When she threw back her head and gave a warbling shout, he thudded against her, giving her hard strokes, prolonging her orgasm.
Without warning, she faded away like a wisp.
When he blinked open his eyes in the dark, he realized she was no longer beside him, but bent over him, her mouth consuming his cock. When she pulled back, she glanced sideways at him. “It’s okay to let go, Ali,” she whispered then sank again, as far down as she could until he hit the back of her throat. Then she sucked, drawing hard on him, murmuring around him, and he let go…jetting into her throat as his eyes rolled back.
Once he was empty, he gripped her hair and pulled her up his body.
She straddled his hips and lay against his chest. Together, they breathed hard, their hearts pounding in unison.
He turned his head and kissed her temple. “I’ve never wanted another the way I do you,” he whispered.
“I feel the same way. I just don’t know how this will end…how we can make this work.”
He understood. For now, he was simply grateful to be the one holding her.
When her breaths deepened, he waited, hoping she slept. When she snuggled closer and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, he knew she’d be okay. At least, for now.
The next morning, Radha stood at a workbench, folding a table runner she’d woven in blue and green threads. It was gossamer-thin and looked as sheer as a fairy’s wings. The woman who’d ordered it wanted the delicate runner to lie atop a linen tablecloth at her wedding reception.
Radha tied twine around the fabric then wrapped it in tissue paper before setting it inside a shallow box.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she didn’t need to look back to know who was there. The scent of flowers, apple pie, earthy clay, and sea air announced the arrival of her sister witches.
She set aside the package in a stack of boxes she’d be mailing later that day and turned to greet them.
Bryn’s gray-blue eyes narrowed as she studied her face. “You’ve slept.”
Miren walked in a circle around her. “Your back isn’t as tense.”
Aoife grinned. “You got a little some-some, didn’t you?”
Darcy waggled her auburn eyebrows. “Question is, was it the horsey or the genie?”
“I think we all know who put the color in her cheeks,” Bryn murmured.
“I don’t know why you don’t assume it’s both of those demons,” Miren said.
Darcy grabbed her hand and led her through her workshop, past her small galley-style kitchen to the dining table in the open room beyond. Once they were seated, Bryn began unpacking the basket she’d carried over her arm, setting a covered cake on a plate Darcy drew from the cabinet. Darcy also pulled out a tea set she’d made for Radha, painted in a deep magenta with sprigs of white flowers circling the plates.
Aoife placed a marigold in the bottom of every cup then poured fragrant green tea spiced with ginger into the cups, which were then passed around the group. When everyone held their cup and saucer, she dipped her head.
“Goddess, generous though you’ve been,
once more we seek a boon.
Darkness lurks,
a heart hurts,
and your daughter lingers between earth and veil.
Please, light a path as bright as marigolds
and moonbeams for her to see.
If it be your will, so mote it be.”
Leaning toward Radha, the women lifted their cups and blew on the steaming liquid, directing the steam toward her. She drew in the fragrance of the tea and the brisk scent of ginger, and smiled, feeling instantly relaxed. “Thank you, sisters.”