by L. J. Longo
Porter chuckled. He was on the stairway, and he ignored their orders. “I won’t disturb her. I just wanna see her.”
Emaula smiled and sat on the edge of the bed to wait for him. She put the white cloak over her shoulders again, so that all she wore was the sign of her ordeal. Her completed ordeal. She’d won, and everything was safe and as it should be. Her magic told her so.
“Porter,” Nav growled. “Yenna said—”
“Shh.” Porter hissed just outside her door. “You’re gonna wake her.”
Sock said something too soft for her to hear, but it apparently soothed the others. Emaula listened as their footsteps slipped down the stairs.
Emaula waited for him to knock.
Instead, the door opened soundlessly, still too new for creaking. She smiled wider when his eyes met hers.
“Excuse me, Mr. Wolf. Are you lost?”
His grin would have chased away a shadow. “Yes, Ms. Witch. I’m from the desert where the women dress a little more modestly. I hope you don’t mind if I stare.”
“Not at all.” Emaula teased him by leaning back, letting the white cloak open a little over her breasts.
Porter glanced briefly out into the hallway. Then back to her with a mischievous smile. More himself than he’d ever been outside of the dreams. “They’re all worried about—”
“Let them worry about me a little longer.” Emaula tilted her head to invite him nearer. “I don’t want to share you right now.”
“Oh, a jealous witch. Sounds like I’m in trouble.” Porter closed the door behind him and locked it.
“You’re in trouble? But I’m the one locked in with the wolf. All alone.” She let the cloak slip off her shoulder. “Terribly innocent. No doubt about to be ravished.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll just do what you tell me.” Porter stepped nearer to her and ran his hand over his chest. “I’m very obedient that way.”
“Indeed?” Emaula’s hand trembled as she reached out to stroke him. What if it wasn’t real? What if the curse remained? What if this was Mother’s ultimate illusion?
Porter watched just as hesitantly, waiting to leap back when her magic burned him.
Emaula could feel the heat of his body, the chill of her own fingers. Her magic murmured without the angry spark that she’d thought of for so long as normal. Then his skin was under her fingertips, dry and warm. The muscles of his chest were softer than she’d ever imagined. They looked so heavy, like stones, but they gave under the slight pressure of her nails.
He shuddered with pleasure, with gratitude, with sudden unbridled lust.
Emaula laughed with delight when his fingers delved into her hair when his palms brushed her cheeks when his lips collided with hers. She kissed him, her first real kiss. And surrendered entirely to him, lifting her arms around his neck and back. His body was warm, muscles hard and tender under her hands.
“I love you.” He kissed her cheeks and her neck, rubbed his hands over her naked back and clutched her skin so tightly he lifted her off the bed. “You’re fucking amazing, and I love you.”
“And I love you,” Emaula said.
He looked surprised as if he hadn’t realized it until just that moment. Then beamed with joy because he had absolutely no reason in the world to doubt it. “Of course, you do.”
Emaula trembled with too much joy. He kissed her again, and she recognized this type of kiss, his gentle, lingering kiss. The one that he used to torture her. He’d keep her on the brink of madness until moon fall.
And it would be better than any dream.
The End
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