The Bound Witch by Ivy Asher
3
“Holy shit,” Tad exclaims for about the thousandth time.
“I know,” I agree, as I scrunch product into my curls and open up the drawer that houses a diffuser attachment.
“Demons are no joke,” he warns, as though I didn’t just witness that fact firsthand.
“You’re preaching to the choir,” I shout over the whir of the blow dryer. “I love that you’re more concerned with the demon part of that story than the fact that I came back from the dead,” I tease.
“Oh, I have every intention of freaking out about that. All in good time, Leno. I’m just trying to process the manageable parts of your story, and demons run screaming to the top of that list.”
“Fair enough,” I concede with a chuckle.
I probably shouldn’t feel so lighthearted right now; the Crone knows my life could turn back into a clusterfuck any second now, but I’m clean, my belly is full, my loved one isn’t suffocating on heartache anymore, and I just feel...good. Better than good, really. Power is humming through my veins, and the gnawing unease that’s been tugging at me since I woke up is suddenly calm and replaced by determination and relief.
“But how the hell did that bitch get one to cooperate? A demon would gut you nine times out of ten instead of listening to one word of why some no-name ex-witch would have summoned them,” Tad states evenly, his observation pulling me from my inner it’s good to be alive reflection.
I can tell by the way he’s staring at the wall that his question is more for him than me.
“Demons don’t fuck with Lessers or Mancers unless they really have something they want. So, what the hell could Magic-Stripped Barbie have that a demon would want badly enough to get involved in the serious shit show she created?”
Tad’s musings reverberate through me like the off-key ring of a damaged bell. A shiver runs through me as I recall the first time I saw Jamie, with demon marks branded all over her and nothing but madness swimming in her eyes. “From the looks of things, whatever she was working with liked to fuck her,” I throw out there, shaking my head to clear it of the images and sounds that filled the church when Jamie first summoned her demon.
“Na, that kinda shit is more a play for dominance or a smoke screen when it comes to their kind. They care more about power than pussy or penis.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, a little bewildered by his matter-of-fact statement. I flip my head to the other side and start scrunching those curls and drying them as I wait for him to explain where he’s getting all his info from.
“Remember that magic adjacent group I told you about, the one that I meet up with?”
I think back to Tad lecturing me on how being tethered to Rogan or anyone else was a very bad thing, and nod my head.
“Yeah, well, the people who grow up and live around you power wielders, they pay attention, take notes, share experiences and knowledge with others like us. Probably more than Mancers or other powerful beings realize,” he admits. “Just because we aren’t ultimately chosen doesn’t mean we’re any less a part of your world. We grow up knowing about it, affected by it, and we talk.”
“Do your friends know about me and Rogan?” I press as I flip my head forward and fluff my hair, thinking through what he said about demons and their motivations.
“No. I like to gossip, but I protect family secrets. You being tethered to the renounced heir of the High Priestess is about as juicy as it fucking gets, and that’s before the whole immortal part of your story kicks in,” he declares, circling a finger in my direction. “That stays under lock and key as far as I’m concerned. Knowing that kind of shit gets you killed.”
Reflexively I cringe, not only from the cold truth in that last statement but also because I keep waiting for Hillen to pop up out of nowhere and get on us about our language. “Is your mom going to be back soon? I keep thinking she’s going to walk in and have a conniption, either about the number of times you just said shit in the last two minutes or because I’m standing right here, not dead, like she thinks I am.”
I turn the diffuser off and put it back in the drawer.
“Fuck, what time is it?” Tad yelps, leaping off the covered toilet and pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. “Shit, she’s going to ream me. I was supposed to pick her up half an hour ago. Fuck my life.”
I hear him try to call her, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Dammit, her phone must be dead. Let’s go,” he calls over his shoulder as he races out of the bathroom.
“I can’t,” I call after him, and he spins to look at me confused. “First off, I don’t think the car is the best place to have a surprise, I’m not dead reunion with your mom. She’s going to freak the fuck out, and it’s probably better to do that here, rather than out there,” I explain, jerking my chin at the light on the other side of the curtained window in the guest room. “Secondly, I don’t know how smart it is for me to be riding around in public like I’m not supposed to be dead. I need to keep that on the DL for, like, ever, or until I talk to Rogan at least.”
