That hadn’t stopped him from wanting Glory, though—who was now in the process of abusing her goddamn powers! Yes, he’d hurt her all those months ago. But he’d had to push her away before he’d caved.
Still, he’d regretted it ever since and had even tried to make it up to her, acting as her protector on several occasions. “I don’t desire this,” he said.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, the hell I don’t! That night in the cemetery, I saved you from hungry corpses.” He wasn’t sure how or why, but since that night on his porch he always seemed to know when she was in trouble. A fierce surge of protectiveness would rise inside him, and the next thing he knew, he’d be rushing to get to her, wherever she was.
Maybe she’d cast a spell on him.
He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. That made sense. He should have realized it sooner, but he had been consumed with thoughts of her naked. He wanted to curse at her but held back the words. No need to provoke her. Yet. Damn, what should he do?
Before that fateful night, he’d always avoided looking at her and her witch sisters. Had left a building the moment they’d entered it. Because one glance at that sensual face of Glory’s, and he nearly forgot his no witch rule.
Rejecting her that night on his porch had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Literally. She’d been naked. But he’d managed to do it—and he’d done nothing but dream about her ever since.
“What kind of spell is this?” he demanded.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,” she said with a sugar-sweet tone. “You worry about the pain and suffering I’m about to rain upon your life.”
“Glory—” He pressed his lips together. Do not antagonize her, or she’ll make it worse. Duh. He raked his gaze over her, trying to decide what to do. Wait. She looked . . . different. His head titled to the side as he frowned. “What did you do to yourself?”
“I wrote myself in as a glorious one hundred and twenty—” Now she frowned. A moment later, she disappeared as if she’d never been there.
“Glory?” He spun around, eyes roaming. Where the hell was she?
A moment later, she reappeared in front of the bars. And she looked even thinner, the robe bagging over her bony body. He didn’t like it. He liked her curves and the lusciousness of her breasts, hips, and thighs. Even thinking of them caused his mouth to water. Was his tongue wagging?
She smiled. “I wrote myself in as a glorious one hundred and fifteen pounds.”
“You’re skin and bones.”
“I know. Isn’t it great?” She didn’t wait for his answer but twirled, her smile never fading. Material danced at her ankles like snowflakes. When she stopped, her eyes narrowed on him, and she added tightly, “What do you think of me now?”
He decided to be honest. “I liked you better the other way,” he said, crossing his arms over his sweaty, bloody chest—still having no idea how he’d become so sweaty or so bloody.
At first, Glory appeared stunned by his admission. Then her eyes narrowed even more, becoming tiny slits that hid those beautiful hazel irises completely. “Yeah. Right. I’ve seen your harem. You always pick the skinny ones.”
Actually, the skinny ones always picked him, and after a year without being able to get Little Fal up, he’d taken what he could get, when he could get it. Except for Glory. Why’d she have to be witch?
“Where are we?” he asked.
Her lips curled into a slow, sensual grin, and his stomach tightened. “This is your prison.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Why?”
“We already covered this.”
Yeah, they had. “Look, I’m sorry about that night. I wish it had never happened.”
“But it did happen. Makes sense, though, that you’re sorry now.” Rage crackled around her, lifting strands of her hair as if she’d stuck her finger into a light socket. A moment passed while she calmed herself down, and her hair smoothed out. “I should have written myself inside the cell with you so I could torment you with my superhot bod, but I didn’t want you to have access to my neck.”
“So that’s how you plan to punish me, is it? Magically transport me into a cell and make me horny? By all means, keep at it.” He could imagine worse things.
“Oh, no. I plan to do much, much more than that.” She licked her lips and perused him, gaze lingering on his stomach, between his legs. That gaze devoured him, eating him up one tasty bite at a time.
Clearly, she still wanted him.
His first thought: Thank God.
His second: Holy shit, this is bad!
“Don’t look at me like that,” he growled, not caring if she tried to punish him further. He could not allow this witch to desire him like that. Not when his resolve teetered so precariously. Look what had happened already. Any more . . . No. No way could he allow himself to have her.
Glory’s eyes snapped to his, embarrassed hazel against furious violet. “I’ll look at you however I want! You’re my property right now. I own you.”
“Stop this, Glory.”
“Make me.”
Very slowly, purposefully, he moved toward her.
Approaching her is dangerous, common sense said.
No other way, Little Fal replied.
Glory’s mouth opened all the wider with every step he took, but no sound emerged from her. When he reached the bars, he whipped out his arms before she had a chance to stop him and clamped his fingers around her wrists.
“What are you doing?” Her tone lacked any heat, and she actually pressed herself into the bars until her body brushed his. “I didn’t add this to the scene.”
The contact, though light, sparked a jolt of pure fire in his bloodstream. Up close, she was even lovelier. Freckles were scattered across her nose. Her pale skin glowed with health and vitality.
“You want me to touch you? Is that what it’s going to take to get you out of my life?” He anchored her arms behind her back with one hand and traced his other down the front of her robe. How he longed to linger over the small mound of her breasts, the hollow of her stomach . . . the waiting valley between her legs.
If she’d possessed her usual curves, he knew he would not have been able to resist. Her desire to be thin was actually a blessing. But even now, like this, his control wasn’t what it should have been. He was trembling, for God’s sake.
“Stop,” she whispered. Her eyes said more.
All of his muscles bunched in reaction to that pleading tone, that needy expression, hardening, aching. He did not stop. He eagerly learned the length of her legs, her skin smooth and soft, like velvet. By the time he finished the full-body caresses, sweat beaded over his face and dripped in rivulets down his chest.
“More.” She closed her eyes, all pretence of resistance gone.
He pinched several strands of her hair between his fingers, enjoying the silkiness. He brought the tendrils to his nose and sniffed. Nearly moaned. A fresh, blooming garden. That’s what her hair smelled like. He could have breathed in the scent forever.
“If you want me to fuck you,” he said, deliberately cruel, just as before, “you’ll have to enter the cell.” For the best. It was better to be punished than to cave, he decided.
“Wh-what?” Her eyes blinked open. He saw the need burning there, the want. Her nipples were hard, visible through her robe. The scent of awakened passion wafted from her, blending with the flowery fragrance of her hair.
“You heard me.”
“No, I hate you.” The words were spoken on a breathless sigh. Then she shook her head, eyes narrowing again, and backed away. “I’m going to make you want me, Falon. I’m going to make you crave me. But you are never going to have me. Do you understand? Never.”