Chapter 7

Chapter 7

FEY

T he noise Alastair made as she swallowed him sent a jolt of heat down her body and straight between her legs. Fey let out a desperate sound of her own as her lips stretched around his length and she took him deep in her throat.

He knew she could fight off his persuasion whenever she wanted. It was even easier now, with all four elements at her command. She could shrug off his influence like it was nothing.

But it was nice to let go like this. To let someone else take control.

As her tongue rolled over him, Fey let herself go, surrendering completely to his command.

“Fuck, Fey.” Alastair shuddered, his hand clutching her hair and his head tipping back. “Your mouth feels so good.”

Fey’s eyes shut, and she moaned around him again. With her hands tied in front of her, she couldn’t touch herself, and her body craved his attention. She wanted his hands on her, wanted to feel him in more than just her mouth.

“Such a good Witch,” he whispered, and Fey’s groan turned to a snarl. Alastair chuckled, Goddess damn him, gripping her hair hard and pulling her even closer, pushing his length further into her throat. Then, just as suddenly, he pulled her away, yanking his cock out of her mouth .

Hand still gripping her hair, he pulled her up and off her knees until she was standing in front of him. He was still smirking at her, that cruel smile, and a part of her wanted to slap it off his face.

“What’s wrong, Witchling?” he said, mockingly. “Don’t you like being my good girl?”

She did. She loved it, and he knew it. Just hearing him say it made her wet. But she ground her teeth together, staring him down.

“I don’t belong to you, Alastair,” she taunted him. “And I’m not a good anything.”

He laughed, stepping closer into her space and forcing her to step backwards. Back, back, until she felt the wood of his desk against the back of her thighs. He lifted her up onto the desk and then pulled her down by her hair until she was laid before him like a sacrifice.

“I think you’re lying,” he mocked, face so close to hers she felt his breath against her lips. His tongue snaked out, teasing her lips, making her arch and writhe beneath him. When he finally kissed her, she was desperate for it, opening her mouth for him and letting him take what he wanted.

Alastair’s teeth scraped against her lips before he pulled back. His hand left her hair and gripped her wrists, still bound, forcing them above her head and pinning her to the desk. When he straightened, Fey felt the loss of him pressed against her like an ache. With a dark chuckle, he dragged his free hand down her body, feeling her over her clothes.

Fey arched off the desk, needing that touch, craving it. His fingers were like fire on her skin, and she was burning from it. He stared hungrily down at her as his fingers paused at the waist of her pants.

“You still want to pretend you don’t belong to me, Witchling?” he asked, slipping his fingers under her clothing and sliding them over her center. Fey bowed off the desk, gasping, as his fingertips teased her. “You and I both know that’s a lie. Tell me who you belong to, Fey.”

Fuck, he knew exactly how to touch her. Fey moaned, head rolling as his fingers worked, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Tell me,” he repeated. When she didn’t answer, he paused, then pushed his fingers inside her, curling them until she cried out, loud enough to be heard through the thick wooden door of his office.

His fingers worked inside her as the palm of his hand settled against her, rubbing her. Fey’s breath was coming in ragged pants, and she locked eyes with Alastair above her.

Dark hunger swirled in his eyes as he focused on her pleasure. Good . That meant he was distracted.

Fey summoned a gust of air with barely a flick of her fingers, and though it was nothing compared to what she could do if her hands were free, it caught him off guard. He grunted in shock as a blast of wind hit his shoulder, pushing him off her and away for a moment.

“I don’t belong to you or anyone, Alastair,” she teased with a grin.

His eyes shuttered, something dark and dangerous rising in his gaze.

Uh oh.

Fey had no time to react before he was on her, and she found herself flipped over onto her stomach on the desk. Alastair pulled her pants down roughly and brought the palm of his hand down on her ass with a smack.

Fey yelped, half in pain and half in shock.

“Do you like that?” he asked, roughly, his hand rubbing against the mark he’d made on her skin. She groaned, but it turned into another yelp as he slapped her again, the sound ringing across his office.

