by Ivy Asher
“Now you’re just showing off,” I tease, but my giggle morphs into a deep groan, and then I’m crying out incoherently as his dick and the new angle he’s hitting render me mindless and begging for more.
Fuck.
I knew it would be good with Rogan, but I had no idea it would be life-altering, there’s no going back now kind of good. I mean, he’s easily achieving do anything for that dick status, and this is our first damn time. I can’t even imagine what it’ll be like when he knows my body and everything my inner fiend really loves. At this rate, I’ll live the rest of my days as a walking pile of sexed up goo.
Worth it.
Another orgasm slams through me so savagely that I swear I see stars. We’re not talking about those Tweety Bird motherfuckers either; I see galaxies as pure pleasure explodes in every cell I possess. Rogan thrusts into me as deeply as he can get, and then he roars out his release, my name filled with worship as it leaves his lips. His body quickly goes slack as waves of bliss ripple through him. I can feel his unadulterated rapture through the tether, and it swirls and mixes with my own, coaxing and extending all of the glorious gratification we’re now both floating in.
“Holy shit,” I pant against him, running my fingers through his sweat-damp locks.
“You’re fucking exquisite,” he puffs back, cupping my cheek and kissing me softly.
Moving away from the wall, he walks us over to the bed. He doesn’t pull out of me as he sits us both down, with me now straddling his lap. He brushes my curls from my dewy face and runs his gaze over me as though he still needs to make sure I’m really here. His thumbs caress my cheeks tenderly, and he looks me over, his gaze slowly dropping down until it stills on my chest.
At first, I think he’s taking inventory of my awesome rack, and I can’t help but puff up with pride just a little. I rotate my shoulders just a tad so he can really see the girls at all their best angles. But when I trace his gaze, I realize it’s not my tits that have him locked in a staring contest, it’s my newest death accessory that’s given him pause. His eyes darken slightly as he takes the healed wound in. I can feel the anguish and contrition that swamps him as he studies the edges of the damage that’s now a permanent part of my body.
“I’m so sorry, Lennox. This is all my fault,” he laments, pressing a palm gently against my chest as though he can magic away the evidence of what happened. “I fucked up so completely. I should have handled things so fucking differently.”
My heart soars at his words, all the what ifs and worries are wiped away and destroyed. He gets it. I see it in his eyes and etched deeply into his gorgeous features. He understands his role in my pain, and that’s validating and stokes my hope.
I caress his face, and he closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. My thumb traces over his scar, his long dark eyelashes tickling the pad of my finger as I follow the line of damage Rogan received the first time he died. What he’s saying means so much to me, yet at the same time, I don’t know what to say in return to his regret and hurt. I don’t want to tell him it’s okay. We both know some of the shit he pulled wasn’t. Even though I get why he did what he did, it doesn’t change how it made me feel, how it wounded me.
But even with all of that being true, I got to know him as I spent time with him. Reluctantly, he gave me peeks of what he was like when he let his guard down. In those vulnerable cracks, I could see the funny, kind, gentle, ferociously protective, loyal man that’s at the core of who he is. How’s a girl just supposed to dismiss that after seeing it? Maybe these facets of who he is were more difficult to coax out, but that also made them more precious, and there was no way I was going to be able to resist that. Despite some of the things that have happened between us, Rogan is a good person. A good person who made some bad choices based on shitty, time-sensitive, and incomplete information.
I stare at him, both of us quiet and content to just be for a moment. He looks exhausted. It’s clear, just like Tad and Hillen, that he’s been through some shit in the time I was gone. I think through all the shit we’ve been up against since he walked through the doors of my shop. I examine all the left turns we took when a little trust and faith could have had us going a different, smoother way. Then again, we ended up here, and everything about what’s between us right now feels right, like this is where we were always meant to end up.
Yeah, Rogan fucked up, but so did I.
