“Rogan,” I beg, his name a prayer on my lips and a plea for salvation as my orgasm builds, lapping and ebbing with his unhurried movement.
He kisses me deeply, as though he wants to taste his name in my mouth, and I invite him in to drink his fill. Our tongues dance, and my nipples rub against his hard chest as his thick cock moves slowly, deliberately, in and out of my clenching, needy pussy.
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and desperately start rolling my hips against his. I drive down on him thrust for thrust, picking up the pace hungrily as Rogan swallows down my moans and feeds me his own. We consume each other’s desire until it’s almost impossible to breathe. Breaking away from his mouth, frantic and panting, I lean my forehead on his muscular shoulder, looking down and watching as he fucks me harder and harder.
He pistons in and out of me, and I stamp his thick cock with wet approval as our skin sings against one another, the rhythm picking up pace with each passing second. I throw my head back, not able to take it anymore, and drop into an orgasm that has me clenching my teeth and curling my toes as the wave of pleasure crests and then crashes through me.
“Fuck, Rogan,” I shout out, completely immersed and floating on how incredibly good he feels.
He tightens his hold on me and then surprises the shit out of me when he takes everything up another notch. He grabs my waist and starts to fuck me so hard and so deep, it’s all I can do to hold on. I chant his name over and over again as he purges himself of all the brutal emotions he’s been drowning in since I died in his arms. Surprisingly, I feel it all in our bond, through the tether.
I can feel his apology for everything that’s gone south since we first met. I can sense the “fuck you” to death he’s declaring as he loses himself in me despite its best efforts to rob us of this. Regret rings in our bond over his wrong decisions. Hurt and jealousy zip through our connection, but they’re quickly followed by profound respect and deep affection.
The possessiveness I feel from him is intense and oddly grounding, but I’m washed away from that emotion as his loss and desolation come for me like a tidal wave. The depth of what he feels for me is so strong and overpowering, and my eyes begin to sting with emotion.
“I’m here,” I tell him softly, repeating it over and over again to try and quiet the storm of grief that’s crashing through him.
I tighten my hold on his shoulders and fuck him back just as hard as he’s fucking me, our tether and bodies saying everything we need. Pure satisfaction and rightness hums through our veins as another climax tingles to life in my core. Rogan reaches between us and pinches my clit, rolling it between his thumb and finger, as he leans back a little and adjusts his position inside of me.
“Now you’re just showing off,” I tease, but my giggle morphs into a deep groan, and then I’m crying out incoherently as his dick and the new angle he’s hitting render me mindless and begging for more.
Fuck.
I knew it would be good with Rogan, but I had no idea it would be life-altering,there’s no going back nowkind of good. I mean, he’s easily achievingdo anything for that dickstatus, and this is our first damn time. I can’t even imagine what it’ll be like when he knows my body and everything my inner fiend really loves. At this rate, I’ll live the rest of my days as a walking pile of sexed up goo.
Worth it.
Another orgasm slams through me so savagely that I swear I see stars. We’re not talking about those Tweety Bird motherfuckers either; I see galaxies as pure pleasure explodes in every cell I possess. Rogan thrusts into me as deeply as he can get, and then he roars out his release, my name filled with worship as it leaves his lips. His body quickly goes slack as waves of bliss ripple through him. I can feel his unadulterated rapture through the tether, and it swirls and mixes with my own, coaxing and extending all of the glorious gratification we’re now both floating in.
“Holy shit,” I pant against him, running my fingers through his sweat-damp locks.
“You’re fucking exquisite,” he puffs back, cupping my cheek and kissing me softly.
Moving away from the wall, he walks us over to the bed. He doesn’t pull out of me as he sits us both down, with me now straddling his lap. He brushes my curls from my dewy face and runs his gaze over me as though he still needs to make sure I’m really here. His thumbs caress my cheeks tenderly, and he looks me over, his gaze slowly dropping down until it stills on my chest.
At first, I think he’s taking inventory of my awesome rack, and I can’t help but puff up with pride just a little. I rotate my shoulders just a tad so he can really see the girls at all their best angles. But when I trace his gaze, I realize it’s not my tits that have him locked in a staring contest, it’s my newest death accessory that’s given him pause. His eyes darken slightly as he takes the healed wound in. I can feel the anguish and contrition that swamps him as he studies the edges of the damage that’s now a permanent part of my body.
“I’m so sorry, Lennox. This is all my fault,” he laments, pressing a palm gently against my chest as though he can magic away the evidence of what happened. “I fucked up so completely. I should have handled things so fucking differently.”
My heart soars at his words, all the what ifs and worries are wiped away and destroyed. He gets it. I see it in his eyes and etched deeply into his gorgeous features. He understands his role in my pain, and that’s validating and stokes my hope.
I caress his face, and he closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. My thumb traces over his scar, his long dark eyelashes tickling the pad of my finger as I follow the line of damage Rogan received the first time he died. What he’s saying means so much to me, yet at the same time, I don’t know what to say in return to his regret and hurt. I don’t want to tell him it’s okay. We both know some of the shit he pulled wasn’t. Even though I get why he did what he did, it doesn’t change how it made me feel, how it wounded me.
But even with all of that being true, I got to know him as I spent time with him. Reluctantly, he gave me peeks of what he was like when he let his guard down. In those vulnerable cracks, I could see the funny, kind, gentle, ferociously protective, loyal man that’s at the core of who he is. How’s a girl just supposed to dismiss that after seeing it? Maybethesefacets of who he is were more difficult to coax out, but that also made them more precious, and there was no way I was going to be able to resist that. Despite some of the things that have happened between us, Rogan is a good person. A good person who made some bad choices based on shitty, time-sensitive, and incomplete information.
I stare at him, both of us quiet and content to justbefor a moment. He looks exhausted. It’s clear, just like Tad and Hillen, that he’s been through some shit in the time I was gone. I think through all the shit we’ve been up against since he walked through the doors of my shop. I examine all the left turns we took when a little trust and faith could have had us going a different, smoother way. Then again, we ended up here, and everything about what’s between us right now feels right, like this is where we were always meant to end up.
Yeah, Rogan fucked up, but so did I.
I spent a lot of time fighting the tether. I was only interested in seeing a future free of it, too focused on how it all happened instead of taking a moment to see what it could mean. I rejected the notion that any part of this binding could be for my good. I closed myself off to the possibility so much that I literally died because of it. Maybe if I hadn’t been so hardheaded, I would have realized that Rogan’s blood magic was the key to getting out of that church, but it didn’t dawn on me until it was too late.
I never want to shut out truth or reality like that again. I never want to be so closed-minded that others suffer around me because of it. Enough is enough. I learned a valuable lesson in that church, and I can see and sense that Rogan feels the exact same way. It’s time to open my eyes and see the truth, regardless of how intimidating, final, or scary it might be. I’m a bound witch, and maybe, just maybe, that’s a good thing.
4
Itake a deep breath, sorting through everything in my mind that Rogan and I need to talk about. There’ssomuch it’s hard to even know where to begin, but I give my ovaries a goodwe got thisand batten down the vulnerable hatches inside of me, because no more avoiding. It’s time to accept and deal with what we’re up against.
Leaning down so I can bring our eyes even, I ready myself for answers.
