Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

It was easy to confirm it definitely had worked, in the aftermath. Mostly because he was actually able to leave the house. And once he was gone, he didn't immediately come back. Instead, he texted her a picture of himself in his ramshackle home, with a thumbs-up.

Though she would have known it anyway, even without the evidence.

Everything felt much clearer. Less fraught than it had seemed as she'd laid beneath him. She could think straight enough to accomplish tasks she hadn't been able to while in the middle of a sex fog. Like shop for groceries, and replenish the potions that kept the Jerks away, and make sure Nancy was not too traumatized by what she'd seen the other day.

Then just for good measure, she went to the Halloween decoration–festooned library. Because she could now fully process what she'd heard the Jerks say at the House. And she didn't like the idea that Hannigan was causing Tabitha problems. Or trying to ban books.

So it seemed like a good idea to offer her support.

"You just tell me what you need," she told Tabby. Then once she'd arranged to come and join her in the monthly yell-a-thon that was the town hall meeting, she went on her away. After maybe a little bit of potion sprinkling. Just a touch, to possibly make certain people want to avoid the library, for reasons they couldn't quite explain.

And all of this—everything she managed to do—proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was all herself again. The weird werewolf sex nonsense was a thing of the past.

There was just one problem:

Thinking about what had happened during the werewolf sex nonsense was very much not.

In fact, the memories hit her every five minutes or so. She'd be stirring a pot or talking to her mom about the weather or doing laundry—which now involved simply sprinkling a potion on her clothes and finding them clean and folded in a random drawer sometime later—and there it would be. The memory of some naked part of his body. Or the memory of what that naked part of his body had done to her. What Seth, her friend-slash-enemy-slash-friend-again had done to her.

It was disconcerting. It left her flushed and flummoxed. She found herself blushing when she was around him, even when they were just working on ways to guard against spell reversals, or making plans to help people without feeling like they were warping anybody's brains. Their hands would brush as they both reached for the same book, and her mind would leap to other times they'd touched like that. It would stall her out, like a broken car.

And it wasn't just her who noticed this was happening.

Pod noticed too. Get room , he said, after the thirteenth time they'd danced around each other awkwardly in the kitchen. Then of course Seth wanted to know what he'd chittered at her, and she didn't know what to say, and oh it was just so weird and uncomfortable and impossible.

And even more so after she finally cracked the potion that would fix all the rest of his horny issues for good. Because for some inexplicable reason, she decided the best course of action was flying over to his place, at something like ten past midnight, to give it to him.

He actually came to the door in his pajamas.

Though, of course it wasn't his pajamas that were the issue.

"Cassie, what on earth are you doing here in the middle of the night? And why the heck are you in your underwear?" he asked as he took her in. And, okay, fair enough. This particular sleep set was more like shorts and a little camisole-type of thing. But it wasn't that revealing. You couldn't actually see anything.

"Okay, it's hardly the middle of the night. And this isn't underwear," she snorted. But as soon as she did, she realized that neither of those two things was the point. The exact time she showed up and the type of clothing she wore didn't matter. What mattered is that those things felt extremely weird, now that they were standing so close to each other.

So weird, in fact, that she really wished she hadn't done this.

Because yeah, it had seemed reasonable back at home, in her kitchen, with the newly minted potion right in front of her, all ready to go. But right now, it did not seem reasonable at all. It seemed like something else. Something that made him look at her so oddly, she simply had to force out an explanation.

"Plus, you know. You've been waiting for this potion for a decade," she said, and to her relief he practically slapped his thigh with dawning understanding and amusement. Oh, of course , his expression seemed to say—which put her firmly in the clear.

Or so she thought. Until he added almost casually, laughing, "Wow, okay. Now it makes sense. Because, you know, for a second there, with you in that sexy outfit and the fact that it's past midnight, I actually thought you might be here for some kind of late-night hookup."

And as soon as he did, she couldn't stop what happened.

