Page 81 of Bewitched By the Djinn
His forehead rests against mine.
I reach between us, guiding him to me.
“Wait,” he pants, lifting his head to meet my eyes. “What about—do we need something?”
“I’m clean. And I’m on the pill.”
“Pill?”
“It prevents pregnancy.”
“Ah. Lovely mortal world inventions.” He kisses my neck. “I have never been with another.” The words are a puff of air against my neck, making me shiver.
“Good.” Possessiveness burns through me.Mine.
He chuckles, as if I spoke aloud.
A smile tugs at my lips and then falls when he sinks into me, inch by aching inch. I cling to him, breathless and burning.
When he’s fully inside, buried to the hilt, we both go still.
His breath is ragged. “You feel like—” He breaks off. “Like mine.”
Wait. Did he hear?—?
And then all thoughts flee as he moves.
Slow at first, deliberate. Like he wants to memorize every second. I match his rhythm, our hips finding each other inperfect synchronicity. Each thrust sends pleasure coiling tighter inside me, dragging small, broken sounds from both of us.
It builds gradually, unbearably, our bodies slick with heat and sweat, fingers digging in like we’re trying to fuse together. His mouth is everywhere, my neck, my collarbone, my lips.
I look up at him, and his face is my undoing. It’s shining. Not with lust, but devotion.Awe.
I whisper his name as my climax hits, fierce and consuming. My whole body tightens around him, and I fall apart with a cry that echoes through the dark. He follows with a raw, desperate groan, thrusting deep and shuddering as he loses himself inside me.
He doesn’t let go. Not after. He buries his face in my neck, arms wrapped around me like he never wants to let go.
We don’t move for a long time.
His weight is half on me, his breath warm against my throat, our legs tangled beneath the blankets. I trail my fingers over the back of his neck, letting them dip into the soft hair at his nape. His pulse flutters under my touch.
Finally, he lifts his head. “Are you all right?”
I nod. “More than all right.”
The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “You’re all flushed.”
“Which is your fault.”
He chuckles, and it rumbles through both of us. His hand comes up, gentle fingers brushing hair back from my cheek. His touch is reverent, careful again. Like he’s not sure what the rules are now.
I’m not sure either.
I want to ask what this means. I want to ask if it changes anything. If we’ll pretend tomorrow that it was just the magic again. That it didn’t matter. But I can’t make myself break the moment. Not yet.
So I say nothing.
Instead, I shift closer, press a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw.
