Page 32 of Wrongfully Magicked
When she tries to pull away, I walk her backward until she hits the wall, then I use my weight to pin her. She’s panting by the time she wears herself out. Her forehead comes to rest on my chest, and I run my hand down the back of her head, petting the curly strands of her hair.
“You said my flames wouldn’t hurt you.” It’s an accusation, but the defeat in her voice is like a fist to my heart.
I glance down at the marks seared into my arm and chuckle. Her head snaps up, outrage darkening her face, and my smile brightens when I see that spark of fire back in her eyes. “Did you look at the marks?”
She blinks up at me, a cute little furrow between her brows, and I stiffen to keep from leaning over and kissing the spot. First, she needs reassurance, then we can play.
She searches my expression with narrowed eyes, then her gaze reluctantly drops to my arms, as if she’s ashamed to face the damage she caused.
Oh, she burned me all right.
With her mark.
She claimed me for all to see.
I’m almost giddy as I admire the beautiful markings. The black lines resemble soot, swirling up the backs of my hands, across my wrists, then up my arms to my shoulders. The ornate lines are gothic in style, containing a combination of vines and thorns as they curl their way over my skin.
A giant lotus flower covers the inside of my forearm, the large bloom similar to the one I showed her with my flames. The edges of the petals are tinged black, then gradually brighten the closer it gets to the center of the flower, the colors blending to a deep teal. In the middle, bright red lights up the tattoo, reminding me of her stunning flames.
My other arm is almost the exact opposite.
Blood-red lines scroll up my arm. The ancient tribal shapes are drenched in color and heavily outlined in black soot to make them stand out even more. The red shimmers under the light, almost seeming to crackle and flow like molten lava, as if my beast were bleeding through my human skin, reminding me of his full Cerberus form.
While the tattoos are badass, I love them all the more because they mark me as hers. Magic is buried deep within the ink—her magic.
Anyone who gets close will sense it and know I’m unavailable.
I’m completely, irrevocably hers, and I’m fucking thrilled.
When she sees the bold marks on my arms, she sucks in a sharp breath, staring at them in wonder. Loving the feel of her gaze on me, I reach up and brush away the remnants of my shirt, burning the last of the material to ash until I stand in front of her in nothing but my pants.
I practically purr at the way her gaze runs over my body possessively. When she leans in closer, I puff out my chest, hoping to entice her to touch me. When her fingers hover overthe lotus flower on my forearm, it begins to glow, almost like it’s seeking her caress. My breath halts in my chest in anticipation, and I swear I can feel her warmth all the way to my cock.
As much as I crave her touch, I won’t force her.
It has to be her decision.
Her surrender will be all the sweeter, and then all bets will be off.
The first chance I get, I have every intention of ravishing her. I’ll imprint myself on her so thoroughly that when I’m not touching her, she’ll miss the feel of my hands on her skin, my mouth on her body, and my dick in her pussy.
If I do it right, she’ll realize she won’t be able to live without me.
ANITA
Holy muscles, Batman.
I’m frozen, unable to do anything but stare at the delicious man meat standing in front of me. When my eyes sting, I realize I’ve been staring, and I give one long slow blink. The image in front of me doesn’t change, I’m not hallucinating, and I lick my lips, hoping I don’t have drool all over my chin, but I’m too busy gawking at him to investigate.
Because, fuck me, he literally just burned off his shirt.
I should run for the hills, but my body just melts in appreciation.
That’s totally a skill I need to learn—the ability to burn the clothes off the man I want to fuck.
Soren stands still, allowing me to look my fill. I should feel self-conscious, but the view is just so spectacular that I feel no guilt as I plot the many ways I want to map his body with my tongue.
His muscles flex under my gaze, and I have to shake my head, blinking to clear my vision from the haze of lust that has fallen over me.