Her face just dropped into shocked realization. Followed by what definitely felt like guilt and horror and about ten other things she knew she shouldn't let show. Now Seth could see it. He was looking at it. Oh, and he obviously knew what it meant. He knew so much that he couldn't even be polite about it.

"Holy shit," he gasped. "You're totally here for a hookup."

And then it was just a matter of trying not to die of embarrassment. While denying everything in the most dignified way she could muster. "What? No I'm not. That's nuts. Shut up. I'm leaving," she said. Because apparently she no longer understood what dignity was. She even went to do just that. She grabbed the Hoover and turned.

And she didn't feel thankful when he snagged her arm.

When he said, "No no, don't leave, don't leave. Just wait."

After all, it was nice that he did. But it still meant having to face the mess she'd somehow made. And with absolutely zero excuses for why she'd done it, either. She had come here en tirely of her own accord. This was all 100 percent her. And sure, she had done it pretty unconsciously. She hadn't really thought about why she really wanted to see him right at that moment in time. But what did that matter? She still looked like a thirsty weirdo, longing for something that could never be real. Like some small, deep-down part of her had really thought it could be—or at the very least hadn't been able to cope with knowing it wasn't.

It was apparently too much sweetness and heat and pleasure for someone who was half-starved to take. So now here she was. Fooling her own mind. And then doing something as humiliating as throwing herself at him.

"I can't. I'm late. For never seeing you again," she choked out, pulling against the hand he still had on her. But he held on, he held on, he wouldn't let her escape this humiliation. And oh Jesus, now he was protesting.

"But never seeing me again isn't necessary."

"Of course it is. I just accidentally confessed that to you."

"Yeah, but if by that you mean you are into doing all of that stuff with me again, then you need to know something," he said, and she turned with her face now blazing, thinking of all the mortifying things he might finish that thought with. All of the remnants of how he'd made her feel in high school—just some dipshit who'd been a fool to imagine she meant the world to him. Then somehow she got him holding his breath. She got him looking at her with all the desperation and desire in the world. And then there were words, oh the words. "I am absolutely into it too. I am madly, wildly, completely head over heels into it too."

And all of them so passionate, so perfect, she almost just went to him.

She could feel the urge like a wildfire, raging through her.

It was honestly a miracle that she managed to push for clarification, instead. To make it clear, absolutely clear, and without a single bit of confusion. "But you're not magically hungry for me, anymore," she said faintly. Half hope. Half mystification.

But god he just looked so pleased. "No, but I am other types of hungry."

"Okay. But what other types do you mean?"

"Mostly the ones that involve remembering everything we did. And dreaming about everything we did. And then thinking what I would do differently, if you ever somehow inexplicably gave me the chance to do it again."

Inexplicably , she thought, in a daze.

But it was another word that pushed her to speak. "So it wasn't completely right to you then," she said. "You would change things, somehow, if we went inside and did it right now."

"Well yeah. Of course I would."

"Because you didn't like it."

"Not because I didn't like it, Cass. Because you didn't."

He said the words so sincerely.

Like that was obviously the issue. He didn't even seem to blink about it, so what was she supposed to say then? How was she supposed to explain that she actually had ? That she had just tried not to enjoy it, to such an extent that he didn't even know it was the case? It sounded even sillier now than it had at the time they'd done it.

Because apparently, he minded her disguising her pleasure.

He wanted full throttle. Way more.

And he was saying this while completely himself.

"Okay, but let's say for the sake of argument that I sort of did enjoy myself, and was just kind of nervous about seeming like I did to too great a degree. In case, you know. That was weird, and also maybe like I was taking advantage of a situation you might not really want to be in," she tried. And failed, obviously. His face dropped into what could only be described as what the fuck .

"Well, in that case I would say, Oh you can't be serious," he fumed.

Even though that wasn't fair, it wasn't fair at all. "But why not? We never really discussed how much I should be into it."

"Because we shouldn't have to. It should be obvious. And even if it isn't, I actually did say. I said I wanted you to have something for you. I told you I wanted to go down on you. I mean, what on earth did you think that meant? I lick your pussy until you experience a moderate, polite amount of pleasure?"