“Right, yeah, that makes sense,” Tad agrees.
“You don’t happen to have his number, do you?” I gesture awkwardly to the phone clutched tightly in his palm.
He looks down at it sheepishly. “I did. But...I might have deleted it after the whole it’s my fault she died thing.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” I argue, uneasy with the thought that Rogan thinks that, let alone wants anyone else to.
“If you say so,” he relents easily. “Ma has it. I’ll get it from her if she doesn’t kill me for forgetting to get her. She only reminded me like a thousand times not to forget.”
I wince, knowing he’s about to get chewed out within an inch of his life. A pissed Hillen is a Hillen you don’t want to fuck with. “Run,” I encourage, my tone amused but the look in my eyes dead serious.
Tad gulps audibly, and I can see hesitancy in his face. He doesn’t want to leave me. My heart warms, and I swallow back the emotion that climbs into my throat.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” I reassure him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He blinks away some welling tears and nods, pulling me in for a quick hug before taking off. I can’t help but giggle as he sprints down the hallway and out the front door. I fully crack up when the sprinklers turn on just as he sets foot on the lawn. He screams, high pitched and frantic, as he races through the spattering onslaught to where his Prius is parked in the driveway. The car putters away from the house and down the street, and I swear Hillen must be sending some serious bad juju Tad’s way—the timing of the sprinklers was entirely too perfect to be a coincidence.
Letting the curtain of the window I’m peeking out fall closed, I head back to the kitchen for some water. Man, resurrection sure makes a girl thirsty. I gulp down two glasses, my thoughts wandering and flitting around the question of what to do now. Instead of reflecting on anything useful, anxiety directs my focus to Rogan.
What will he say when he answers his phone to find me on the other end of the line? We said a lot of things to each other when we both thought I was dying. What if he didn’t mean it? What if his words were expressed only to console and ease my suffering and imminent passing? He could hate me for Elon. Even if his brother somehow came back too, I couldn’t stop his suffering. I sure as fuck didn’t figure out the blood magic loophole fast enough to save him from more pain and death. There could be some harbored resentment for that.
A resigned sigh spills out of me as all kinds of worse case scenarios flash through my mind. My gut’s telling me I’m being an idiot, but that doesn’t do much to calm the anxiety and guilt that starts to surge inside of me as all kinds of what ifsswirl around my head like a cyclone.
I lean against the counter and try to get a hold of my runaway worries. Logically I know it’s stupid to freak out about this. I have bigger worries hanging over my head. This high school but does he like me crap needs to fuck off, but instead, it seems to roost in my chest, pecking at me until it’s all I can focus on.
A pounding knock comes from the front door, the loud sound startling. I turn to stride into the living room to see who it might be when I hear the heavy door open.
What the hell?
“Mrs. Osseous? Tad? I’m sorry for barging in. I know I’m the last person you want to see, but we have a situation,” a booming voice calls into the house.
I freeze in the entryway of the kitchen when the deep, commanding voice reaches me. My feet and body just up and stop moving as the front door clicks shut and a large frame comes into view. I stop breathing as moss-green eyes land on mine. They widen with stunned confusion, and just like me, he goes still.
One second passes.
He takes me in as though he’s trying to understand how I’m standing right in front of him. I can’t breathe.
Two seconds go by.
My throat tightens with all the things I want to say. My lips part, readying themselves for the rush of what needs to be explained, but nothing comes out.
Three.
Rogan’s eyes fill with tears. He pulls in a shuddering breath, shaking his head as though he dare not believe I’m real. His fists clench. I track the slight movement, my heart tightening at the sign of distress, and then, in four long strides, his mouth is suddenly on mine.
We come together in a desperate explosion of need and disbelief. Fiercely we cling to each other, my body fitting against his as though we were created that way. I gasp at the sudden frenzied contact, and he swallows it down, consuming everything I am and so much more. Rogan drinks me down like I’m everything he needs to survive, and I claim him just as greedily.
