The Bound Witch by Ivy Asher
17
“Fuck, why do you look like I just kicked your puppy?” Rogan asks, his eyes filled with concern.
“I mean, are you going to? Are you going to kick my puppy, because if you are, can we just wait until tomorrow? It’s been a long day. I kind of died and then had a teensy weensy breakdown, and now I’m pretty sure I’m three sheets to the wind, whatever the hell that means...”
Rogan bends down in front of me, his sudden nearness cutting off my rambling. “I think it’s Pirate for drunk,” Rogan tells me, a small smile ticking at the corner of his mouth, and its presence on his face fills me with so much joy that my eyes start to well up.
“Fuck, I love that smile,” I declare, blinking back the rush of emotions that just slammed into me.
“I love you,” he tells me back, and I stare deeply into his eyes like I’ll see all the proof I need in them.
“Do you though? Do you still love me, with everything that’s happened?” I ask, hating how uncertain and small I sound.
Come on, you are Lennox Osseous, the freakin’ Osteomancer of all Osteomancers, I tell myself, but for some reason, the inner pep talk isn’t doing much for me today. Probably because my inner voice is super focused on nachos right about now.
Man, I’m hungry.
Rogan grabs my hands and stands up, trying to pull me up with him. I grumble in protest.
“Nooo. The floor is so comfy, and there’s a knob that’s been giving me some lip, but I think it’s starting to come around to the fact that we were always meant to be friends,” I object, and Rogan chuckles.
He gets me to my feet, with minimal help from me, and guides me toward the stairs on the back wall. He sets me down and then turns on the taps to the tub and starts to fill it. Without saying a word, he’s back in front of me, pulling at the hem of the huge hoodie I’m wearing, and like the good girl I wish I was, I put my arms up so he can take it off.
I’m completely naked underneath, but any heat I might feel over his undressing me cools when I look down and see the dried blood on my abdomen. A small hole marks the spot to the left of my belly button where I was shot, and I begin to wonder how many scars will mar us inside and out before all of this is over.
Rogan stands me up and pulls my pants down, and then he takes the clothes I was wearing and walks over to the garbage, chucking them inside almost violently. I’m a little taken aback by the level of aggression he just showed those clothes, and I watch him with concern as he comes back to check the temperature of the water.
“Were they talking shit to you or something?” I ask after a beat, too curious to let it go.
I mean, I did almost get in a fight with a drawer knob earlier, who am I to judge a sweatshirt beat down?
An incredulous snort escapes Rogan, and he shakes his head. “When Riggs was alerted that we’d shown up on pack land uninvited, Saxon just so happened to be with him,” Rogan starts. “Then, conveniently, his house was the closest one to where we were, so I took you there to get you cleaned up. Which is why the both of us have been wearing his clothes since we rode the ley line nearby.”
I nod in understanding and try to bite back the amused smile that wants to peak out and play simply because of the annoyance written all over Rogan’s face right now.
“Guess that ass kicking will have to wait until next time,” I tease, not able to help myself, and Rogan shoots me an unamused look.
Yikes.
“Get in,” he orders, jutting his chin at the tub, and I roll my eyes.
“Bossy,” I grumble, but I do as I’m told and dip one foot and then the other into the gloriously hot water.
I moan in pure delight as I sink down into the massive egg shaped copper tub. I swear I could compete for an Olympic medal in this thing.
Hmmm, what would be my stroke?
Rogan grabs some bottles of products from the glass-encased shower and then sits behind me on the step. Out of nowhere, warm water cascades down my hair, and I squeal in surprise. Strong hands encourage me to tilt my head back, and I do as another cup of warm water wets my hair.
“So does Saxon know...” I start.
“No, thank fuck. Your heart was beating by the time they showed up. Riggs helped cover and told him we were taking you to a healer. Saxon was worried, but he didn’t question his alpha or me. I told Riggs and Viv the truth after we apparated here. They both swore on their pack that they would never tell a soul unless given explicit permission by us to do so.”
I nod and he wets my hair again. Then I hear the top of a shampoo bottle being popped open, and I realize that Rogan has every intention of washing my hair. I’m surprised but one hundred percent here for it. I close my eyes as the smell of juniper and fig fills my nose, and then Rogan’s hands are working through my hair, lathering up the soap and scrubbing all of the blood and dirt out.
I revel in how good this all feels, but it doesn’t completely combat the unease that’s settled in my chest or the fuzzy head I’m currently battling, although that last one I blame on the wine.
“This is great, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not going to distract me from the fact that you didn’t answer my question,” I tell him, and his hands go still in my hair.
