Page 34 of Resurrecting the Witch
I turned on one of my favorite playlists and “She Burns” by Foy Vance filtered in the shoppe’s speakers. I tried to keep an instrumental playlist going at all times for my babies, but when I was in, I switched it to another playlist that calmed me.
“This place is really beautiful, Cliona.” Patrick startled me, already walking around with the watering can. He seemed to have an eye for which plants needed it and required no direction from me. It was nice. “I feel you in here so much it’s almost overwhelming.”
I didn’t comment on him adjusting the front of his pants.
Apparently, his little peck on my lips affected him just as much as it had me.
Don’t look at his bulge. Don’t be a perv. Don’t look at his bulge. Don’t be a perv. Don’t look at his bulge. Don’t be a perv.
I looked at his bulge.
I was a perv.
Fuck, I wanted to see his cock. I know he wanted to take things slow and date me proper, but he licked up the entire column of my neck last week and then didn’t make a single move on me the rest of the day, saying“you’re still recovering, mo peata”and“I don’t want to hurt you, witchling”and other bullshit that was actually very sweet.
But I had needs, dammit.
I wanted to get laid.
I missed dick.
And I knew from how Patrick acted with his Big Dick Energy that his dick would be life-changing.
Well, I wasn’t recovering anymore.
I knew Patrick was an alpha. He not only carried himself like one, but the small ways he’d already handled me with care, respect, and a sense of ownership that wasn’t insulting but comforting told me all I needed to know.
Even though I was powerful, I was tired of being in control all the time. I didn’t want to think or take charge, so I did something I knew he couldn’t resist.
And something that would let him know I was sorry for avoiding him this week.
He watered the herbs lining the back wall behind the counter like I told him, so he didn’t see me coming. “She Burns” drifted into “Unholy”by Sam Smithas if the music gods themselves were on my side to get some dick before open mic night.
I approached him and lowered to my knees in the middle of my shoppe. I stared up at him as he continued watering.
“Patrick,” I muttered.
His head shot to the right, then slowly drifted down to where I was perched on my knees.
“Feck me, female.” He froze as his eyes grew hungry at the sight before him, at me, and still watered the herbs until it began dripping on the floor. He shuffled back. “Shite,” he muttered.
After putting the watering can on the counter, he walked over and slowly put his index finger under my chin, lifting it so I was looking into his eyes where his pupils took up most of the blue. I felt my heart race at his touch, not because of my magick but his simple proximity.
“What are you doing on your knees,mo peata?”
His eyes shone with an emotion I hadn’t seen except in small snippets. They were hungry, and his pants remained tented, so I knew he was hard in the same way I was drenching my panties.
“I want to make you feel good. Please, can I make you feel good, Patrick?”
I met his gaze and saw as my words connected, and the hunger grew at a rapid pace.
“You want to please me,mo peata?”
I nodded my head eagerly. I’d never kneeled in front of a man so brazenly before, but Patrick made me want to do things I never thought I’d want to do.
He leaned forward as he put his lips up to my ear. “Then be a good girl and let me taste your sweet cunt before I go mad with hunger.”
Fuck. Yes.