He cups my face, his fingers threading through my curls. His kiss is exultant, his tongue composing hymns of moans and needy exclamations with mine. He tastes like the antidote to a poison that’s been threatening my very soul. Every doubt, every second thought and what if burns to ashes in the blaze of what ignites between us. It’s more than anything I’ve ever felt before, and all at once, his lips on mine, his body pressing in against me isn’t enough.
I need more.
I need him.
Heat roars through me as I grab onto his shoulders and pull myself up. Without missing a beat, he reaches down and cups my ass, bringing my face even with his. I take control of our kiss, twining my tongue with his, lacing every stroke, suck, and nip with my building want. I grind my hips against the muscles of his stomach, surprised by the flash of sensation that zips through me from that friction alone.
Well, hello, washboard abs, allow me to introduce you to my very eager clit.
“Lennox,” Rogan rumbles as he tries to pull away, but I’m not having it. Whatever needs to be said can be said later, right now all we need is this. I answer the question in his tone by crashing my mouth back to his, and he gives into me exactly like I want him to.
He starts to carry me out of the kitchen, and I kiss my way down his jaw to his ear, directing him where to go, between nipping at his lobe and kissing a trail down his neck. His large hands tighten on my ass as he stalks down the hallway to the guest room. I grind against him as he goes, loving the deep moan it elicits as I do.
“We need to talk, I have to tell you—”
“Later,” I interrupt breathily. “There will be time later,” I reassure him, but it doesn’t take much coaxing to keep his focus on the urgent need circulating between us. He carries me into the room, kicking the door closed with his foot, and the next thing I know, my back is pressed against the cool wall, and Rogan is once again kissing the ever-loving fuck out of me.
There’s no questioning how badly he needs this too. It’s in his taste, in the way he holds me like there’s nothing in this world that could ever make him let me go. He rolls his hips up into my spread thighs, his hard length grinding against me tantalizingly, promising me the more I’m so desperate for.
I reach over his shoulder and start bunching the fabric of his too soft shirt as I try to pull it up and off. He leans back, pinning me against the wall with his hips, and rips it off with lightning fast speed. Part of me is disappointed; I kind of want to savor the strip tease, but the other part of me, the fiendish part, screams later, bitch and then redirects all moisture and focus directly to our vagina.
I pull my shirt off too, reaching for the bralette I have on underneath, but Rogan beats me to it, pulling the fabric down like some savage animal so that my breasts spill out. Without hesitation, he wraps his luscious lips around one of my nipples.
Fuck, that’s hot.
I moan as he sucks hard and then flicks his tongue against the sensitive peak. Eagerly, he thrusts up against me again, and I’m both incredibly turned on and pissed that his pants haven’t spontaneously combusted yet and freed his dick.
Where’s a Circummancer and a little bit of flame when you need it?
I reach down between us and start working on his fly. I’m so lost to how good he feels pressed against me, sucking on me while he taunts my pussy with all that delicious friction he’s creating, that I can’t do much more than tug on his jeans. Luckily, he quickly gets what I’m after and pulls us away from the wall, setting me on my feet.
My inner fiend sounds the alarm and starts to defiantly slash war paint across her cheeks, clearly unhappy with this turn of events. I focus my gaze on Rogan as he unbuttons his jeans and quickly lowers his zipper, and my hormones immediately stop revolting and catch on to what’s about to go down.
Quickly, I rip my bralette over my head and push my leggings down my hips. His get naked fast plan is a solid one. My underwear comes off with my leggings, and while Rogan smoothly steps out of his jeans, I have to start hopping around to try and get these clingy fuckers off my feet. With a frustrated growl, I finally manage to free myself, and I’ve barely regained my balance before Rogan is practically tackling me against the wall again.
I open my mouth to point out that there is in fact a very available bed located in the room we’re currently occupying, but when he palms my ass tightly, lifting me up so he can then drag my bare pussy down the length of his deliciously hard, very thick cock, I flip the bird to the bed, because this wall is where it’s at.
We both moan in unison as my wet arousal coats his long shaft. I bury my fingers in his dark brown locks as he moves me up and down his steely length, building the anticipation and tormenting me with this titillating contact that’s so good and yet still not enough. My breasts are pressed against his warm hard chest, his muscles rippling and undulating against me. I never thought someone’s skin smoothed against mine could feel so fucking good. I whimper desperately as he kisses up my neck and sucks on the skin just below my ear.