“Your question?” he asks, confused.
“Um, yeah, you know that one where I asked you if you still love me despite everything that’s happened?” I repeat, not sounding any better as I ask a second time.
“I thought that was rhetorical, sorry,” he snarks, and I give him an incredulous snort.
“Of course I still love you, Lennox. You’re it for me. Good days or bad, sleep or no sleep, cuddle slut or pouting on the other end of the couch. It’s you and me forever.”
“I am totally not a pouter,” I defend, and he chuckles.
He rinses my hair, and the bath water around me turns murky. I pop the drain and silently beg it to take it all away. Rogan puts conditioner in my hair and then starts to comb it through with a wide-tooth comb. I turn to him, shocked by his hair care knowledge, and quirk an eyebrow. Rogan blushes and I instantly feel even more curious about why the pink is tinging his cheeks.
“I might have looked up how to care for curly hair,” he tells me sheepishly, and I find him so damn adorable I almost can’t take it. I look at the shampoo and conditioner, and sure enough, they’re designed for curly locks.
“But when would you have gotten all of this?” I ask, puzzled.
“The cleaner stocked everything at my request, just in case, when we were in Chicago. After the run-in with my mother, I figured better to be prepared.”
My eyes bounce back and forth between his. I’m so touched by this simple yet incredibly thoughtful and sweet thing. Silence stretches between us, and I debate shattering this beautiful moment between us with questions, but I can’t wait any longer. I need to know once and for all, or I’m going to scream.
“Rogan, why are you blocking me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart stutters with nerves, terrified that his reasons will shatter the incredible thing we have building between us.
“What? Why would I block you?” he asks, as though my question is ridiculous.
“I don’t know, because you’re mad at me or hurting or hiding something or you think something’s wrong with me but you don’t want me to feel it. Take your pick,” I tell him, hating that he’s making me spell it out like this.
“I’m not,” he counters adamantly.
“You’re not what? Mad? Hurt? Hiding something from me? Can you answer a question properly? Are you trying to drive me mad so I never get any answers?” I demand, my tone and frustration rising in pitch with each word.
Rogan takes a deep breath and fixes his eyes on mine. “I am not blocking you, Lennox. I’m not any of those other things either,” he defends.
“You’re not?” I clarify, cautiously.
“No. I’m not,” he reassures me, and I don’t know what to feel. I reach for the tether, questioning what I know I felt earlier. Maybe I was wrong or confused after just waking up. I reach the connection that ties me to Rogan and, without a doubt, it’s still blocked.
“Then why can’t I feel you?” I ask, distress sneaking into my tone.
“It happened when you died. The tether just stopped, and I couldn’t feel you either. I figured it would come back, like it did the first time.”
My brow furrows with befuddlement. “What do you mean?”
“In the church when you died, the connection blinked out. I didn’t feel anything until the morning Marx called to tell me the bodies were missing. I had a flash of fear and panic earlier that day, but I didn’t recognize it for what it was, because we hadn’t used the tether that much before you died. I only figured it out after I saw you at your aunt’s house. I could see what you were feeling written all over your face, and then I could match that to the sensations filtering into me through the tether. I thought it would snap back into place again, just like it did last time,” he explains, and I grow even more confounded while not missing the way his face fell when he said Marx’s name.
“Why didn’t you say something before?” I question, worried.
“I don’t know, a lot has happened. I didn’t think about it until now. Is that what’s been bothering you this whole time? You thought I had purposely shut it down somehow?” he asks, realization dawning in his beautiful green eyes.
“Well...yeah…you never said anything about our connection being affected. I didn’t know,” I stammer, unsure if I feel upset or relieved over the fact that he’s not shutting me out on purpose. I want to talk to him about Marx, tell him how sorry I am for what happened, but it doesn’t feel right. He looks too exhausted, too run down, and I don’t want to add any more to his plate of things that need to be dealt with tonight.
“Lennox,” he starts, my name falling reverently off his lips. His voice is practically a purr, and it does all kinds of things for my fuzzy head and warm body. “I know we’re still settling into us, but when I say I love you, that you’re it for me, I mean it. I shut you out before, and it almost cost me everything. I will never risk that again...never,” he reassures me, pressing his forehead to mine, and I can hear the vow in his voice.
I run my wet fingers through his hair and just feel him against me, both of us quiet as we anchor ourselves and recalibrate.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with our tether, but we’ll figure it out. I’ve already contacted my aunt. Let’s see what she has to say before we worry. Okay?” he assures me, a tired yawn sneaking out to punctuate just how worn out he has to feel. “Now, let me finish your hair and then we can go to bed. It’s been a long day,” he tells me gently, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
I nod, cupping his cheek tenderly for a moment before I turn back around. Rogan combs through my hair in silence and then rinses it with the clean water still pouring from the tap. We trade small smiles and hesitant touches, everything that we’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours slowly catching up to us.
