Nothing like telling a guy you liked him first.

And then having him freeze. I wanted to die. Like, seriously, sink into the ground.

What was I thinking? Then again, I wasn’t. I—

He swept me into his arms and growled, “It’s too late for us both, I think.” Alistair kissed me.

Kissed me good.

His lips slanted over mine, caressing and nibbling and touching.

Instant fire licked at my veins, and my skin chafed within my clothes. I tugged at his shirt.

“We’re too public,” he muttered against my lips.

“Throw in a bonfire, and we can claim it’s a heathen witch ritual.” I was too aroused for him to want to stop because someone might see and object.

He laughed against my lips. “How about we find a room with a door instead?”

His idea of a room was a utility closet. No window, no light, just a shelving unit and enough space in front of it to tear at each other’s clothes.

There was something about the dark, and doing things by touch alone, that cranked the hot degree up a notch.

Everything seemed twice as intense. The feeling of his lips crushing mine. The stroke of his hands over my skin. Our naked bodies pressed together. Him leaning me against the shelves. Not a comfortable bed.

My body didn’t care.

All I knew was desire.

Need for him.

His thigh nudged mine apart and pressed against me.

“You’re wet.” He sounded so pleased.

“Do something about it,” was my smart-ass reply.

“It would be my pleasure.”

He dropped to his knees suddenly, and I gasped as I realized his intent.

I had to grab him by the hair to hold myself steady as he nudged his way between my thighs and blew hotly on my sex.

His hands stroked over my thighs, and while I couldn’t see them in the dark, I felt the callused skin of his fingers as they dragged over my flesh.

His tongue found and licked me, probing my sex and teasing me. I moaned, and he whispered “Shhh,” against my damp lips.

A second moan escaped. As if I could keep quiet.

He lapped me once more, and again. I had one hand fisted in his hair, the other gripping the shelving unit as I rode his tongue, the licking driving me mad.

When I thought I might scream with frustration, he stood. He grabbed me by a leg and hooked it around his hips.

It wasn’t high enough. He lifted me and pressed my back against the shelving unit.

The swollen tip of him poked at my lips. I tightened my leg around him, drawing him near, pulling him deep, sighing with the pleasure of having him inside me.

He nudged a little deeper, and I gasped. I loved that he didn’t move for a second, just stayed pressed deep inside, letting me enjoy the feel of him.

My arms looped loosely around his neck, I found his lips for a kiss, tasted myself on his tongue as he began to move. His cock rocked into me, deeply each time, sending jolts of pleasure, oh my God, the pleasure.

Then he stopped and set me down on trembling legs, and I mewled, “No.”

He wasn’t done.

Once again, he dropped to his knees, a supplicant before my altar. His tongue found me. His hands held my thighs wide as he licked me. He flicked my clit with his tongue before sucking it, driving me wild. I could only lean weakly and enjoy it. Then protest as he brought me to the brink and then stopped.

Over and over he did that until I growled, “Don’t make me beg.”

“I will never make you beg for pleasure,” was his promise as he rose and once again slid into me.

The fullness of his throbbing cock was what I craved. He thrust into me, hard, over and over again until I came, my scream caught by his fierce kiss.

And still, I orgasmed, my pussy trembling around his cock as he drove himself in and out, over and over, each thrust hitting my sweet spot, a never-ending bliss.

When he came, it was almost a relief to finally have that boneless pleasure stop.

He collapsed against me, his heavy weight driving me into the shelves, but I didn’t mind it. I clutched him tightly, enjoying this rare moment of intimacy with a man.

Until I realized something.

He’d done it again.

Came inside me.

But for some reason, I wasn’t as pissed this time. Perhaps it was because I realized this thing between us was stronger than us both. Maybe even meant to be.

Did a sorceress believe in fate?

I know what I didn’t believe in, though, and that was a man, even a sexy one with his dick still buried inside me, telling me what to do.