“So dramatic,” I whisper. “Maybe I just want to play with your knife.”
I swivel around, repositioning myself so my back is to him. Before Memnon can continue to wonder what I’m thinking, I bring the knife down, sawing the blade through what remains of his pants.
The material makes a satisfying ripping noise.
I lean over, cutting open one entire pant leg, then the other. While I work, tendrils of my magic reach for his boots of their own accord, unlacing them, then tugging them off along with his socks underneath.
Once I cut away the last of the material, my pulse quickens. He’s completely naked, and I’m still fully dressed. The thought has barely crossed my mind when my power, again of its own accord, begins to undo the laces of my Doc Martens. It then continues up my legs, tendrils of the sunset-orange magic reaching for the buttons of my pants.
One of the first lessons witches learn about magic is that it is semi-sentient. We can control it, but it can just as easily control us. As I watch my power undo the top button of my own pants, a command I did not give it, I think that maybe tonight I’m seeing a little of that.
I swing myself off Memnon and leave the bed, as though moving might help me escape my own magic. It doesn’t.
With my back to the sorcerer, I toss Memnon’s dagger aside, the metal clattering against the floorboards as I’m helped out of my pants by my power. I’ve only just gripped the hem of my shirt when my power lifts it over my head, my hair cascading back to my shoulders. Already it’s unclasping my bra, and it helps me wiggle out of my panties. There’s nothing sexy or drawn out about any of this, yet even without my sight, I can feel Memnon’s gaze on me like a touch.
Beautiful, I hear his mind whisper.
I want to laugh. He’s smooth and self-assured while I’m tripping through the motions, trying to stay one step ahead of my magic and act like I’m still in control when I no longer feel like it. Even tying him up and stripping him naked no longer eclipses this feeling welling up in me.
I’m nervous.
I may have memories of doing this in another life, I may have even drunkenly done this with the sorcerer in this one, but this time, there’s no alcohol or espiritus to blunt my nerves.
“Selene.”
My shoulders tense at the sound of his voice, which is somehow tender and intimate and knowing. I don’t know how it’s knowing—unless he’s been eavesdropping on this entire inner dialogue.
“Come here, little mate,” Memnon says, his voice gruff. “I am tied up and yours to do with as you please.”
I draw a deep breath and turn to Memnon. It takes so much to let him look his fill at my naked body. And he does. He looks and looks, swears under his breath, and looks some more.
Eventually, his gaze moves to my face, pausing on my cheeks, where I can feel the hot rush of blood staining my skin.
“You’re embarrassed,” he says, surprised. Never mind that he’s lying naked and chained to the bed. “We’ve done this many times.”
“It’s not that,” I say as one of my orbs of light dips in close before bobbing back up above us.
What is it? he says down our bond.
But the answer is right there.
Casual intimacy is fun and easy for me. This is something else. Not even the lightly kinky aspects of it can hide the fact that this entire night, I’ve been seeing Memnon differently. I’ve pursued him not as some drunken mistake but because I wanted to touch something real and deep.
And that’s terrifying when it comes to the sorcerer. The moment Memnon’s greedy, devouring eyes recognize I’m no longer keeping it casual, he will be all in, pressing his advantage. And like he said, he’ll continue to tie himself closer and closer to me in every way that he can.
I should walk out of the room right now. There’s a couch to sleep on, and there are other unexplored rooms to this house that likely have beds. We can still keep this relationship carefully contained.
The damnable truth of it is that I want my mate. I want him so badly my skin throbs from it and my magic is acting out to make it happen.
So I return to the bed, climbing on like nothing was ever amiss. Once more, I straddle Memnon, though I’m having trouble meeting his face. My eyes would much rather take in all the lines of his tattoos.
But I do force my gaze up. “I can do anything to you, est xsaya?” I ask. It’s not really a question of whether I literally can. He’s already given me that power over him. It’s a question of whether he’s okay with it.
“Anything,” he agrees fervently. “I am yours.”
He is right there, his face so close, his heart laid bare before me.
The look has me feeling shy and skittish all over again, and only my deep-seated desire to be close to him keeps me from backing down.
You’re in control, I remind myself.
I move down his body and grasp his cock. He’s already rock-hard, and I’m intimidated all over again by how large he is, which is silly. Leaning over it, I take the head of him into my mouth.
Memnon hisses, the chains rattling as he nearly rises off the bed.
“Gods, Selene.”
I swirl my tongue over the head of him, pumping my fist up and down his shaft. The sorcerer’s muscles have gone taut with tension, and when I take him deeper, those manacles clink together again.
“Fucking witchcraft, that mouth of yours…” he mutters, making me smile around him. He groans when he feels the action. “Only do that again, my queen, if you want me to come in your mouth. I have no resistance to those smiles.”
Much as I’d enjoy bringing him to release this way, I’m not ready to be done with him yet. So I let my grin fall away, and I work him until his hips are bucking and he’s whispering praises in Sarmatian, his head flung back against the pillow.
Only then, once I’ve gotten my fill of him, do I move, releasing his shaft so that I can straddle his hips. I rise up on my knees and position his cock at my opening. The head of it skims between my folds.
Memnon groans as his eyes fix on that point of contact. His gaze rises to mine, and my earlier insecurities are gone.
This is right. Finally, it’s right.
Slowly, I sink down on him. The headboard creaks as Memnon strains to stay still, letting me control the pace.
“Intoxicating witch,” he breathes, “you’re a vision.”
As is he, bound beneath me, though I don’t say this. I’m too busy enjoying the sensation of my core stretching around him.
“Gods, yes, my queen,” he says, reverting to Sarmatian. “You take me so well.”
I feel myself tighten around him, and he hisses out a breath, his hips reflexively jerking up against mine. I moan as he buries the last of himself in me, and I’m unprepared for the overwhelming feeling of having him fully seated in me.
I lean forward, breathing through the sharp, tight sensation.
Memnon gazes down the line of his body at me. “Are you all right?” he says, concern wrinkling his brow.
Your massive dick almost killed me, but I’m fine.
I don’t mean to actually pass that thought along, but then I see his features relax a little. The corners of Memnon’s mouth quirk. Wait for your orgasm. If it doesn’t deliver you to the gods for a moment or two then, I’ll have to do it over again.