Rogan kisses me on the shoulder as I work to dry my hair, and disappears into the bedroom to get ready for bed. I scrunch up my curls, staring at myself in the mirror, and start fretting about the tether. What if it doesn’t come back? What if every time one of us dies, it damages our connection? I used to want it gone more than anything, but now that it seems to be, the loss feels so much bigger than I ever thought it could.
I abandon my pensive reflection and flick off the lights in the bathroom. Stepping into the master, I find Rogan sitting on the end of the large bed, staring out of the wall of windows at the moon and the incredible expanse of stars. The view is breathtaking, but his eyes are far away, and I can tell he’s not really seeing what’s in front of him, but lost in something else.
My heart lurches at the deep and profound sadness I see etched in his face. I remind myself that he practically runs himself ragged caring for everyone around him and making sure they’re okay. But who does he let in to take care of him?
Today, he lost his friend, the safety of his home, his brother died, and then so did I. He had to open himself up to Riggs and Viv, which I know couldn’t have been easy, after all the years he and Elon have spent watching their back and protecting their secret at all costs. And yet, he walked into the bathroom and cleaned me up, offered me the words I needed to hear, brought me the comfort I needed to feel, all while he was quietly breaking inside.
I move to him, and when he registers my presence, he tucks his sorrow back inside himself, ready to give me whatever I may need. I watch the change in his features and his demeanor, the moment he switches from focusing on himself to focusing on me. It makes my heart swell with love and appreciation for how incredibly selfless and loyal he is, but at the same time, I hurt at knowing he never puts himself first...ever.
He looks up at me, his warm calloused hands palming the backs of my thighs while I run my palms over his shoulders. He smiles sweetly at me and then closes his eyes, relishing my touch. His thumb plays with the hem of the fluffy towel I’ve wrapped around myself, and he leans forward and rests his forehead against my chest. He breathes me in as he rubs soothing lines with his fingertips up and down the backs of my legs.
I trace the scar on his face and massage his temples and neck to help ease the tension that’s been collecting for far too long there. I feel him start to relax, and then he sits back and pulls me into his lap. The dark gray towel climbs up my thighs as I straddle him, and he brushes my wet curls from my face as I look down at the gorgeous man I get to call my own.
Damn, my lucky stars do good work.
Rogan looks up at me, and I swear he’s thinking the same thing as he coaxes my lips down to his. Flames move through me like every cell in my body is nothing more than kindling for passion and pleasure. I moan into his mouth as our kiss grows deeper, and then I realize that the heat moving through me isn’t just metaphorical, but a very real and tangible forest fire in my veins.
I gasp and pull back, but by the time the questions form in my eyes, the heat starts to dissipate, and a knowing smile quirks at the corners of Rogan’s lips.
“What was that?” I ask breathily, my head suddenly clearer and my senses sharper.
“I burned the alcohol out of your system. I didn’t want you to spend tomorrow hungover and feeling like shit, and I’d like to spend tonight between your thighs.”
I full on swoon at that mouth, a blush crawling into my cheeks as I feel him harden beneath me. I smile down at him, and then I kiss him deeply, willing to give him anything and everything he needs. His hands untuck the towel around me, pulling it slowly from my body and then flinging it to the floor. I pull Rogan’s shirt off, noticing that he also cleaned up and changed at some point in the night, probably when Tad and I were getting plastered in the bathroom.
His skin feels like heaven against mine, and he runs his huge hands up my back as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me impossibly closer against him. Our kiss turns frenzied, and his hands explore my naked body with wild abandon. His tongue teases mine, flicking and thrusting against mine in a promising show of what his cock will soon be doing inside of me.
I whimper as desperate need builds higher and higher between us, and all at once I need more. It’s as though my hands can’t get enough of him. My mouth and senses can’t consume him as fast as they need to. I have all of him all over me, and I still need more.
I reach down into his sweats and palm his thick cock. Swallowing down his moans and grunts like they’re my favorite meal, I stroke him once and then twice before pulling him free of his pants. I lift up on my knees and have him lined up with me in less time than it takes for him to groan my name, the plea in it clear.
I drop down onto him, throwing my head back on a throaty moan so he can hear just how good he feels inside of me. Inch by delicious inch, he fills me up until he’s all I ever want to feel. I kiss him deeply as our hips meet, letting him taste just how much I love and admire everything he is, and he drinks me down like I’m water in the desert.
