Page 32 of Filthy Little Witch
He growled and threw it back at me, where it nearly lodged in my shoulder. If I hadn’t ducked out of the way in time, I’d have met the business end of my own weapon. Minutes turned into centuries as we practiced, and as much as I was loath to admit, it was the most fun I’d had since we’d gotten stuck here.
Just as I was starting to wear down, I found a weakness. When he swung with his left hand, he shifted his weight to his left foot, which left his right foot open to attack. Ever the opportunist, I took advantage. I goaded him into another punch, and just when it would have landed, I kicked and hooked my foot around his right knee, sending him toppling to the ground.
Heaving for air, I grabbed another knife, climbed on top of him, and held it to his throat, pinning his right wrist above his head as I leaned over him.
“Give,” I said, pressing the blade deeper under his jaw.
I expected him to be pissed, to toss me off and demand a rematch. But the look in his eyes wasn’t rage. No, it was darker and incredibly wanton. He curled his pouty lips into a smile and leaned into the blade, bringing his face closer to mine.
“Go on, little witch,” he whispered. “You’ve got me on my back. Now what?”
God help me, but the energy in the room shifted immediately. My lower stomach tightened, and my thighs clenched around his hips. When I shifted my weight to hide it, he grabbed my waist with his free hand and lowered me down his body. I gasped when my clit lined up with the thick swell of his cock, so perfectly hard and poised for depravity. He smelled like sweat and man and honey, and my heart pounded at the heat radiating off him…off us both. The new position stretched me along his body, my chest on his, our breaths mingling in the minuscule space between us.
Stop this. Get off him.
I didn’t. I didn’t move. Just stared down at those green eyes and wondered how far he would let this go. He hated me as much as I hated him…right?
Maybe it was the weeks stuck with him in the liminal, maybe it was the sudden release of all these years of pent-up aggression, or perhaps it was finding someone who could match me blow for blow. But I couldn’t stop myself. I rolled my hips, dragging my cunt along the bulge between us.
He hissed in a breath and moaned, leaning his head back to expose the column of his throat, where my knife still rested under his jaw. That sound reached inside me and plucked a guitar string I never thought would sing for him. When I did it again, his fingers tightened into my flesh, guiding me over him, pushing me down on him harder.
“Fuck, witch,” he said, dragging his tongue over his lips. Suddenly, I wanted to know what they tasted like. I wanted to know how sweet his mouth could be when all it had ever thrown my way were nasty words and insults.
Against every instinct telling me not to, I leaned down and licked across his lips, swallowing his groan and the salty taste of his overheated skin.
When I met his gaze again, his emerald irises were gone, now replaced with wide, dilated pupils, hungry for more. A thick heady lust clenched in my abdomen, and I couldn’t fight it any longer. I rocked against him, searching for that primal release, compelled by the sound of his moans and fueled by the euphoria skating through my veins.
I dropped the knife and put my hands on his chest for better leverage, and he grabbed my hips, digging his fingers into my skin to pull me tighter against him. My nerves burned, shooting anticipation and sparks of energy through my limbs, amping up my strokes.
“God, yes.” Atlas moaned. “Right there, right there.”
“Shut up.” I put my hand over his mouth, but that only egged him on, and he sank his teeth into my palm, latching on like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
The sharp pain collided with the pressure between my legs, and I exploded, muscles tensing, my climax yanking me under its tremendous force. I gasped, wiggling against Atlas as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through my body, overwhelming and powerful, making me crumple under its weight. I floated lifeless in that room for two mind-numbing moments before the weight of reality sucked me back down to earth.
I stared down at Atlas under me, his big eyes blown wide, his breath coming in pants through his nose.
Oh. Oh, no.
No, no, no.
I started to climb off him, but he tightened his hold on me, keeping me still, continuing to rock his pelvis against mine. Too sensitive, I squirmed and let out a small noise of protest, but he didn’t stop. Two more thrusts later, he curled in on himself and groaned behind my hand. I watched him fall apart, the gorgeous lines of his face tightening, intoxicating me, reeling me in. I memorized it, despite how embarrassed I was. Then he relaxed against the training mat and heaved a deep sigh.
Heart pounding and disgust warring with relief in my chest, I pushed upright, grabbed my knife, and stalked out of the training room. Wes came out of his room as I passed by in the foyer, but I didn’t stop to talk to him or take in his adorable rumpled appearance.
“Hey, what’s—” he tried.
I marched up the stairs to the room I’d claimed for myself, shut the door, and slammed the back of my head against the firm wood.
“Fuck!”
CHAPTER 12
Atlas
I was nothing but a man of my word. I happily made dinner for all of us that night, even giving Marta a wink and a smile as I placed her plate in front of her.
“Thank you,” she mumbled softly.