“Alastair—” she started, but his fingers slipped insider her again and she broke off, all words forgotten.

“Fuck, I love seeing you like this,” he told her, voice guttural. “So wet and needy for me. Practically dripping down my hand. You love this don’t you, Witchling?”

She was close. Fey’s fingernails dug into the wood of the desk as she pushed back against his hand. Her back arched and her hips rolled as she lost herself in the sensation, chasing her climax.

And just like that, it was gone. Alastair pulled his fingers from her without warning. She heard the telltale rustle of fabric as he undressed behind her. Her pussy clenched, mourning the loss of those skilled fingers, but before she could complain, she felt him shift to stand directly behind her. His hands gripped her hips, holding her tight.

“Oh no you don’t,” he told her. “You don’t come until I tell you to.”

His cock pushed against her entrance, and she writhed in his grip, wanting to push back, wanting to take him .

“Will you come for me?” he asked, pushing the head of his cock against her, teasing her with it.

Fey whimpered, desperately clawing at the desk.

“Answer me,” he snapped. He slapped an open palm against her again and gripped her tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Will you come for me, Fey?”

Fey couldn’t push herself closer to him, not while he held her so tight. She groaned, struggling helplessly in his grasp.

“Yes!” she gasped, trying and failing to push against him. She’d say anything, anything he wanted to finish what they’d started. Anything to feel that touch again.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured as he thrust inside her.

Fey screamed as he filled her, stretching her. It didn’t seem to matter how often they did this, how often or how hard they fucked, it was still a shock to her body to accommodate him.

Stars exploded in her vision as he pulled out and thrust back into her, hard enough the desk jolted forward.

His hand moved up the curve of her ass as he moved inside of her, coming to rest on the small of her back. He pushed, gently, with his palm.

“Arch your back for me, Witchling.”

She did unquestioningly, eager to have more of him inside of her. The sensation immediately changed as her body arched, the tip of his cock hitting somewhere new inside of her and making her gasp.

Alastair swore, his hands gripping on her hips. “ Fuck yes , just like that.”

Her legs were shaking, and her body quivered underneath him.

“That’s right, Witchling,” he groaned, as though reading her mind. “You’re so close, aren’t you? Come for me. Be a good girl and come on my cock.”

He thrust into her again and again, and she couldn’t take it anymore. With one last scream she lost herself, body shuddering as she reached her peak and exploded, the world disappearing under a wave of pleasure.

“Fuck, Fey,” Alastair groaned behind her, “I can’t?— ”

He moaned and shuddered, burying himself deep inside her as he joined her in his release.

Fey gasped as they finished, her body collapsing fully onto the desk, her muscles exhausted. Her heart was beating so hard she thought she might pass out.

“You okay, Witchling?” Alastair asked, panting as he fought to catch his breath. He leaned over her, planting a kiss gently between her shoulder blades, and reached for the tie around her wrists. His fingers tugged the knots free, pulling the fabric loose.

She nodded, cheek pressed flat against the desk.

“You’re sure?” he prodded with a chuckle. She groaned as he pulled out of her, the noise turning to a whimper a second later as she felt something soft and silk between her legs, cleaning her. His tie, she realized.

“I’m sure,” she said, her words coming out in gasps. “But… I’m not sure I can move my legs.”

Her legs trembled from supporting herself on the tips of her toes against the desk. Alastair laughed, and suddenly she was being lifted into his arms and tucked tight against his body.

Fey breathed in his scent and eagerly nuzzled against him. He carried her to his desk chair, seating himself and settling her on his lap until she rested comfortably against his chest.

“That wasn’t too rough, was it?” he asked.

“Goddess no,” Fey laughed. “Though… I may have a bruise in the shape of your hand on my ass for a few days.”

“Good,” Alastair said, peppering her cheek with gentle kisses. “I want you remembering this every time you try to sit down.”

Letting out a contented sigh, she cuddled closer to him, wanting to feel as much of his skin against hers as possible. She loved this. Not just the sex, but the aftermath. Alastair could never seem to stop touching her, after. Like he couldn’t get enough of her.

