenge in her tone.

I should say no .

Instead, I watched, biting my bottom lip as the quilt slid down past my neck, my breasts, my belly, my core, my thighs, her eyes following every inch of skin that was revealed. The quilt pooled on the floor with a soft whoosh.

Jinn sat back on her haunches, her gaze lingering on the gold bars through my nipples then dropping to the curly bush between my thighs. I searched her face for cues—did she like the fact that I was unshaved? Did it repulse her? Was she thinking that flossing was important but not like this?

If she had a problem with a little bush—okay, fine, an overgrown bush—then she could go fuck hers—

“Open,” she said, her voice holding the same command that it had earlier this evening in the covenstead. There was something about the lower register that made my belly quiver. The backs of her fingers brushed my knees.

I’d clenched them together, unwilling to lose her game so quickly, but I knew the moment she saw the wetness smeared across my thighs, she’d know exactly how much she affected me.

She was about to win her twisted little game.

I’d argue that she had set me up for failure. Clearly, she knew how her proximity impacted me. Between the almost-choking-me-to-death and kissing-me-until-I-couldn’t-breathe, I was certain she knew how conflicted I was about the desire that churned in my belly.

She was toying with me yet again. I was the mouse to her cat. A deer to her lion. A little weakling human wytch to her undead strength.

A smug smile curled her lips.

“There’s no shame in losing.”

The backs of her knuckles traveled down my thighs, cool and steady.

Under the heat of her gaze, my legs parted. I could only hope the shadows in the room would partially hide how wet I was. But when I dared a glance down, the golden glow of the lamplight flowed like a halo around my sex, illuminating every single detail in painful magnification.

How? What?

I glanced around, looking for the source of light, but couldn’t find any reason why my pussy would be lit up like that .

“Oh.”

Except it wasn’t a simple Oh that escaped her lips. It was a deep exhale, a reverent breath, the kind a churchgoer would utter in a prayer.

“Give me a taste, little wytch,” she rasped. “Stick your fingers in your pussy and slide it against my tongue.”

Fireworks speared through my blood with each filthy word from her lips.

When I hesitated, she added: “Do it. Now. ”

And I did.

Under her watchful gaze, my fingers slid down over my belly and my curls, dipping between the wetness that glistened under the light-from-nowhere. How was I already so swollen, so red, so fucking messy?

“Inside,” she reminded me, watching my fingers’ progress.

I found the overflowing opening and pressed a single finger inside, feeling my core clench at the welcome intrusion. Another digit followed quickly and my hips moved in tandem, wanting more. Needing more.

When I finally pulled my fingers free, she dipped low to take them into her mouth. She licked away every last drop with relish, lingering over the final suckle of my fingertips.

“Perfect,” she said. “Now, again.”

Fuck, how had it come down to this? Her palms held my knees open as my fingers slicked over my core, seeking the usual spots that sent me over the edge.

Faster, faster.

Deeper.

The bedsprings creaked beneath me as my hips rose to meet my fingers.

Each thrust ended in a wet squelch that might have embarrassed me in other circumstances.

But as she watched me, her gaze focused on my core, her fangs lengthening against her bottom lip, I couldn’t bring myself to feel an ounce of self-consciousness.

I wanted this. She wanted this. And besides, it was just a dream, wasn’t it?

Every angle of her body was poised and taut, waiting for my release, demanding my release.

The only thing better would be the touch of her cool fingers in the place I needed her most…

I brought my free hand down to bracket my clit, squeezing the nub as I thrust as deeply as my fingers would go.

Motherfucker.

Sharp and hard, release spiked through me, each shard raking through my limbs and stealing my breath. Through it all, the vision of her hungry gaze swam blearily in front of me, the darkness of her eyes outlined in a devilish red.

I’d consider myself sexually adventurous… within reason. I liked toys and other kinky things. But having someone watch with barely veiled hunger while I touched myself was surely one of the hottest things I’d ever done.

No words.

There were no words.

I was so focused on re-learning how to breathe that I didn’t catch the shadow in the corner of the room, watching us .

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Aisla

The remnants of my dream lingered when I meandered downstairs the next day.

“Morning,” I said, stifling a yawn as I stepped into the living room. It was comfortably warm with the smell of fresh woodfire and the tang of the cauldron.

Brodie, finally back home for the weekend, was curled up on the windowsill. Anaia snoozed at his feet as he scribbled something fiercely into a notebook.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” he said without glancing up.

I shrugged.

“Feels like morning to me. What are you working on?”

The carpet was soft as I settled on the floor and picked up Brodie’s mug of black tea. It was still lukewarm. The taste was one-dimensional, but at least he had opted for a loose leaf blend rather than a shitty tea bag.