“I need you, Lennox,” he begs, his tone revealing everything he’s not saying.
Our tether is still closed, but I can sense his need to lose himself in something good, even if it’s just for the night. The drive to get lost in pleasure and happiness in order to combat all the horrible, brutal emotions of the day is written all over his face. I can feel it in his hands, in the urgent way he clings to me. It’s in the critical pull of his mouth and needy thrust of his hips. It’s as though the way we feel when we come together chases all the shadows away for a while. He needs that reprieve as much as he needs his next breath.
So I rock my hips forward, rise up, and give it to him, again and again.
My breasts bounce against his chest as I ride him roughly. There’s no holding back, no teasing or drawing it out. I’m going to fuck him until the darkness in his gaze makes way for the light again. Until the ache in his chest feels less insurmountable. I’m going to cry out his name as many times as he needs to hear that he’s not alone and never will be again. I’m going to kiss him until all he can taste is my love, and then I’m going to hold him while he breaks, because I know it’s coming.
I breathe him in, reveling in the soft pants of yes he gasps against the skin of my throat as I work my pussy up and down his cock. He doesn’t push for control, needing me to take whatever I want from him at my own pace and in my own time. The thing is, I want everything.
I twist in his arms, climbing off of him for a second until my back is against his chest. I line him up with me again and drop down his thick shaft in a reverse cowgirl position. I lift up and then force him inside of me deeper as I reach for his hands and bring them up to my breasts. He sucks on my neck, pinching and kneading my nipples, and I reach down and circle my clit with my fingers as I bounce on Rogan’s dick. Warm tingles start to move through my body toward my core, and I moan at the building orgasm.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls in my ear, moving my hand from my clit and replacing it with his own.
I twist my head so I can capture his mouth, and he rescues my tired thighs by thrusting into me at the pace I set. I lean back into him, loving how well he knows my body already, and he grunts as my inner walls begin to tighten as my orgasm draws even nearer. He starts to rub my clit faster, and all it takes is a couple of seconds and I’m exploding around him, his name filling the room as I ride out my bliss.
He cups my pussy with one hand and my boob with the other and then thrusts into me hard, quickly finding his own release. Heat moves in waves throughout my body, and I know it’s Rogan drawing out the cloud of pleasure I’m floating in. It’s like a massage from the inside out, and it feels so good I can’t even talk. I morph into human Jell-O and just melt all over him.
We stay like that for a while, just holding each other, quiet and floating in the peace our bodies just created. He runs a hand absently up and down my arm, and all too soon I begin to feel reality and all of its burdens starting to creep back in. I get up, pulling him with me to clean up in the bathroom. We’re quiet as we wipe down and wash up; however, this silence feels different. We’re not wading in euphoria and relaxation like we were on the bed, what wraps around us right now feels heavier. We seem to be watching each other in the mirror like we’re both checking for cracks that need to be repaired. I dry my hands on a towel and turn to look at him leaning against the vanity.
I smile softly, leaning in to steal one more kiss before conceding to my body’s need for sleep. But when I steal his bottom lip between my own and he threads his fingers into my damp curls, he brushes past my new scar, and his entire body freezes. Our kiss stills and his lips pull away as he examines the scar with the pad of a finger, his eyes now fixed on mine. I watch it build in him like we’re moving in slow motion. One minute, he’s fighting to stay with me in this happy place we’re trying to build against all odds, and the next, anguish crashes through him so quickly that it steals both of our breaths away.
He slams a hand to his mouth as though it alone has the power to fight back the sobs, but the tears breach his eyes anyway, and when they do, it shatters the rest of his resolve. Rogan crumbles to the ground, and I go with him, catching his fall and wrapping him up in my legs and arms and my love.
Wild pain-filled sobs pour out of him, and my own tears drip down my face as I try to hold the man I love together despite the world’s best efforts to tear him apart. A shroud of mourning and grief wraps around us on the bathroom floor, and I feel him shake against me as he cries. A torrent of torment wracks his body, and it’s all I can do to hold him while it takes its toll.
I feel him grieve his friend, his brother, his life, me, and lastly I feel him mourn for himself. So much has been taken from him. He works so hard to rebuild time and time again, and no matter what he does, someone is there to try to steal it all away. It breaks my fucking heart to know what he’s gone through, and as I sit there and watch Rogan finally break, I silently promise him and me...never again.
He will get the peace and happiness he deserves, and I don’t care what I have to do, I’m going to make sure no one ever fucks with him and the people he loves again.