His hands caressed her, moving gently over her body. When they reached her wrists, Alastair paused, fingers skimming over the damaged and bloody skin of her knuckles.

“What happened today?” he asked, raising her fingers to his lips and kissing the wounds there.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, too exhausted and content to go into it.

Alastair’s jaw clenched, and he gripped her hand hard enough to hurt.

“Oh no, Witchling,” he told her in a dark voice. “You don’t run from me. Not ever. Tell me what happened.”

Fey sucked in a breath. He loosened his grip on her but didn’t let her go.

“I… lost control,” she admitted.

“Lost control?” he repeated in a tactfully neutral voice. “And what does that mean, you ‘lost control’?”

“Well,” she demurred, running her hands over his bare chest, feeling the hard muscle under his skin. “Today that meant I nearly burned down Regina’s Bakery…”

Alastair chuckled. “Oh, I bet she loved that.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Fey told him. “Wasn’t my fault either, not really. But…” Her jaw tightened. “There was a Witch. Two Witches. They called me queen , and…” She paused. “I lost control. Only for a moment, but that was enough.”

Alastair waited patiently for her to continue.

“I just… I’m trying to control it,” Fey explained. She dropped her hands from his chest and stared down at them. Hands that had taken countless lives. “The anger. The rage. I’m trying to hold it back?—”

“Why?” Alastair interrupted.

Fey stopped. She glanced up and stared into his eyes. He was serious.

“I’m dangerous, Alastair,” she told him.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “I know that, Fey,” he said. “And you know that. So why hide it from them?”

“Because…” How was he not understanding this? “Because when they look at me, they don’t see someone who’s dangerous. They look at me like I’m… like I’m here to save them. Rule them. They don’t see what’s really inside me, they don’t see this… this destruction inside me.”

“So let them see it.”

Fey rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious, Fey,” Alastair insisted. He grabbed her hips tightly and maneuvered her until she was straddling him. “They don’t see you. The real you. They don’t see what you are. So why are you trying to hold back? Why aren’t you letting them see it?”

Why…?

“Because it’s dangerous,” Fey answered. Her voice sounded so small.

“ You’re dangerous. You said so yourself.” Alastair said. He took her face in his hands. “Listen to me, Witchling. This is who you are. Why are you running from it? Why are you trying to make yourself less, for them ?” He spat the last word out, like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “For the last year, I’ve watched you try to make yourself smaller and smaller, and I’ve held my tongue. But I won’t, not anymore. You’re not a queen, Fey. You’re a fucking goddess.”

“Don’t be blasphemous,” Fey warned him, narrowing her eyes.

Alastair grinned. “You’re my goddess, then. Stop trying to be what they see and be yourself. Let it out, Witchling. All that power, all that rage . Stop trying to hold it back. Let them see it. Let them see you .”

Something in Fey’s chest roared with approval at that.

Alastair leaned forward, kissing her lips softly before he added. “Let it out, Witchling. If you don’t want them to kneel to you, fine. They can cower instead.”

Fey smirked. “And if I burn down Regina’s store?” she asked, trailing her fingers down his chest.

“We’ll buy her another,” Alastair said, matching her grin. “We have the money. Hell, we’ll buy her two, for the inconvenience.”

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her chest.

“And if I burn down the entire city?” Fey asked.

Alastair kissed up to her collarbone. “Then you can rule over the ashes, Witchling. And I’ll be right there beside you.”

Fey moaned as he licked up to her neck.

“Stop holding yourself back. Let it out, Witchling. Let all of it out. If you’re angry, be angry. If you want to burn them all, then do it,” he spoke into her skin. “But never make yourself less, not for anyone.”

Let me out , that pulse beat inside her.

So she did.

Tilting her head back and with Alastair’s arms locked around her, Fey let her power out.

Fire filled her, but it wasn’t an inferno like she’d feared. White hot power unfurled just under her skin, flowing from her chest all the way to her fingers and toes.

Alastair groaned against her skin. Could he feel it? Feel that power coalescing inside of her? Fey let more of herself go.

