Chapter 16
Aspen
Ishut the bathroom door behind me, hands braced on the porcelain counter, and for a moment just listened to the clattering rabbit-pulse of my heart. I’d been in here ten minutes, maybe less, but it felt like I’d crossed an ocean. The room was warm from the overhead heater; the mirror clean and clear showed me the version of myself I barely recognized.
Not just from the outside. Yeah, the leggings and bralette were gone, replaced by nothing but the promise of my own skin and the cotton of Papa’s favorite shirt, still faintly warm from his body. But the real difference was in my eyes. They looked green as ever, but brighter now, sharp and wild in a way they’d neverbeen before I met him. Maybe it was the light, or the fact that I was about to do something sacred and dangerous. Or maybe it was the magic that had started to burn in me since opening the grimoire. Either way, the woman staring back was not the one who’d run from her coven in the middle of the night, shaking and afraid and sure she was a cosmic mistake.
I touched my cheek, tracing the feel of the softness of the creamy skin. My hair was loose and dark and falling in waves around my shoulders. I daresay I looked beautiful; real. Like a woman about to do something life-changing.
I tried to picture what would happen next. Papa—no, Jonas, maybe I should call him that now, waiting for me in the bedroom, probably standing in that way he did with his arms crossed over his chest, thinking a hundred things and saying nothing. He’d ordered me to come out naked, and I was compelled to submit to him, not because he’d ordered me, but because I wanted to honor his wishes.
I squared my shoulders and let my hands drop to the edge of the counter. My nails were short and unpainted, fingers trembling only a little. I remembered Oscar’s words from earlier in the night;You are braver than you believe, Miss. And also possibly insane, but I suspect that will serve you well.
I almost laughed, but I didn’t. I took a deep, shaking breath and let it out, steady as I could. Then I reached for the doorknob. The handle was cold in my palm. I twisted it, gentle, and let the door swing open.
I stepped into the bedroom, the cool air brushing against my bare skin like a lover’s caress. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a drumroll announcing my entrance. Jonas—Papa—stood there, a mountain of muscle and scars, his body a testament to battles fought and survived. My eyes drank him in, every inch of him, from the broad chest that could shield me from the world to the narrow waist that tapered into thighsthick with power. His scars, those marks of honor and pain, told stories I could only imagine, and yet they only made him more beautiful to me.
“Come here, Aspen,” he commanded, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. His erection stood proud and thick, a monument to his desire for me. I walked to him, each step a surrender, a promise, a vow. The floor was cool beneath my feet, but the heat radiating from him was enough to make me forget everything else.
He tossed a pillow onto the floor and pointed at it. “On your knees.”
I obeyed without hesitation, remembering the other morning when I woke him wanting to learn how to do this. I sank down onto the soft cushion, my knees pressing into the fabric. My breath hitched as I looked up at him, my eyes meeting his, and I saw the hunger in them, the need that matched my own.
“Take me into your mouth,” he instructed, his voice trembling with restraint. “Just the head. Let it rest on your tongue. Get it wet for me. Let your spit run down the length.”
I obeyed, lips parting, tongue out just a little. He ran his thumb over my lower lip, then dragged the head of his cock across it, smearing pre-cum in a slow line. The taste was sharp and salty, different but not unpleasant. I wanted more.
He pushed the head past my lips, and I closed around it, sucking gently as I could. His skin felt hot and alive. I let my tongue swirl around the tip, feeling the tiny pulse of his heartbeat through the thick skin. I looked up, wanting to see if I was doing it right.
His head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open in a soundless groan. He flexed his hips, just a little, pushing deeper, and I opened wider, letting him fill my mouth.
“Good,” he grunted. “Take as much of me as you can. Use your hands for the rest.”
I wrapped my fist around the base, stroking him the way I’d done the other morning, and let the drool slide down my chin. It was messy and a little obscene, but I loved the way it made him gasp, the way he shivered when I hollowed my cheeks and sucked harder.
He set his hands on either side of my head, not forcing, just guiding. “Look at me,” he said, and I did, locking eyes with him as he rocked in and out of my mouth.
The sound of him—ragged breaths, low groans, the way he said my name like it was a prayer—made my pussy clench, wetness leaking down my thigh. I wanted to make him lose control. I wanted to be the reason he fell apart.
I bobbed my head, working him deeper, stroking the base with both hands. He was so big I couldn’t fit more than a few inches, but he didn’t seem to mind. He smiled down at me, sweat beading on his forehead.
“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he growled, voice thick.
I moaned around his cock; the vibration making him twitch in my mouth. I remembered what he’d taught me—how to cup his balls, how to squeeze just enough to make him gasp—and I reached under, cradling them as I sucked. He jerked, hips stuttering, and I tasted a fresh burst of pre-cum on my tongue.
“Careful,” he said, voice strangled. “You keep that up, I’m going to come right now.”
I slowed, licking up and down the shaft, then swirling around the head. I looked up, wanting to see how close he was.
He let go of my hair and cupped my jaw, tilting my head up. “Come here,” he said, and before I knew it, he’d lifted me off the pillow and onto my feet, pulling me tight against his chest.
He kissed me hard, tasting himself on my lips. His hand snaked down between my legs, finding me soaked and swollen. He slid two fingers inside, curling them until I whimpered.
“See how wet you are?” he whispered, biting my earlobe. “You like sucking my cock, don’t you?”
I nodded, desperate for him.
“You’re mine now,” his voice rough and possessive. He traced a finger down the curve of my hip, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Every inch of you.”