I spent a lot of time fighting the tether. I was only interested in seeing a future free of it, too focused on how it all happened instead of taking a moment to see what it could mean. I rejected the notion that any part of this binding could be for my good. I closed myself off to the possibility so much that I literally died because of it. Maybe if I hadn’t been so hardheaded, I would have realized that Rogan’s blood magic was the key to getting out of that church, but it didn’t dawn on me until it was too late.
I never want to shut out truth or reality like that again. I never want to be so closed-minded that others suffer around me because of it. Enough is enough. I learned a valuable lesson in that church, and I can see and sense that Rogan feels the exact same way. It’s time to open my eyes and see the truth, regardless of how intimidating, final, or scary it might be. I’m a bound witch, and maybe, just maybe, that’s a good thing.
4
I take a deep breath, sorting through everything in my mind that Rogan and I need to talk about. There’s so much it’s hard to even know where to begin, but I give my ovaries a good we got this and batten down the vulnerable hatches inside of me, because no more avoiding. It’s time to accept and deal with what we’re up against.
Leaning down so I can bring our eyes even, I ready myself for answers.
“Elon?” I start, his name sticking in my throat like it doesn’t want to come out.
I’m not ready, not really, but I must know. I need Rogan to just rip the bandage off and maybe prepare a tourniquet. Hoping feels useless at this point. I want Elon to be okay, but I can’t banish the vision of Jamie’s dagger plunging into Elon’s chest as my rage-filled scream echoes around that forsaken church.
Rogan’s fingers are firm on the back of my neck, the grounding touch enough to pull me away from the assault of pain that’s welling up. I try to study his face, looking for the answer before he can voice it, but his face is completely unreadable.
He pulls in a hurried breath, like he’s preparing to deliver bad news, and my heart sinks. “He’s back too,” he tells me, emotion cracking through the declaration like the words spilling out of him are still too good to be true. I stare at him as the truth of what we can do sinks in, and then all at once, relief crashes through me so violently that it fractures the weak hope I was clinging to and makes way for a whole new foundation of limitless possibility.
I gasp as the heavy burden of self-blame and guilt immediately lightens, and I drop my face into my hands and let go. Sobs wrack my chest, and tears fill my palms. I knew how much I wanted to hear that Elon was okay, how much I hoped that this would be the answer, but I wasn’t prepared for what knowing for sure would feel like.
I cry, and Rogan pulls me closer and wraps himself around me as I do. He anchors me and supports me as everything comes rushing back. I try to fight all of the emotions that are an echo of the fucked up shit that happened the night I died. But instead of winning the battle, I’m forced to succumb to it. It’s all so fresh and staggering. I wish I could shut it off, but I can’t. I have to get it out. I have to fix the shattered pieces of myself that the trauma of that night took a sledgehammer to.
“It was fucking awful,” I profess, the words spilling out of me like I’m an overfull levee. Rogan’s quiet as he runs a hand soothingly down my back while holding me tightly to him. “I tried so hard to keep her away from him, to focus on me, but…”
“I know,” Rogan comforts, placing light kisses on the back of my hands. “Elon told me what happened. How you…” Emotion bleeds out of his words, and he pauses to try and rein it in. The vehemence le
aking to me through the tether has me cracking my fingers so I can look at his face through them. “I fucked up so bad, Lennox. I thought I had to choose, that after everything Elon had been through, he needed to come first no matter what. I didn’t want to admit how I was feeling about you. If I did, it felt like I was betraying Elon. I mean, what kind of person finds happiness and hope when his brother is suffering?” he asks, anguish etched in his features.
He shakes his head, ashamed, an indignant scoff sneaking out of his full lips. “I didn’t want to make room for you,” he admits, bringing his hand to his chest and placing it over his heart. “I didn’t want to see that you’d already sunk inside of me so deeply that there wasn’t a me without you anymore. It was the wrong time, too fast, too uncertain, but there you were all the same,” he tells me, gesturing to his heart.