Water came next, and she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding that part of herself back, using it as a weapon to keep her rage in check.

Fey reveled in the power inside her. Her body relaxed as she let herself go. Maybe Alastair was right. Maybe she didn’t need to hold it back. Her Fire stayed under her skin, warming her but releasing no flames.

“Do you feel that?” Alastair asked. “Do you feel all that power you’ve been neglecting?”

She did. And it felt incredible.

Taking her hand from his chest, Fey stared down at it, twisting her fingers, marveling at the power just under her skin. Electricity cracked, and for a moment lightning arched between her fingertips.

“Well, that’s new,” Alastair said, staring at her hand in wonder.

It was. And it was lovely. Fey watched the power, watched it arch between her fingertips again, and smiled.

“You’re so beautiful,” Alastair told her, taking her hand and licking up her palm. A spark jolted over his tongue. “I love you, Witchling.”

Fey froze. And all that power rising inside of her evaporated away to nothing.

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. She’d heard him whisper it before when he thought she wouldn’t hear. Heard him murmur it as she fell asleep in his arms.

But he had never said it to her face.

Sensing her tension, Alastair leaned back to look at her.

“I—” Fey opened her mouth, her heart suddenly racing.

Alastair pressed his fingers to her lips, cutting her off. “You don’t need to say it back to me. Not yet.”

“What if I never say it?” Fey asked, lips brushing against his fingers. Her mind was reeling. Had she ever said it to anyone? She loved her sisters, more than anything, but had she ever even said it to them? She couldn’t recall.

“Then you never say it,” Alastair said, leaning back in his chair like it didn’t matter at all. “You never have to.” His fingers traced her lower lip. “Besides,” he said with a growing smirk. “I don’t need to hear you say it. I already know you love me.”

Fey snorted. “Is that so?”

“I mean, look at me.” He raised an eyebrow, gesturing down at himself. Fey couldn’t help but look, running her eyes over his body and biting her lip. “Who wouldn’t love this?”

“Goddess, you’re arrogant,” she said with a laugh.

He smiled, taking her hand to kiss her wounded knuckles again, and Fey realized how quickly he’d managed to calm her, how expertly he handled her rush of fear.

He sees me, Fey thought, watching him run his tongue over her skin. Truly sees me.

And, even more, he accepted her. Her rage, her power, her moods. He saw it all. And he cherished it.

“I love you, too,” Fey told him, and Alastair stopped, eyes flashing as they jumped up to capture her gaze.

“Witchling,” he started, voice husky.

“Don’t make a big thing of it,” Fey said quickly, pulling her hand back from his grasp.

“How can I not?” Alastair asked, pulling her close. She struggled playfully as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her hard against his chest and kissing and licking at the bare skin of her arms, her shoulders. Her neck.

Fey groaned as his teeth slid across the sensitive pulse of her neck, grinding against him.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he asked.

“Something wicked, no doubt,” she laughed.

“Stay here with me tonight,” Alastair murmured against her neck.

Fey shook her head, laughing. “Not tonight. I have work in the morning, and I’m not sleeping on that awful mattress you have up in your room. You know it’s impossible to get any sleep in this place.”

Alastair pulled a face. “Come now, it’s not that bad. I’m sure you could?—”

As if on cue, the music from the club started, a deep thumping bass that shook the furniture enough to make the books rattle. Fey laughed .

“You think I could sleep through this, Alastair? That anyone could sleep through this?” she asked mockingly. He frowned, and she leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening, right? Ferus is running things then?”

Reluctantly, Alastair nodded. “He is.”

“Good.” She gave him one more lingering kiss, then hopped off his lap. “We can have dinner together tomorrow, after I get home from work. But I’m getting out of here before it gets too busy.”

“Fine,” he said, watching her as she gathered her clothes. “But Fey?”

She turned toward him, pulling her pants back up to her waist. “What?”

A smile broke across his face. “I love you,” he cooed.

Fey snatched his tie from the ground to chuck it at his face.