“Cairn,” she says, drawing me out of my musings.
My name isn’t particularly interesting or exotic, but the way she says it, it’s like a word I’ve never heard before. And Iwant to hear her say it again and again. I want to listen to all the words she says, all the shapes her lips and tongue make.
The thought makes my cock jump.
So, so screwed.
“What?” I say, tearing my eyes away from her and looking down into my lap, where my steadily growing hard-on is already starting to press against the fabric of my trousers.
“Thank you.”
The inflection in her voice makes me look up. She takes a few steps toward me, then pauses. The sleeves of her sweater are clutched in her hands, and her eyes are slightly narrowed as she looks down at me.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was about to cry.
“For what?” I ask.
One of her shoulders lifts in a shrug. “I don’t know. My wrist, the fox, putting up with me...” A little laugh slips out of her. “You’re a good person.”
A good person wouldn’t allow themselves to feel this way about someone soclearlynot right for them. I could lose my job. My home. She could get expelled. None of that is good. It’s very, very bad.
And maybe I should put a stop to it right now, before it goes too—
Next thing I know, Lyra is kneeling beside me, the glow from the moonflowers illuminating half her face. Her proximity makes me hold my breath. Her heat washes over me.
What is she—
Before I can pull away or push her back, she leans forward and crushes her lips against mine, almost losing her balance in the process.
It’s rough, chaotic—not so unlike the witch herself.
And it’s also magic. Because the moment I taste her, I know there’s no going back, no slowing this down, no telling her I don’t feel this way about her.
Her spell weaves around me, and my hands move of their own accord, gripping her by the waist and lifting her smoothly into my lap where I’m still seated on the blanket in the dry grass.
A little voice in the back of my mind tells me to be careful, that someone could see us. But they’d have to be way out here on the edge of the woods, and with the night growing darker still, they’d need to draw close to make out who we are, who the hitched breaths belong to.
Lyra’s weight settles atop me, and my cock strains for her. Then her hands are on either side of my face, and she pushes her fingers through my scruffy facial hair.
I should trim it. It’s grown way too long.
She breaks our kiss, and breathlessly, she whispers, “I love your beard.”
Okay, in that case, maybe I won’t be trimming it.
When my hard-on jumps again, Lyra’s eyes widen. She definitely felt it. Then she arches a brow, and her mouth quirks up on one side. I’ve only a moment to consider what’s going through her mind before she reaches between her legs and trails her fingers along my cock. With only the fabric of my trousers separating us, the touch makes me groan.
“Fuck,” I grunt out.
I want this. I wanther.
An image flashes through my mind of Lyra on her back in my bed, legs spread, pussy stretching around my cock.
No.
This can’t happen—for many reasons.
She’s too young, toosmall. I’d hurt her, I’m sure of it. And not to mention I could lose my job and she could be expelled. And I can’t let that happen to her. She’s been working so hard—I saw it when she transplanted those sniffleblooms, then again when she fell in the mud and had to rein in her temper before it flared and burned the campus down.
