Page 69 of Till Death and Daisies Bloom

I buried my teeth against the skin of her neck, and heard her little moan. “No, my witch. It is all you. Helped along by me, no doubt, but so irresistibly you.”

Juniper’s back arched as my mouth dragged lower, tongue tracing the edge of a cut that bloomed like a thorned rose across her collarbone. A scratch from a thorn while working outside? Her own nails?

Either way, both of them were quickly becoming a storm barely held in check, the air around them crackling with the weight of spells and unbridled potential.

I bit her—not hard, just enough to remind her who I was, and who I embodied: lust, and desire itself.

And boy, how I desired her.

Her fingers clenched the edge of the table as I knelt between her legs, hooking the waistband of her leggings and underwear with my fingers and yanking them down over her hips in one motion.

She gasped as the cool air hit her skin, but just as quickly it was over, the heat of my breath teasing her folds. My warm hands spanned the width of her inner thighs–thick and strong just how I liked them.

And I had seen my fair share of thighs.

But I didn’t dive in. Not yet. Instead I lingered, kissing the insides of her thighs like they were my church and I was the penitent begging for salvation. Her hips bucked against mine, impatient.

“I can feel what you want,” I murmured against her skin, voice rumbling like distant thunder. “You’re not hiding it well.”

“I’m not trying to,” she retorted, breathless.

I smiled and gave in to my sin.

My tongue was not gentle. It was a claim, a spell in itself, a rhythm older than her oldest tomes. She moaned against me as I brought her pleasure, hot and unrelenting. Each stroke coaxed a little more of her power outward—dark indigo mist lifting from her chest, her stomach, her hips.

Sex magick? Her own powers?

I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I wanted more.

Juniper’s magick flared uncontrollably as I sucked her into my mouth.

“AH!”

Bottles clinked, and the wooden table beneath her pulsed like it was alive, and above us, the rafters groaned. I gripped her thighs tighter, groaning into her as I drank from her heat like a starving man. And she took more in return, trading my amber and gold for her dark indigo.

Whatever it was.

Her hand waved carelessly in the air above her.

Oh, right. Efficiency, and all of that.

I leaned up and handed her a bottle, only to watch her fill it up with her own essence, push the topper down with her thumb, and then I switched her out with a clean one.

One bottle.

Two.

Three.

Wisps spiraled around her, trapped in glowing glasses next to my own essence, distilled. Bottles safely set aside, I turned my attention back to her

Every moan we pulled from each other became fuel. Every shiver, a spell. I took one finger and slid it inside her, feeling her twitch deliciously when I hit a soft, spongy area just right.

“Yes, that’s it,” I purred, increasing my strokes with my finger and going back in with my tongue.

She came faster than I thought she would, and crackled like lightning through the room. The cottage shuddered with her release, and I rose from between her legs, my lips wet with her scent.

“You’re drunk on me,” she said, awed and elated and laughing at me all at the same time.

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