“I’m outlining the different facets of toxic femininity in wytch culture.”

I stared at him with a mouthful of tea before gulping it down quickly.

“ What? ”

“You heard me,” he said, shooting me a glance over his notebook. “You just have a hard time digesting the information. ”

“Well, aye.” I swallowed quickly. “What do you mean you’re writing about our culture? For your PhD?”

“No, you know I can’t do that.” He sighed. “This is just for… general knowledge.”

I tugged my curls back behind my ears.

“Do you really think it’s toxic?”

He scoffed. “I am a male wytch who has not been given leave to use the term warlock. What do you think?”

“I think the High Council isn’t equipped to handle their wytches transitioning. Remember the look on Mariana’s face when you told her?”

His features twisted to mimic shock, surprise and concern.

“ Och, well, if you think that’s best for you… ” he imitated in her tone.

“ That might be difficult for admin ,” I mimicked, although my version of Mariana was much less believable.

“Do you think you could use your pronouns just between us?”

He rolled his eyes as he spoke.

“She wasn’t very supportive, was she?” I grumbled. “None of the Elders have been.”

“Because our covens revolve so staunchly around femininity. Any inclusion of masculine traits is not just frowned upon, it’s—”

He paused, grappling for the right word.

“Taboo?” I supplied. Brodie scribbled the word onto the paper and underlined it three times.

“Everything we do is centered around wytches being female. We’re forced by the High Council to take our mother’s names, even when some have tried to protest this.

We consider cis men nothing but donors. Hell, even our spells are sometimes gendered when it simply doesn’t have to be!

” He flicked his short curls out of his face.

“And we wonder why there are only a few of us left.”

I sipped on the last dregs of tea as I thought, letting the bitterness spread over my tongue.

“While that could be one explanation for our numbers dropping over the years, I think genetics has something to do with it as well,” I said.

“Our powers aren’t as strong as they once were, and when the High Council removed the law that it was necessary for each wytch to produce an heir, many simply chose not to.

Look at me.” I gestured to myself, hoping that the fluffy robe wouldn’t fall open.

“My grandmother was able to lead this coven, and I can barely remember important spells.”

“Only because you keep DNR-ing our spellbooks,” Brodie retorted.

“Excuse me?”

“You lose interest in them and walk away.”

“Did you mean to say I DNF them?”

“Oh.” Brodie’s brows furrowed. “Yes, what did I say before?”

“DNR. I think resuscitating a spellbook is well beyond our capabilities.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny. Brodie’s an idiot.”

“I didn’t say that,” I was quick to remind him. “It was an honest mistake. Definitely a funny one.”

He slid his pen into the spiral binding of the notebook.

“So, what are you up to today?” he asked, changing the subject. “Any assignments?”

I suppressed a shiver. “Thankfully, no. Not for a few days at least. But I…”

Brodie glanced at me. “What?”

“Has Maia ever given you a gummy?” I asked. “One that made you hallucinate? ”

Brodie shook his head. “Not really. What did you hallucinate?”

I bit my lip, trying not to recall the intimate details of the spicy dream in front of my sibling. “I actually can’t decide if it was a hallucination or a dream.”

“Good dream? Bad dream?” Brodie asked speculatively.

“I…”

My core clenched at the memory.

“I can’t decide.” I tapped the edge of the coffee table with a blunt nail. “But I should probably speak to Maia about it.”

“So,” Brodie said. “Are you free today, then? Would you like to go to the Cameo? Watch a movie? Have a wee cocktail?”

A cocktail sounded wonderful. But…

“I can’t,” I sighed. “I’m going to the cabaret.”

“The cabaret?” Brodie echoed. “Since when did you become the type of person that goes to the cabaret on a Saturday night?”

“Oi, I can be the type of person to appreciate the fine arts.”

Brodie’s brows rose as I spoke.

“Fine, fine. The truth is that I need to talk to Anitha.”

“Why?” Doubt replaced the surprise in his gaze. “You know she wants nothing to do with us anymore.”

I shrugged. “Yes, well, I need her help.”

“For what?”

Brodie was persistent.

I pushed the curls out of my face with the edge of my palm. “It’s a long story.”

He titled his head as he studied me. “Is it really a long story or do you not want to tell me right now? ”

My youngest sibling had always been more perceptive than Maia. It was a character trait that made him uniquely suited to a research-based PhD program.

“The second one.”

“Okay, but…” He reached out to tug one of my curls. “Be prepared for her to say no to whatever you ask of her. She set pretty firm boundaries when she left.”

“I hope she doesn’t,” I sighed. “But you’re right. I should prepare for the worst.”