Page 48 of Haunt Me, Maybe

She pulled from my hold, and I let her go.

“I’m not drunk.”

“No,” I agreed. “But your inhibitions are low. And that matters.”

Embarrassment flooded her face in a way far different than earlier. My stomach sank. With a mumbled excuse, she tore away from me and ran into the bathroom. I hadn’t expected her to take it badly and was at a loss for what to say to make this better.

Shit, I really screwed up, hadn’t I?

I gave her—and me—a few seconds to calm down. But when I heard the faucet running and then her muttered curses, I decided that was long enough. I phased through the door. Leaning over the sink, she tried to scrub the wetness from her cheeks and jumped when she saw me in the mirror.

“Privacy,” she snapped, then spun to pin me with the full force of her glare.

“You slammed the door in a haunted attic,” I said, mildly. “That was never going to work. Wait, are you crying?” What was wrong with me? “I made you cry?”

“Go away.”

I shook my head. “Not a chance.”

When I stepped closer, she backed up against the counter until there was nowhere left to go. I braced my hands on either side of her, lest she got the idea to storm away again before I was finished. I had to fix this.

“I wasn’t turning you down,” I whispered. “I was looking out for you.”

“I know what I was asking for,” she muttered, and settled her hands on my chest.

They didn’t push me away, yet, but the pressure she applied told me she was thinking about it.

“No, you don’t. But I plan to show you.” I leaned in to nip her ear, and her gasp was loud enough to cover the sound of my racing heart. “I was thinking while you were gone,” I continued, breath warming the skin of her neck. “I don’t see why a ghost and a witch can’t be boyfriend-girlfriend.”

A soft, helpless sound slipped from her lips as I gripped her hips and helped her up onto the counter. I pushed between her knees, lining us up, and the lights dimmed and pulsed in response to the way her body pressed forward into mine.

“Is that what you want, Aven?” I asked. “To be my girlfriend? The position comes with special privileges.”

“Like what?”

I smiled against her jaw. “For one thing, she’s the only one I’d let rearrange my attic.”

She laughed, and the knot that had taken residence in my chest eased. I did it. Her tears were dry, gone. Erased from her cheeks like they were never there. She pushed forward, and our bodies moved together. My mouth found hers again before I could think better of it, and the resulting kiss wasn’t gentle. It was hungry—controlled, but barely.

This couldn’t go further. Not when she’d been drinking…but we could play a little bit.

Aven made a small, startled sound against my lips and then matched my intensity, clutching at my shirt like she was afraid I’d stop.

I pulled her forward with one hand until she was on the edge of the counter and pushed on her lower back to angle her just right. With one slow roll of my hips, I showed her exactly what touching her did to me. The contact hit me like a shock, and I couldn’t stop my hips from rolling again and again in search of more.

She was warm everywhere I wasn’t. Solid and alive. Her hips rocked forward to meet me in a determined rhythm that made my breath hitch. I groaned into her mouth, and her answering shiver felt like a victory. My thumb dug into her waist as I pulled her impossibly closer and thrust against her damp panties until her knees twitched against my sides.

Slow! a voice screamed in my head. I had to go slow, or I’d lose control. I dragged my mouth from her lips to her jaw and down the soft column of her throat. She rocked against me again in answer, and her center met my dick in a slow, grinding press that stole the breath from both of us.

The friction was maddening—not enough, it was never enough— and that was exactly why it worked. Aven gasped, nails digging into my skin through my shirt. Her magic pulsed, and the lights overhead buzzed faintly, like they were as overwhelmed as she was.

“Please,” she pleaded.

I answered by kissing her again, deep and unhurried, my tongue mimicking my hips. I wanted her lost in it. I wanted her thinking of nothing but the way I moved against her and the way my hands guided her into a rhythm that threatened to destroy us both.

Her shirt rode up under my palms, and she shivered hard at the skin-on-skin contact, arching into my touch like she was learning what she liked as it happened. Magic thrummed around us, responsive and unruly.

The mirror fogged. The temperature plummeted and then rose again, as swiftly as a breath.