Page 45 of With This Witch
“I know. I’m sure it will all work out,” he assures her.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Petra smiles at Lachlan, enjoying this moment with him. It almost seems natural, as if this is what she should be doing every night—talking to him about her day and relaxing together.
“Can I ask one other question?” Lachlan says.
“Sure.”
“You mentioned you’ve been having some issues with your magic. What’s going on there?”
A blush creeps up her neck. How can she tell him that she’s been misfiring because of him? That her suggestion of boundaries between them to prevent them from making a bigger mistake and ruining their friendship when all she wants to do is climb him and ride him like a broomstick.
Her cheeks heat as Lachlan gazes at her, tilting his head curiously. The look he gives her is not helping. Instead, it fans the flames inside. She shifts uncomfortably under his gaze, causing Morris to leap off her lap and saunter out of the room. As she tries to decide what answer to give, she settles on, “It’s a stress response.”
“What has you so worked up?” he asks, almost knowingly, while flicking his eyes down her neck, following the heated trail left by her flushed skin.
“Um…” She pauses, answers tumbling through her misfiring brain, but none are sticking.
Lachlan runs his hand up her leg. Caressing. Tickling.
“You,” she whispers.
She sees the corner of Lachlan’s mouth quirk up. Pretending he didn’t hear her, he says, “Sorry, what was that?”
“You,” she says more firmly.
“Hmm... that’s interesting. How could I be causing you stress?” he asks, his voice rougher.
“I’ve, um…been a bit on edge.”
“On edge how?”
“You know how.” She lifts her eyes to his.
“I’m not sure I do. I think you should tell me.”
“Lach…”
“Tell me, Petra.”
She takes hold of her sweater, sliding her hands into the opposite cuffs, running her hands up and down her forearms. Lachlan’s gaze on her is heated. He’s drinking her in like he’d been in the bowels of hell for weeks without liquid.
“I’ve been horny as fuck and hate the boundaries I put in place when all I want to do is ride that cock and come on your face,” she finally says, exasperated.
“Then do it,” he responds, his voice huskier, filled with wanting.
“What?”
“Did I stutter? I said do it.”
“But the boundaries?”
“Fuck the boundaries,” he says, lifting her legs off his lap and scooting down on the couch so he’s laying with his head on the arm, “and sit on my face. Let me taste that amazing pussy of yours.”
“Lach… I …”
