Page 27 of Who Owns You?

He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me into his lap. Our soaked clothes are plastered to our bodies, and I can’t find it in me to complain about what I’m feeling through the fabric. I’ve never liked being poked by an erection before, but there’s a first time for everything, I guess.

His chest is as hard and chiseled as stone, and it makes me giggle against his lips. He takes that as an invitation to slide his tongue into my mouth, and my brain short-circuits. It’s just a regular tongue that this very hot supernatural man is shoving into my mouth. I moan around it and begin to suck, doing mybest to press my breasts against him and be sexy. But, of course, I’m wearing gross, soggy overalls, and as I try to rock myself against him, the wet denim starts to chafe my thighs.

“That feels so weird,” I murmur and pull back.

“What? Me? Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, I’ve never done it with a witch before.” He rambles, quickly removing me from his lap and placing me back on the stairs. He kneels at my feet on the floor. “I’m so sorry. I can go less gargoyle if you want.”

My jaw drops as a lot of information flies at me all at once. Each point lands like a dart on a board, but the most important of all: Me? A witch?

“Did you just call me a witch?”

Chapter 12

CHARLOTTE

“Uh, yes?”Marcus says with an adorably confused look on his face. His thick brows knit together like he’s trying to do mental math as he mutters, “Do you prefer the term sorceress or wizard or something? I’ve never really interacted with any magic users besides Eloise and my nest-mates.”

My mind is spinning, trying to grasp onto something other than this conversation. The sensations in my body, how amazingly turned on I was just a minute ago, before some life-changing bullshit came out of Marcus’ mouth.

“Please stop talking,” I whisper.

Marcus’ mouth snaps shut, the click of his teeth soft in comparison to the pounding of my heart.

Everything feels both numb and tingling. Pins and needles race up and down my arms and legs, and my fingers ache straight to the bone and not from the cold.

“This was a bad idea,” I say. “We shouldn’t have done that. You’re…well, you’re…”

The word I’m looking for doesn’t exist in my vocabulary. How can ‘so fucking perfect for me in such a short time that itmakes me want to forget everything Kennedy taught me about being a good slut and just be a bad one’ be boiled down to a single word?

“I’m what?” Marcus tips his chin up, though his bottom lip quivers like he’s about to cry.

His eyes go a little glassy, and for the first time tonight, I notice how beautiful they look. He’s a warm yellow, all bright and as sunshiny as he is on the inside, but his eyes? They’re the most perfect shade of brown.

“Marcus! I need some help with this pot!”

Julius’ voice seems to come from nowhere and startles the hell out of me.

Marcus stands and gives me a begrudging half smile. “Finish this talk later?” he asks.

Though before I can answer, he’s gone in a blur of yellow.

I can’t help the little laugh that bubbles out from between my lips. “I knew it wasn’t a ghost.”

“I’m not a witch. I can’t be a witch. He’s wrong,” I grumble when I get back to my room, pacing back and forth on the plush carpet while trying not to lose the collective rest of my own marbles. “I need to call Kennedy, I need to…”

I grab my phone and open her contact, staring for a minute too long at the picture of us from our college days. It was Halloween, either our sophomore or junior year, but at that point, we weren’t interested in candy. Booze had a bigger appeal, so we wore the same costumes all four years and got blitzed out of our minds. It was the best and worst of times. I still can’t stomach tequila.

I hold the phone to my ear as it rings once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. My shoulders slump as something inside me withers. I’m being overdramatic, but everything feels like it’s falling apart now, and she’s the only one who can help me keep it together.

I bring my fingers to my mouth and nip at my nails, ripping at the skin around my nail beds. The sharp taste of copper fills my mouth as blood begins to weep from the small wounds. I can’t help but roll my tongue around them to lap up the blood, even if it isn’t the cleanest of habits. I grip my phone in my other hand, heart jumping into my throat as it chimes.

“Not a call,” I grunt in frustration as I debate chucking my phone out the window and into the loch.

The thought feels good for a second before settling into something akin to cement in my belly.

I don’t even bother to check the text right now. I need her voice to soothe me, and texting will only make this worse.

Tossing my phone onto the bed, I shake my head and head out of my room.

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