“What should our safe word be?” he baits, whispering huskily into my ear, his breath tickling and taunting as he slowly parts the lips of my pussy with the tip of his cock.
So close, but not nearly close enough.
I frustratedly clench down against nothing, the need to have him inside of me right now all I can focus on. “Rogan,” I plead as I brush my lips against his jaw and try to press down onto his thick waiting length. He holds me tight, not allowing me to move even a centimeter, and I feel a slight whine sneak into my voice as I lick the edge of his jaw and then demand in his ear for him to “fuck me...now.”
“That’ll do,” he growls approvingly, and then with one powerful thrust, he’s deep inside of me. We both moan loudly, lost to the exquisite sensation of it all. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that since the first day I met you,” he confesses against my lips, his hand tilting my head back until our eyes meet.
I stare into my favorite color of green, thinking about how I almost lost this. I almost didn’t see it, didn’t let myself see him, until it was too late. “I’ve wanted you to do this from the first time I body checked you. If you hadn’t started in on that familiar bullshit, I probably would have convinced you to bend me over the reading table right there and then.”
“Mmmmm,” he hums as he pulls out of me and then thrusts back in. “I would have fucked you on the reading table, the front counter, I would have taken you against every shelf and surface in that shop. You’re the most breathtaking creature I’ve ever seen. That mouth of yours, your kind heart, and fuck, the way you taste and feel, it’s been impossible not to want you, Lennox,” he tells me, pulling out at the end of each statement and thrusting deeply back inside of me.
I pant against his declarations, an orgasm already building from his raw confessions and the languid assured pace he’s setting. His words and sentiments play at my heart while his dick hits all of the right spots that make me weak and pliant.
“Rogan,” I beg, his name a prayer on my lips and a plea for salvation as my orgasm builds, lapping and ebbing with his unhurried movement.
He kisses me deeply, as though he wants to taste his name in my mouth, and I invite him in to drink his fill. Our tongues dance, and my nipples rub against his hard chest as his thick cock moves slowly, deliberately, in and out of my clenching, needy pussy.
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and desperately start rolling my hips against his. I drive down on him thrust for thrust, picking up the pace hungrily as Rogan swallows down my moans and feeds me his own. We consume each other’s desire until it’s almost impossible to breathe. Breaking away from his mouth, frantic and panting, I lean my forehead on his muscular shoulder, looking down and watching as he fucks me harder and harder.
He pistons in and out of me, and I stamp his thick cock with wet approval as our skin sings against one another, the rhythm picking up pace with each passing second. I throw my head back, not able to take it anymore, and drop into an orgasm that has me clenching my teeth and curling my toes as the wave of pleasure crests and then crashes through me.
“Fuck, Rogan,” I shout out, completely immersed and floating on how incredibly good he feels.
He tightens his hold on me and then surprises the shit out of me when he takes everything up another notch. He grabs my waist and starts to fuck me so hard and so deep, it’s all I can do to hold on. I chant his name over and over again as he purges himself of all the brutal emotions he’s been drowning in since I died in his arms. Surprisingly, I feel it all in our bond, through the tether.
I can feel his apology for everything that’s gone south since we first met. I can sense the “fuck you” to death he’s declaring as he loses himself in me despite its best efforts to rob us of this. Regret rings in our bond over his wrong decisions. Hurt and jealousy zip through our connection, but they’re quickly followed by profound respect and deep affection.
The possessiveness I feel from him is intense and oddly grounding, but I’m washed away from that emotion as his loss and desolation come for me like a tidal wave. The depth of what he feels for me is so strong and overpowering, and my eyes begin to sting with emotion.
“I’m here,” I tell him softly, repeating it over and over again to try and quiet the storm of grief that’s crashing through him.
I tighten my hold on his shoulders and fuck him back just as hard as he’s fucking me, our tether and bodies saying everything we need. Pure satisfaction and rightness hums through our veins as another climax tingles to life in my core. Rogan reaches between us and pinches my clit, rolling it between his thumb and finger, as he leans back a little and adjusts his position inside of me.
“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.