It was then that it filled her. Another tentacle, she realized, one as thick as a cock, pushing into her slowly, stretching her walls against its intrusion, the flickering pressure against her clit never slowing. The tentacle inside her began to move, wriggling as it fucked her, catching at her G spot as if the tentacle itself had sprouted a miniature tongue, and Harper thought perhaps it had. It assumed a frantic pace, moving against her G spot and her clit in tandem, the thickness of the appendage making her wheeze. Their hands squeezed her breasts, icy cold breath at her neck, teeth as insubstantial as the wind at her jaw. If Ilea had a mind to go snooping around outside her window that night, they would hear the unmistakable wet squelch of a deep fucking, and it would serve them right.
Harper thought of that night in the library, how quickly she had fallen apart against Kel’s mouth, the newness of the experience overwhelming her and how embarrassed she was after. That night, compared to the way she was feeling at the present, had been a marathon sex session, and she ought to have won a gold medal for her longevity and stamina. The sensation of being held down and fucked would have been enough to make her come. Adding the tongue at her clit and whatever thefuckwas licking her from the inside? Harper felt as if her bones were going to melt. It was overwhelming, and she needed to come before she died.
She would have time to be embarrassed later, as her eyes rolled back, another tentacle no bigger than her pinky finger pushing against the cleft of her ass, wriggling into her and making her buck against her restraints.
Her muscles clenched, pussy convulsing, and the world went white. Her back arched against her mattress, shaking as if she had been electrocuted, the tentacles inside her still moving, still fucking, still licking, not backing off until she practically sobbed, sagging boneless against the sheets.
All at once, everything receded. Her head lolled and her arms, all pins and needles from having been held in place, were rubbed gently as the pooled blood spread and feeling came back. Harper found herself swaddled in her comforter, tucked against her pillows like an infant, hand in her hair, hand at her back, hand gently stroking her cheek, and then the shadows shifted again. Azathé was across the room, putting the tea kettle on the stove.
“Sit up slowly.” Another command, albeit softer, a gentle whisper that curled around her. She was trembling when they handed her the cup. “Are you all right, sweet one?”
Harper nodded. The absence of control, given to someone who would care for it. She had chosen well.
“And is that what you wanted?”
“That’s exactly what I wanted.” She leaned against them, allowing herself to be wrapped in several sets of arms, a ribbon like shadow hooking around her ankle, a comfortable, familiar weight. “Was — was that okay? I mean, for you?” They had not experienced any sort of climax, and Harper wondered if they were even able to do so. “Do you even feel any pleasure from sex?”
“Didyouexperience pleasure, little witch?”
“Yes,” she laughed without hesitation. “Absolutely, overwhelmingly yes. That was amazing. But . . . but I don’t want to do something if you don’t enjoy —“
“If I am here to watch you experience pleasure, does not some of the pleasure become mine, having experienced it through you?”
Harper didn’t have an answer. It must have been lonely, watching the world from afar. Being a part of it, but removed at the same time, invisible and unnoticed.
“If Temperance means balance in all things, don’t you think you should split your time equally between our world and the shadows?”
The sound of their scoff was like leaves shaking on their branches. “I already spend more time in the topside world than most of my brethren.”
“Yeah, well, if little Johnny Shadowbutt decides to jump off a bridge, are you going to do it too?”
“That is nonsensical.”
“No, it makes perfect sense! Balance in all things. You are a silent observer of everyone in town. It’s really not fair. People wouldn’t reveal their confidences over their lunch if they knew someone was standing over their shoulder listening. I think you should be a part of this world too, part ofmyworld, and actuallybea part of it. I can’t be the only one you talk to. Right now, you are Temperance reversed. All or nothing. I’m not saying you need to start wearing the three-piece suit and calling yourself Ezekiel. You are of the shadow realm, and that is where you’re comfortable, I get it. But if two decades in the junior coven taught me nothing else, it’s you have to be comfortable with being uncomfortable. Balance. Temperance.”
“I think you should find balance in drinking your tea.”
“You’re the one who said the ability to read the cards is of vital importance!” Harper shot back, scowling over the rim of her cup.
“Perhaps I did,” they allowed, “but your tea is getting cold, and the study of no subject is worth that.”
“But I can’t be the only—“ She cut off on a gasp, her wrists gripped not ungently, her teacup held by an arm coming out of the center of what was shaped like their chest.
“You, my little witch,“ they said in a serpentine curl, “arealwaysenough.”
OOTD:Pleated-fronthigh-waistgabardineshorts with suspenders. Swiss dot chiffon crop top with pussycat bow. Knee-length black cardigan with white pumpkin design, because this is MY season. Sheer thigh-highs with pumpkin trim. Stacked heel ankle boots. BFE — Big Fall Energy.
The bell over the doorway was not a bell at all. A melodic gong sounded somewhere from deep within the shop, alerting one of the sisters to her presence. Harper sucked in a slow breath, relishing the cool, green scent of the place. Potting soil and green leaves, herbaceous and refreshing.
“Good afternoon! What brings you in today?”
The smiling beetlewoman before her didn’t possess a single shred of recognition in her eyes, and Harper reminded herself that there were two of them.This probably isn’t the sister you talked to the last time you were here. Or maybe it is, and she doesn’t remember you. That’s not some moral failing on your part. It doesn’t mean you are unmemorable or worthless. It means she works in retail and talks to dozens of customers a week and can’t be expected to remember every single one of them.
“Hi. Um, I think I want to get a succulent? In one of those little stone dishes?”
The beetlewoman raised her hand to direct Harper toward the aisle of spiky little plants, when the stockroom door swung open, two more identical women stepping out.
“Ah, our literature lover! Change your mind about having a fellow introvert as a roommate?”