His last words coax a small smile to one corner of his mouth, but it’s gone in a blink.
“That night when you were torn away from me. It was like I was back in that room with my uncle as he tortured Elon and tried to steal his birthright. I lost it completely. I probably would have taken out half the order if Marx hadn’t been there to stop me. They brought that Saxon fucker in to search your room for who could have planted the trap, and it hit me like a punch to the gut. You were gone. You were gone, and you didn’t know how I felt. I never let you see what you were starting to mean to me.
“I knew wherever that portal was leading, it was going to be bad, and I hated myself for not giving you something to fight for, for failing to show you that we were worth fighting for. I’m never going to do that again, Lennox. Never.”
Slowly, he pulls my hands from my face, lifting up a corner of the quilt to wipe the tears and snot away.
“I love you, Lennox,” he tells me evenly with absolutely no hesitation. “I love you in the way that grows as we grow together. The kind of love worth fighting for, that has me waking up every day grateful and willing to do whatever it takes. I know what you did for Elon, because it’s the same thing you did for me. You’re the light in the darkness. The stars that guide you home when you’re lost. You carry the broken from battle and lift the drowning from the clawing cold that’s trying to claim them. You slay the demons.”
I stare at him, completely dumbfounded. A tear slips silently down his cheek, and I move to catch it, his eyes so intense that he’s looking into me rather than looking at me. Warmth pools in my stomach, and my heart races like it’s giving its all because Rogan is the finish line.
“You, Lennox Marai Osseous, are everything. It scared the shit out of me before, but I’m not scared anymore. I love you. I feel it in my blood, in my bones, in my very soul...and I know you feel it too,” he declares assuredly, now wiping the fresh tears from my cheeks.
I kiss Rogan, my lips capturing his fiercely so I can sip on his words and let them soak into me. His raw declaration fills the cracks that mistrust and messed up circumstances chiseled into us, his faith and trust the very mortar we needed to repair and move forward. I know we have a lot ahead of us, that nothing about this is going to be easy, but Rogan is right. We’re worth fighting for.
I kiss him so thoroughly, pouring my own silent declarations into the passion once again stoking between us. This is the be-all and end-all kind of love that can only be nurtured with patience and understanding. This is the good shit that takes work and time, but when you truly give it everything you have, it’s the epic kind of love that will sustain a soul even in the darkest of times. I don’t know how the hell all of this just fell in my lap, but regardless of how long we’ve known each other or what obstacles may drop in our path, I am not letting this go.
Rogan kisses me back just as ferociously, our actions sealing what words can’t. Our tongues rove and explore, eager to spend the rest of forever learning each other as well as we already know ourselves. His hands splay across my back, pressing me into him, and I know I’ll never get tired of feeling him like this. Vulnerable and needy. Strong and formidable. Willing to give and take and solidify our bond time and time again.
And I am sooo here for it.
I feel him harden inside of me, and I chuckle at the realization that we haven’t even disconnected from round one and we’re already sliding into round two. I’m going to have to build a shrine to the sex gods or something, really make sure they know how grateful I am for pitching this dick my way.
“Alright, Rogan Kendrick, let’s see what you’ve got,” I challenge, tasting his laughter and feeling his chest vibrate against mine.
His arms tighten around me, and in less time than it takes to say Blood Witches do it best, I’m on my back. I release an epic girly squeal and giggle to go with it as he buries his face in my neck. “I meant for our future,” I argue, completely full of shit, “but this’ll do too,” I tease, parroting his sentiment before he took me against the wall.
“You have no idea how much I look forward to fucking that sassy mouth of yours,” he growls into my ear as he places a large hand at the small of my back and tilts my hips up.
Oh, hello, new favorite position—I have a feeling I’ll be thinking that a lot in the near future.
Rogan grinds into me, his insanely gorgeous body pressing against my clit in a really delicious way that I’m down to explore more of.
