Page 63 of Things Get Dark
I glance down at us. “I love your tits.”
She snorts. “Yeah, right.”
“These are perfect.” Peeling her hands away, I pepper her skin with kisses. Leaning in, I kiss her dark pink nipple, watching it pebble under my attention. She shudders, grinding down onto my tail, so I take that as a sign to suck the sensitive bud into my mouth. My other hand pinches the nipple currently being neglected, rolling it between my fingers, tugging it lightly when she whimpers. “Look at them. Begging for my mouth. For my tongue. My teeth.”
I squeeze her small breasts, lavishing them with attention as I suck and bite little love bites all over her body, marking her as mine. I do not care that she’s smaller than me. She smells like mine. She tastes like mine. And the noises she makes as my tail slides into her panties and inside her wet, tight pussy mark her as mine, with or without our bargain.
As she fucks herself against me, and on me, my tail buried inside her as we both grind against its length, chasing the pleasure.
“Oh, my wicked witch,” I breathe against her lips as I claim her mouth in a hungry kiss. “How perfect you are for me.”
Her hands move up my horns, caressing them as she chants my name between kisses, over and over again, like a prayer or one of her spells. “Manon. Manon. Oh, fuck. Manon.”
My tail slides in and out of her hot body, pumping my energy into her with it, but waves of her magic wash over me in return. It’s like a circuit of power and energy between us, as we combine, becoming one. I don’t know how or why this little witch has such a hold on me, but she’s beneath my skin and in my blood as much as I am now in hers.
“Popping candy, my little Halloween snack, I need you to come for me,” I pant against her breast, my lips catching on her nipple before my tongue flicks out to suck it into my mouth. Our bodies are covered in a soft sheen of sweat as the energy builds between us, and I’ve never experienced anything like it.
She comes hard, throwing her head back again with a half-shout, before curling in around me, trembling. I can feel her tight cunt clamping down on my tail, and the sensation of her orgasm moving through her body triggers my own. As I come, I sink my teeth into her neck, and lap up the blood that blooms on her slick skin.
A few moments later, we’re lazily entwined on the bed with Poppy resting her forehead against my shoulder, carefully tracing the sigils she was admiring earlier.
“You’re in this with me, aren’t you?” Her voice is quiet, and I hate it. I need her to snark at me, or be her usual grumpy self. “Do you think I can do this? Unlock my powers?”
“I know you can.” Grabbing a fistful of her hair, I yank her head back, forcing to look me in the eye. She needs my confidence right now, and I have no doubts about just what she is and what she’s capable of. “I can feel how powerful you are, love. I can taste it on your skin. The others, they grasp and hold onto threads of magic, but you…you are so much more. You are an entire tapestry, woven out of power.”
“Mmmmm, a tapestry. I like that.” She plants a kiss between my breasts directly over one of the marks. “Let’s shower.”
“Together?”
“Together.”
Chapter Seven
Poppy
“Why are we hereagain?” Manon grumbles as she ducks under a row of drying herbs. She’s taller than me, especially when she’s hovering off the floor with her power, but it didn’t really hit me until we were standing in the same enclosed space in the apothecary.
“Research.” I chuckle. “You said my power was bound, but there are only so many spells that can bind power.”
That’s why I’d brought her to Blaketon, a city almost two hours away from the Academy. The Powell sisters were two of the most powerful witches in the western hemisphere, and if they didn’t have something in their shop to help, no one would. The small apothecary store was tucked away from the main street, and it was every bit as quirky and unique as I expected. There was an enormous brick fireplace, with a roaring blue fire warming the hearth and a worn red sofa and a large green armchair surrounding it. The shelves were overflowing with containers, jars, books, and crystals of all shapes and sizes. It was like a treasure trove of witchy goodness.
“If I know which spell it was, I could undo it but also, maybe it would give me an insight into who was powerful enough to cast it.” I pause, a thought occurring to me as I close the book I’m holding. “Do you think my father knows about the knots?”
“Yes.” Manon doesn’t even blink, pink smokey eyes locked with mine. She must read something in my expression as she frowns and tilts her head, her sleek black horn catching on a bundle of lavender hanging above her head. “Should I have said no? Should I have not been honest? Human emotion is so confusing sometimes.”
I pick up a chunk of quartz and focus on trying to channel my magic. Like with Cordelia, threads or thin ropes of energy seem to form in my mind's eye, reaching for the crystal. Before I can pour it into the stone, I stop myself. “Whoever cast this binding, would have needed access to you for a while. There are seven knots. They have clearly been there a while.” Manon picks up a jar of newt eyes and shakes it, letting the preserving liquid swirl around before settling again. “That kind of magic needs to be fed, topped up occasionally.”
My head swirls with what Manon said as I’m flipping through a collection of scrolls. There’s no way my father could know about this. If he knew there was a way to unlock my power, surely, he’d do it—that way he could save himself from the embarrassment of having a witchling daughter without magic.
A small voice to my left whispers, “Why is there a pink demon in our shop?”
Turning, I almost jump out of my skin when I realize a woman with pale purple hair is standing right next to me. Her cute yellow dungarees and oversized blue cardigan make her look like some sort of color explosion as she pushes her round rimmed glasses up her cute button nose with her index finger and looks over at Manon.
The demon seems oblivious as she picks up a green glass bottle and pops the cork, bringing it to her nose to sniff. Her tail swishes around, almost knocking over a collection of pots.
“Child of Lilith, if you drink that I will send you back to your plane.” A harsher voice warns, and we both turn to stare at another woman with long black curls watching us over the edge of her book as she sits in an armchair near the fireplace. She definitely wasn’t there a moment ago.
She closes the book and gives Manon a hard stare, her hazel gaze unwavering. Where the woman near me was all color, this witch wore only shades of black. “Do you even understand how hard it is to get hold of good quality troll tears?”