Page 31 of Hexed Up

“But you can come now you have a boyfriend,” Prim says with a big grin, “and you can introduce him to everyone!”

“Excellent idea,” my mum says. “It’s next weekend.”

“Can you make it?” my sister asks.

I lean back in my chair and fold my arms across my chest. On principle, I shouldn’t go. Honestly, this family is the worst. I also shouldn’t go because Mr Hottie – Horatio – is not actually my boyfriend and, if my family finds out I’ve accidentally bewitched him, I am in deep deep troll shit. But, goblins’ bollocks, I want to go.

“Yes,” I tell them, “yes, I think we can make that.”

Chapter Eleven

Once we’ve eaten pudding and I’ve endured further questioning by my mum, she sweeps her arm through the air, sending the dishes to wash in the kitchen, and we settle back down in the lounge to watch an episode of the latest murder mystery to hit Witchflix, my sister firing up her laptop instead and tapping around in the background.

Halfway through the TV programme, I glance down at my phone and discover a message from an unknown number.

Feeling lonely here without you and can’t stop thinking about how good your tits felt against my mouth. Wanna send me a pic? H

I smile and add his number to my contacts, pausing to consider what to name him. Not Mr Hottie in case he ever sees it. The man has enough ego as it is (which given the size of the snake in his trousers is probably warranted). For the same reason, I can’t name him ‘The Boyfriend’. In the end, I opt for Building Buddy.

Erm, how did you get this number?

You gave it to me the first day we met.

Damn, that was foolish of me.

Very. So going to send me a pic? I’m going kind of wild here.

I can’t! I’m currently watching TV with my family!

You don’t have one saved?

Mr Shaw. I am not that kind of girl!

I find that very hard to believe.

Jeez that is the cheesiest thing I’ve read in a text message and also possibly the hottest. Usually, I just get straight out dick pics without any context, usually poorly lit and not terribly aesthetically pleasing. They give off the vibe of a kid who’s come home from school very proud of a very shit piece of artwork and keen to show it off to everyone.

Go to the bathroom and take a pic.

After this afternoon, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. This potion is already going to be tricky to brew.

It’s only a picture. No touching involved. Not of each other anyway.

It’s tempting. Despite all the rule breaking, I’ve never done something that feels this naughty before. Especially in my parents’ house.

Will you send me one in return?

A topless pic for a topless pic? Deal.

I remember how good he looked wrapped in my towel and hurry to the downstairs loo, bolting the door behind me. I close the toilet lid and sit down, unbuttoning my dress so my lacy bra and a lot of cleavage is on show. He asked for a topless shot. But I think he needs to earn it.

I spend the next few minutes playing with the angle so that my face is excluded, then I snap away, choosing the best one and adjusting the lighting before I send it his way. There’s a delay and I begin to think he didn’t like it. Or worse, maybe I sent it to the wrong number. In an anxious frazzle, I check and double check again and then his response pings through.

Fuck, that’s hot. I loved how soft those tits felt against my mouth.

I squeak.

I’m so desperate to put those pretty pink nipples of yours into my mouth and suck them.