Page 37 of Filthy Little Witch
Marta smiled, shook her head, and turned to move away. But I caught a whiff of her cherry-scented perfume and the floral essence that was just her, and I grabbed her wrist to pull her back.
“Go on,” I said, moving to trap her between me and the table behind her. “What about me?”
“You’re tolerable,” she said with a laugh, avoiding my gaze.
I put my finger under her chin and lifted her face so she had to look me in the eyes. I hadn’t forgotten the way she’d stared at me while she was patching me up, the heat in her cheeks, and the soft flick of her tongue over her lips. I watched those lips now, so full and pouty, so perfect and pink. I wondered what they tasted like.
“Only tolerable?” I feigned offense. “And here I thought we were connecting over our shared love of old, dusty books.”
She laughed again and shoved at my chest, at first pushing me away, but then she wrapped her fingers in my shirt and tugged me closer, her hips connecting with mine, my cock suddenly very interested in where this conversation was going.
“You’re smart, Wes,” she said. “And you know you’re easy on the eyes.”
I chuckled and brushed a piece of dark hair behind her ear. In the weeks we’d been trapped here, I’d come to know her as incredibly intelligent herself. She saw connections where no one else did. She could smack my brother into place like I’d never seen before. And me, she complemented my dark, solemn parts with her grounded luminescence.
I didn’t deserve her attention. I was scum on her shoes. She should laugh in my face and tell me I was ridiculous. But fuck if her rapt attention didn’t call to the part of me that ached to be adored and accepted.
“You’re beautiful, Marta,” I murmured. “I’m sorry you got stuck with me…with us. You’re so much better than this, but I don’t regret it.”
“I’m starting not to regret it myself,” she said, focusing on my mouth.
The thought of doing this while Atlas moped in the library passed through my mind. Certainly, we didn’t need any more tension in the house. But if he were here, he wouldn’t waste a fucking opportunity like this. I’d wanted her since I’d woken up with her standing over me, and I’d fucked her in my dreams every night since. I couldn’t help staring at her, and I touched her every chance I could, almost unable to contain myself. If she wanted this too, who was I to deny her?
“I want to do this before the ritual,” I said, leaning down to rub my nose against hers. “Before our minds get clouded and we don’t know what we want anymore.”
I didn’t wait for her to respond, and when I pressed my lips against hers, she moaned and wilted against my body. I ran my hands up her shoulders, holding her neck while my tongue swept inside her decadent mouth, and she scratched her nails up the back of my neck to my hair, gripping it to hold me tighter against her.
Fuck, it was hot. Sharp ricochets of arousal raced down my spine to my balls, pulsing my dick to life between us, where I rocked against her, desperate for more touch, more action, just more.
I sucked her tongue when it wrestled with mine and grabbed the back of her legs to hoist her onto the table, jostling glass bottles and dried herbs. When she hooked her ankles around the small of my back, I rutted against her, possessed by hunger and wanton desire. Had I ever needed somebody the way I needed her? Had I ever felt so starved for touch, for affection, for sickening sweet kisses?
We broke apart, only for me to trail my mouth down her jaw to her neck, where I ravaged the skin over her pulse with famished bites and trembling licks. She moaned and leaned back, arching her chest toward me, and my greedy hands took advantage, rubbing over her perfect tits. When I found her nipples, she sighed and reached between us, cupping my aching dick to massage it. My abdomen twisted, and an alarm in the back of my mind told me to stop, that this wasn’t right.
But fuck that. We were an inferno, blazing out of control, and there was no putting it out. Marta and I had danced around each other for weeks now, and this tenuous passion inside me needed a release.
“Wes, touch me,” she said, grabbing one wrist to bring it to the wet spot between her legs, and I rubbed a thumb over the seam of her denim, finding the spot that made her cry out with disturbing ease.
Nothing in the world could have slammed the brakes on this runaway train. We were careening toward a cliff, knowing it would end in travesty, but fuck, the ride was so good. Too good. I wanted all of her. I wanted to consume her and decimate her and leave nothing left but bones.
I needed and I yearned, and when she clenched her eyes shut, her climax imminent, I bit the side of her throat on instinct, shoving her off the edge. Marta bucked against my hand, riding the waves of her euphoria, and watching her come undone flipped a switch in my brain. I wanted to yank her off the table, bend her over it, and shove myself inside her. I wanted to hold her down while she soaked my cock again and again.
“Did you like that?” I hissed, tugging on her ear with my teeth. “Do you want more? Are you so fucking wet for me, Marta?”
“Yes,” she whimpered, reaching for my cock again. But I pushed her hand away. If she so much as ghosted a finger over me, I’d explode and embarrass myself more than I already had. Instead, I went for the button on her jeans, unzipped her pants, and shifted her back so I could shuck them down to her ankles. Then, I lifted her legs, stuck my head under the denim, and rested her knees on my shoulders so I could lay her down and feast on her the way I wanted.
She didn’t stop me, and when she moaned while tunneling her fingers through my hair, I took that as consent to keep going. One lick was all it took for me to get addicted to her. She tasted like sin and sacrament, like the most delicious poison and the most decadent venom. I sucked her into my mouth and drank everything she gave to me, digging my fingers into her thighs to hold her still. I fucked her with my face and lapped at her with my tongue, relishing her breathy moans and soft cries for “more, more, harder, harder.”
Yes, some twisted voice said. More. Take more. Give it harder. Ravish her. Devour her.
My cock ached behind my jeans, thundering my arousal into my legs and up my torso. She dug her nails into my scalp, and that only urged me on. I pulled back to spit on her cunt, delighting in the way she squirmed at the sight.
So my girl has a spit kink. Fuck yeah.
“Come for me, Marta,” I said, rubbing her clit with my palm. “Come on my face and show me how much you like when your warrior takes care of you.”
When I ducked my head back down to her, Atlas’s bright green eyes and enduring sneer passed through my mind’s eye like a yellow light telling me to slow down, to take caution. But this driving need inside me propelled me forward like I couldn’t control it, even if I wanted to.
I pushed a finger inside her, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot that had her bucking against my face, riding me like she was as caught up in the chaos as I was. And when I pushed the second inside, she clamped down on me and forced my head where she wanted, her second climax claiming her. Her thighs squeezed my ears. Her cum painted my mouth and tongue. Her praise echoed off the closet walls.
