Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(82)

Okay then.

Why was I running away?

I stopped and he covered the distance in two strides, swung me up like I weighed as much as a bag of sugar and tossed me on the bed.

He pulled off his shirt.

Six pack, check!

(Oo, and those nice, sinewy forearms, oh my…)

“I feel stupid in this outfit,” I shared because I was nervous and couldn’t think of anything else to say. I was staring at his abs like I was going to take a bite out of them and my whole body was shivering.

“Take it off.”

Yikes!

“No!”

“Okay, I’ll take it off.”

Man, oh man.

I fall for them, don’t I? Every bossy word out of his mouth made my nether regions quiver. I was ready for him before his knee hit the bed.

Then his knee hit the bed. Then his body hit me. Then his mouth hit mine.

He kissed me, hard, wet, deep, ohmygoddess, my insides melted.

He did this for a long time. Then his lips slid down my cheek and with his mouth on my neck, his hands trailing my body, he whispered, “You want me to stop?”

I didn’t say anything as his fingers pulled at the multitude of fabric at my waist and his tongue did amazing things to the area around my ear.

“Darling, now is the time to say if you want me to stop,” he murmured.

Oo, he called me “darling”.

I had no words.

His hand found the drawstring, conquered the fabric, his lips again found my lips… his again tongue found my tongue…

Oh me… oh my.

He broke the kiss but said against my mouth, “Last chance, Mathilda.”

“Do… not… stop,” I breathed.

I felt his smile against my mouth then his lips slid across my cheek again and, back at my ear, he chuckled and it felt like a million feathers danced from my ear over my entire body.

My ni**les turned to rocks and my stomach went molten.

And then I didn’t feel anything else for a good long while except the two fingers sliding inside me.

And the thumb on me.

Ohmygoddess, ohmygoddess, ohmygoddess!

Fingers, thumbs, mouth, tongue, oh my!

I arched my h*ps against his hand right before I moaned his name, real slow.

Yay!

Yayayayay!

Afterward, he kissed me softly and when I opened my eyes to look at him, I saw he was watching me and he whispered, “God, you’re beautiful.”

Yay!

While I recovered, he moved, adjusting my pajamas and stripping to his boxers and he turned out the lights. He slid us both under the covers and pulled me into his arms.

“Um…” I didn’t know what to say.

Was that it?

Were we done?

“Sh, darling, I’m exhausted. Go to sleep.”

Excuse me?

“Uh, Aidan? Um… sorry but… what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m good.”

Wha?

“You’re… good?”

“Yes. Sleep now.”

He wasn’t good.

He was even.

Fucking men.

* * * * *

Will say though, that waking up next to fabulous man who a) will die for me or b) will be my husband and c) calls me beautiful after he makes me cl**ax, is quite lovely.

To say the least.

Ash spoons. Ash pulls you to the warmth of his body and keeps you there, all night, protecting you.

Aidan is not a cuddler. Although I fell asleep in his arms, somewhere in the night I was free to sprawl willy-nilly across my side of the bed. Though, he was not distant. He ended up on his belly, close, with one hand resting possessively on my ass, fingers curling around my hip, the sheets down around his waist and his gorgeous back on view.

Make of that what you will.

So now I sit wrapped up in his robe, in the window seat alternately watching him sleep and writing in my Book of Shadows.

And thinking about my future.

And about Josie, who will save the world.

And about Ash and Aidan and their lifetime of knowing they’ll either marry The Chosen One or die protecting her.

And myself, who will have to live without one of them.

Chapter Ten

The Month of August

3 August

Lots to tell, little time. It’s all becoming a blur of work, study, hunt, cast and plot.

Let’s see, where did I leave off…?

Oh yes.

I left Aidan in bed, (poor baby, so sleepy). Dressed in my shorts and cami (borrowed one of Aidan’s sweaters to go over because it had turned cold, gray and rainy… again) and headed down to the kitchens (had a tour the night before, truly fascinating, The Institute, but too much to tell).

I ended up shooing the cook (who, at a glance, was around nine hundred and eight years old and seriously needed a day off) out of the kitchen.

There were pints and pints of blueberries in the fridge for some reason so I made the entire membership of The Institute homemade blueberry pancakes with golden syrup and crisp fried, streaky bacon.

I declined to eat in the dining hall (was in clothes from day before and no makeup, so no way was I going to be on show) but instead, ate at the big, wooden table in the kitchen.

Dr. Bennett sat with me, drinking a cup of tea from a delicate china cup and saucer.

Conversation was scarce. Mostly, he watched me.