Witcha Gonna Do? (Witchington #1)(45)
“We’ll figure it out.” I can’t think about that. I can barely think as it is being this close to him. “Have a little faith in your fellow witch. You just might like it—almost as much as you like kissing me.”
“Kissing you only makes me want more,” he says, his voice that low and rumbly pitch that makes my core clench.
I rise up to my tiptoes. “Then more seems like the best option.”
He lets go of the workbench, his hands going to my waist, setting off a chain reaction of sensations that make it feel like I’m flying—maybe I am, I could care less because Gil is kissing me and it’s more than I can take, but I can’t get enough of it. The next thing I know, I’m sitting on the edge of the workbench and Gil’s standing between my spread legs. His hands are on my knees and then my thighs as he kisses me like a man who can’t get enough and doesn’t think he ever will. It’s different than our kiss in the kitchen. Hotter. More demanding. Walking that fine line between I’m-gonna-die-if-you-stop and all-of-this-pleasure-is-gonna-kill-me-dead.
His thumbs come to rest at that spot on my inner thighs that’s as close as he can get to the damp center of my panties without actually touching them. My whole body is buzzing with anticipation and I am barely holding it together because I swear I can see potted herbs and my dad’s set of growing crystals floating around us inside the witch’s den.
“Tilda,” Gil says, his voice strained. “Can I touch you?”
“Yes.”
“Just say the word and I’ll stop.”
“If you do, I’m gonna hit you with that garden spade you were gonna try to chop your way out of here with.” He nudges the center of my panties aside, sending my whole body into oh-my-fucking-yes alert and frying every thought in my head, but my mouth keeps going. “I mean, I wouldn’t really hit you. Consent goes both ways, and if you—”
“Tilda,” he says, whispering my name in a tone I can’t even describe beyond reverentially horny.
Is that a thing? Because that is exactly how he sounds at that moment when he flips the front of my skirt upward. It doesn’t matter, because all I can muster at this point is a soft, “Yeah?”
He looks down at my dimpled thighs—the ones that make chafing cream a necessity in the summer—and pink panties with the white daisies on them as if he’s been waiting his entire life to see something so gorgeous. “I’m gonna eat you out now.”
I swear I have something witty to say back, but then his mouth is on me, working my slick folds and swollen clit like a virtuoso. Seriously. There is not a sex toy in my nightstand drawer that can do the thing he is doing with his tongue, the pulsing, circling, teasing thing that has me gasping for breath and seeing neon lights exploding on the edge of my vision. Then his thumb joins in, tracing my opening with the kind of sadistic patience that has me babbling words I don’t even know the meaning of beyond begging him not to stop. Thank the fates he doesn’t. He just feasts on me, licking and sucking, tormenting me with his thumb in the best possible way.
I’m balancing on my forearms, my head hanging back, my mouth open as I make moans of pleasure I didn’t realize were possible. Yet he continues, moving his hands so he’s cradling my ass, holding me up to his mouth as if there is anywhere I am going to go at this moment—not with the way he is making me want to bask in the electric fire of his touch. There are snaps and crackles in the distance that should probably worry me, but I can’t be bothered. Everything feels too good, too powerful, too overwhelmingly amazing to pay attention to anything beyond Gil’s face buried between my legs.
I’m on the brink of orgasm, all of the sensations building in my core until I can’t take it anymore and my climax hits me, bowing my spine as the world turns bright purples and blues and I swear that if I could keep my eyes open against the wave after wave of pleasure, I just know I would see the colors twining to form a shade of violet indigo I’ve never seen before.
Still breathing hard, I force my eyes open to see Gil there, standing between my legs, his mouth wet, his gaze dark, and a delicious shiver goes through me because I know whatever is coming next is going to shake my world.
Then my dad’s witch’s den literally starts shaking as a rainbow-colored light illuminates the magic-locked door. The power makes the walls shake, and the door frame squeaks under the pressure. Gil turns and moves so he’s between me and whatever is about to come through that door.
Yeah, he’s not gonna be heading off whatever is about to come through there alone. I grab the garden spade—hey, it’s better than nothing—and go to stand beside him just as the door flies open. Whatever—whoever—I’m expecting, it sure isn’t Vance wearing a worn black T-shirt that says “Sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to be here.”
I let out a relieved breath. Vance is a pain in the ass, but he’s not the boogeyman. Beside me, though, Gil is still tense, primed and ready to throw down with the unicorn shifter. Before he can do that, though, I take a half step so I’m in front of him.
“We got literal fireworks going on out here above the den,” Vance grumbles. “What in the hell are you two up to?” He looks from me to Gil and back again. “On second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t wanna fuckin’ know. But if you’re done—and even if you’re not—we need you inside. This whole plan of yours just went straight to shit.”