Page 55 of Bewitched By the Djinn
Fifteen
The world tilts. Or maybe it’s me that’s falling.
Bennet’s mouth on mine is a demand filled with desperation. His lips part, tongue stroking against mine. His arms wrap around me. My fingers weave into his hair. Heat floods through my body, insistent and full of the magic surging between us, like a circuit finally being completed.
Beneath us, the ground rumbles.
The darkness descends.
Bennet yanks me toward the tomb, his mouth still fused to mine, and thensnap.
The world falls silent.
Our kiss breaks apart. For a moment, I can’t breathe. My ears are ringing.
Not just because we almost died, but because my lips still tingle with the ghost of his lips pressed against mine.
We’re lying on the ground and I’m sprawled on top of him, my thighs bracketing his hips, our faces aligned, breath mingling. My fingers clench on his chest. He’s all hard muscles and barely restrained lust and he’s rigid,oh my, everywhere.
Is the magic is still affecting him? There’s one way to find out.
It’s a terrible idea and yet I’m helpless to stop. I unlock my mental shields and lift the cage around my mind a mere crack and—stars above.
Hunger slices through me, white-hot and brutal. It’s unbearable, primal and pure. A startled cry escapes me.
How can he stand it? How did he feel all this in the cemetery and still retain enough of his faculties to get us through the portal?
But then all thoughts and questions are erased by Bennet himself, stretching up to nip at my lips, and the excruciating longing turns into an exhilarating frenzy.
I shrug out of my backpack and toss it somewhere behind me. I slide my hands down his chest and yank his shirt up, then chuck it to the side.
I lean forward, running my mouth over the exposed flesh. He tastes amazing, like spice and heat, all sinewy strength and smooth skin over solid muscle.
His hands skate under my shirt, rough palms against bare flesh, branding heat across my spine. He drags his mouth from mine to trail open kisses down my throat, teeth grazing just enough to make me arch into him.
“Cassie,” he rasps.
There’s a question buried in the way he says my name. A plea. A warning. Maybe all three.
“I know.” I don’t. Not really. But I don’t want to stop.
We rip my shirt off, the bra flying with it, and then we come back together, and the press of his bare skin against mine iseverything.
He flips us with terrifying ease, pressing me into the cool earth beneath us. His body covers mine, all strength and tension barely leashed. His hips grind down, the friction between us electric, maddening. I moan, wrapping my legs around him tobring him closer, chasing the pressure, the high, the storm that’s building between us.
His lips brush my jaw, my cheek, the corner of my mouth like he’s trying to memorize every piece of me.
“This isn’t just magic,” he says hoarsely.
I freeze beneath him, breath stuttering.
But before I can answer, he kisses me again—soft this time. Reverent. Like I’m something fragile he doesn’t want to break.
It undoes me more than all the fire and fury that came before.
He props himself up, rolling to one side, creating enough space to brush the skin of my lower stomach with the tips of his fingers. “Is this okay?”
Does he need to ask? He could offer to pinch me and I would be begging for the touch.