She clenched her fists in frustration. "Now you've made it sound so absurd that I can't say yes."

"You can't say yes because it is absurd. My god, Cass. Why didn't you just tell me this? Why didn't you just ask me?"

"It was kind of difficult to at the time."

"But at the time I could have reassured you, and then got you off."

She tried to avoid letting her expression crease in a way that said oops . But she could see realization dawning on his face, anyway. And he got there, before she could make it sound any more reasonable than it was. "You cannot be seriously telling me you faked not having an orgasm," he said.

"No, I am not telling you that."

"Well, thank god."

"Because I faked not having one multiple times."

Shouldn't have revealed that part , she thought, as he registered what she'd said. Too late now, though. He had his hands in the air, and they weren't coming back down.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Cassie, do you know how many I'm so sorry the phony sex we had wasn't great for you letters I've drafted to you? How many texts I've started, apologizing for being terrible in bed, and then deleted? And you're telling me you were coming all over the place the whole time?"

"Well, not the whole time. I mean the first minute was pretty orgasm-free."

"So every minute after that wasn't? Cassie, we fucked for like an hour."

"Oh my god, was it really an hour? No wonder I passed out."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You did not pass out. Please say you didn't."

"It was only for a second. And in my defense, your cock is very thick, and you have this weird way of moving your hips, and then there were all the noises you kept making and the talking and the lifting. And also I'm pretty sure at some stage I started feeling what you were feeling," she babbled, because it really felt at this point that she should list everything.

And thankfully, it seemed to help. She watched his expression cycle through irritation, and then bemusement, and then what was quite obviously a little bit of feeling pleased with himself. Before it landed on that last part. And then he snapped his fingers. "So that's why it felt like I was coming for half an hour," he said, which she had to say was pretty awesome. Because now the subject was steering away from what a fool she was.

And into the fact that he was a bit of one too.

"Honestly I'm amazed you didn't guess," she said.

"Sometimes I think I maybe did. But then talked myself out of it."

"Because it's easier to believe I hated it."

He had the decency to look sheepish. "Yeah," he said. "Or at the very least hated all the things you just said you loved. I mean, god, I would never have known you were into the grabbing and the hips and the noises. They felt like super-weird instincts as I was doing them, in a way I now realize was probably just feeling what you actually wanted."

"I definitely was. Especially when you kind of—" she started to say.

But he got there himself before she could. "Grabbed your ass."

"Yeah, that was the one."

"And then grunted that it felt juicy."

He closed one eye when he said that last word.

Sort of half winced, like he was embarrassed to revisit it.

But that just made it sweeter to reassure him. "Also very, very good. Hell, it's good now, " she said. And even better, she could do it without a lick of shame or worry. Because he just looked so pumped when she got the words out.

"Really? So you're getting worked up over it, as we speak ?"

"Just a little bit. Or, you know, a lot."

"So if I said that I want to slide my hands into those tiny shorts right now and get two handfuls of that ass, and then haul you up into my arms, and grind you against my cock until we both come our brains out, you'd actually genuinely like that," he said, but she suspected he knew the answer before she even spoke.

It felt like her whole body lit up like a Christmas tree the second he said slide my hands. So there was no sense denying it. She didn't have to deny it. He felt the same as her: that fucking her had felt so good he wanted a second round. And maybe a third and a fourth and a fifth, if his expression was anything to go by when she said: "Both the saying of it and the idea you actually might, yeah."

Though he double-checked after she had.

"And that's just all your own real feelings," he said.

So then she had to fudge a little bit. She had to change the yes I feel that way about you to something more about the great sex and her perfectly reasonable reaction to that. But the main thing was: she got there. "Well, I mean, understandably so, considering your super-long tongue."

"Oh my god, I thought you thought that was gross. I almost stopped."

"But you're not gonna stop now, though, right?"

He laughed, and looked away. Then he looked back, and his expression was different. Feral, she thought the word for it was. Hungry.

"Not until you beg me to."