Page 102 of Filthy Little Witch
“Fuck you,” I sputtered, trying to regain my focus through the haze and the sudden dizziness.
“That’s the whole point,” he said.
It went on for an eternity, the two of us in those woods. He made me repeat the words until they numbed my tongue. I love you. You love me. I love Marta. Marta loves me. And I felt them in my bones.
Just when he was on the precipice of his own climax, just when I sensed the imminent implosion, he leaned over me, twisted my face around so he could bring his lips to mine, and he whispered, “Now, tell me you deserve it.”
I was afraid to utter the words, fearing how they might settle into my bones and never leave.
“Tell me you don’t have to protect us,” he said. “Tell me we protect each other. Together. And don’t you dare fucking lie to me.”
Despite it all, I managed a quiet, “We protect each other together.”
He kissed me, his climax finally ripping through him, tearing into me through the bond. It set me off again, and I rutted into the dirt like a teenager on prom night, desperate to find any friction to ease my agitation. His orgasm rebounded, surging out of me and into him and into me again.
It was torture. It was bliss. It was heaven and hell and everything in the universe combined.
When he rolled off me, he collapsed at my side and closed his eyes, panting and sweaty and fucking beautiful in all his powerful glory. I lay boneless on my stomach, my arms tucked under my head, my face tilted toward him so I could focus on all the tiny details that made him so…him.
The shape of his cheeks as they curled into his jaw. The brush of light brown hair near his ears. The tiny jump of his heartbeat at the pulse in his neck. The way his strong hands sloped into his fingers, such violent weapons that had been coated in blood more times than I could count. And yet, he used them to bring us here, to bring me back from the brink, to remind me who I was and, more importantly, who I belonged to.
“Thank you, Atlas,” I said.
He pulled his lips into a slow, lazy grin and rolled toward me, leaning in to give me a soft kiss.
“Come home to us,” he said. “You need us. We need you.”
I nodded and gave him another quick peck before wrapping an arm over his ribs to pull him in close, nuzzling my head under his chin and inhaling him deeply. He smelled like sweat and pine and him. He smelled like home.
We lay under the stars for a while and listened to each other breathe before Atlas rolled on top of me and took me again. That time was slower, languid, a necessary reconnection. And when he’d had his fill of me, he yanked me to my feet, took me back to the motel, and forced us both in the shower. Then, we started the long journey home.
CHAPTER 33
Marta
I sensed them coming before I saw them. The void in my heart filled with their presence, the rough grit of Atlas’s whirlwind personality and the stoic shame of Wes’s guilt. I was in the library at a table in the far back, researching soul bonds. After my talk with Hellsing, I thought about asking the coven to perform a separating spell. If my tie to my warriors was causing me to lose control of my magic, maybe it would be better to sever it cleanly.
But the more I read, the more I realized that wouldn’t be possible. What we’d done was permanent, and severing it would have detrimental effects on my psyche. Besides, I would need them to do it anyway, and I wasn’t sure when or if they’d ever come back.
When I heard heavy footsteps on the wood floor, I swallowed down the tiny flicker of anticipation. They might have returned only to tell me they were done with the life altogether. And if that was the case, why not just stay away? I’d gotten the message, loud and clear.
Their beacon burned brighter inside me until it grew into an inferno, and when I glanced up, my warriors stood at the end of the row. Atlas had on jeans, boots, and his brown leather jacket, sporting a black eye and a smug grin. Wes wore a dark hoodie and a matching shiner that spoke of how their reunion had gone.
I raised an eyebrow and closed my book. Everything in me wanted to run to them, to pull them both into a hug before dragging them back to my room and taking out the six weeks of anxiety on them with sweat, cum, and blood. I forced myself to stay still.
“Welcome home,” I said as I glanced between them.
Wes took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he wanted to say. “Marta, I…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Out loud,” I said, trying to push his presence away from my mental solace. “You don’t get to be in my head. Not yet.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left. I thought I was protecting you, but I just made things worse.”
“Worse? For me?” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “I’m fine. Look at me.” I gestured to myself and the library and the piles of books stacked around me. “Doing great.”
“Don’t be like that,” Atlas said, taking a step forward. “You’re wasting away. We all are.”
“Atlas Colt, the great reconciliator.” I let out a sardonic chuckle. “Don’t make me gag.”