“Are you going to say it back?” he asks as he starts to pull out.
I furrow my brow in faux confusion. “What? That I can’t wait to fuck your mouth?” I ask, trying to hide the twinkle of mirth in my eyes.
He shakes his head and kisses down my throat, and I wiggle with anticipation, fully expecting some type of retaliation. He nibbles at the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I shamelessly lean into the sensations he’s creating when there’s a peculiar heat that unexpectedly starts to gather at my core.
Did someone just shove a hot pack over my hot pocket?
I look down and find Rogan’s devilishly good-looking face watching me, a hint of a smirk dancing on his lips and gleaming in his sultry gaze.
The heat builds even more, and I whimper, not from pain, but because it’s making everything very, very sensitive.
What the hell?
“Wha...what are you doing?” I demand as I start to writhe and wiggle underneath him. Fuck, he feels big. Did he feel that big before? What, does he have Go, Go Gadget dick?
“Are you going to say it?” he taunts, and I swear to fuck, if he so much as sneezes, I’m going to come so hard I’m going to need to be resurrected again.
“Are you giving me menopause?” I demand, panting. “Are these hot flashes, because I didn’t know they came with a side of orgasm so good you might just die.”
Rogan laughs, and yep, that does it. I shatter around him so hard that I now know what a meteorite feels like when it slams into the ground and gets obliterated. I’m pretty sure I turn into dust. Rogan must Swiffer me back into a person, because the next thing I know, I’m screaming like one of those porn stars that makes you roll your eyes, because there’s no way in hell it’s that good. And yet, somehow, it’s that fucking good.
Rogan thrusts shallowly in and out of me as I slam back into my body, the movement the perfect pace to draw out the life-altering release that has me convinced I’m now nothing more than dust bunnies.
“Mmmmm, I see you like the taste of my blood magic,” he purrs against my mouth as he nips and flicks his tongue teasingly against my bottom lip. “I was going to wind you up and then let you cool off as punishment, but I like the way you come all over my cock too much to hold out on you,” he admits, punctuating the declaration with a sumptuous roll of his hips.
I laugh at his admission, but it comes out sounding more like a dazed sigh. Without warning, heat starts to move in a direct path from between my thighs up to my nipples, and I moan and groan at the same time.
Holy Crone, Maiden, and Mother, I just found what I want to do for the rest of my life.
“You’re heating my blood,” I accuse, annoyed when the indictment is
a blissed out slur of words instead of an outraged challenge.
“Are you going to say it back?” he demands smoothly, a smile in his tone. He emphasizes each word of his question with a pulse of heat starting at my nipples and radiating down into my breasts.
It’s like he’s sucking on both nipples at the same time, while also pinching them lightly and kneading my breasts to an entirely different rhythm. But none of that is actually happening, because he has one hand at the small of my back and the other is supporting his weight while he moves his cock in and out of me like he hasn’t a care in the world.
This motherfucker is going to orgasm me to death, I realize, as he works my body like he knows it better than I do. I debate holding out—I mean, what a way to go—but there’s a small spark of vulnerability in his eyes, and the last thing I want him to think is that I don’t feel the same way.
“It’s just that I never thought it would be possible, you know?” I start, adopting a shy, hesitant mien. Rogan’s playful countenance gentles, and his gaze softens with understanding. “With everything that’s happened between us, I didn’t quite trust what my heart was telling me, but I can’t deny it,” I admit huskily as I brush hair out of his face and try to breathe through another coalescing orgasm. “I just might love you more than your coffee maker,” I announce straight-faced. “It’s probably too early to tell. We are new to this whole love thing, but the potential is definitely there.”
Rogan barks out a laugh, and the loss of his focus gives my nipples and clit a momentary reprieve. I don’t know if I’m grateful for that or disappointed.
“You do put out way easier than she does, and make me feel almost as good,” I add, trying to hide the cheeky smile that wants to break out on my face.
