Page 56 of Filthy Little Witch
“I can’t either,” Wes said. “But it doesn’t really matter, does it? They survived the rituals.”
“I don’t know,” Atlas cut in, rubbing the back of his head. “This doesn’t prove they fixed the bond, only that they died at the same time. What if it was the plague or being burned at the stake or some other wild medieval shit?”
“It could be,” Wes said. “But we’ve been researching for weeks. We could spend years digging through this library and still find nothing. I think this means something. I think we should keep going.”
Atlas pursed his lips and took a deep breath. “Whatever you say, brother.”
We debated and researched until dinnertime, and then I made abuelita’s tamales for the guys at Atlas’s request. He nearly moaned when he took his first bite, and the sound rattled loose that deliciously perverted side of me that lived to draw that noise out of him.
I was wiped after the visit today, so I wanted to head to bed. But Atlas convinced me to have a drink with Wes and him in the parlor, saying it would soothe my nerves and I deserved it. My bones were heavy, but when Wes pouted and gave me the puppy-dog eyes, how could I say no?
“What are you drinking, witch?” Atlas asked.
“Whiskey,” I said. “Three fingers, neat. And I’m only having one. Then it’s time to go to sleep.”
“Sure,” he said with a wink. “You just want to get me flat on my back again, huh?”
I raised an eyebrow and tilted my head as he flashed that adorable grin. Reminding myself I was still supposed to hate him, even if I didn’t, I accepted my drink and went to sit next to Wes on the couch, who was currently sipping on a twenty-year scotch. He’d been hesitant to open it at first, but like Atlas said, what was real in the liminal? Did our decisions here affect the other side?
So I said fuck it and welcomed him to it.
“Cheers to blood bonds and dead witches from the 1500s,” Atlas said, slumping down on the other couch across from us.
I snorted and held my glass up before taking a sip, relishing the burn that slid down my throat.
“So I have a question,” Atlas said, “now that we’re lubing up our inhibitions.”
A spark of his devilish playfulness twisted in my sternum, and I took another drink in anticipation of where this was going.
“When we hooked up earlier…did you feel it?” he asked, glancing at Wes.
Wes choked on his scotch next to me and wiped his mouth before licking his lips. I focused on that beautiful tongue, recalling how it felt between my legs. Atlas glanced at me with a smirk as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. Maybe he remembered it, too.
“Uh…yeah.” Wes rubbed his index finger over his eyebrow. That, too, brought back the sensation of him sliding it inside me. He had beautiful hands, so strong and callused and talented. Truthfully, both of them did. Their fingers had been honed through years of combat training and precise knife work.
“What did you feel?” I asked more to distract myself than to get an answer.
“It was this sensation in my gut, at first,” Wes explained. “And then I got hard, just out of nowhere. I was confused. I didn’t know where it was coming from. I mean, I was looking through death records. Not exactly the sexiest thing in the world.”
He paused to clear his throat and shift his hips, looking between the two of us.
“And then?” Atlas asked, goading him on.
“And then, I couldn’t help myself. I had my dick out in the library and I was stroking it before I knew what I was doing.” Wes smiled and looked at me. “I sensed you first. I could feel something inside me…kind of how it was at the ritual when I…when we…”
A faint blush graced his cheeks. For being as forward as he was last night and earlier today, the sight of his bashfulness was almost endearing.
“Go on,” I said, nudging him with my shoulder. The whiskey hit me harder than I thought it would, but I was a lightweight, so I shouldn’t have been that surprised.
“I realized the two of you must have been up to something because by the time I was three pumps in, I was ready to explode. It was compulsive, like I didn’t have any control over it. I had to do it.”
That was how I felt in the moment. That must have been why Atlas tried to yank the emergency brake but couldn’t.
“I thought it was the demon’s influence,” Atlas said, confirming my suspicion. “That feeling of not being in control.”
“The demon in the mirror said it could see me, that it saw us in the woods last night. It tasted my magic and said it was delicious.” I looked between them as Atlas swirled his whiskey and Wes sipped his scotch. “It was stupid to leave the estate.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Wes said. “You got in touch with Tita. We know what we have to do, now.”
