CHAPTER ONE
I keep him around to please me. His choice to knock on my door. I only open when the moon sets, my energy peaks, or he insists on sexual charges of my demands. I hear the echoes of knuckles. Softly until a bang of urgency. I smirk, knowing what he claims. I'm not his, but his mind seems to think otherwise.
I open the door. He stands before me as a man, but he has a taste of something more. A beautiful, tall being that radiates pure sexual energy. I lift my eyebrow, taking in his black hair and gray eyes. He holds the door frame, watching me with his eyes. Sometimes, they twinkle beneath the twilight sky. It's as if they swirl with mind control.
"May I come in?" he asks.
I bend my neck, appreciating the view. Built for pure ecstasy and eroticism. He sways as he struts. Once very popular among the town women, but he seems to have set his eyes on a certain witch. A sorceress of temptation. At least what the gossip says about tall tales.
I have my book of spells and dabble in the unknown, but I keep myself light, knowing the dark isn't something you find in one's soul. I come from generations of witches who are spiritual practitioners. I believe in the nature of cycles, both good and bad. I also believe that, as a woman, I can bring a man to his knees beyond what I hold in my brew. Still, to the town, I'm an evil witch. Tainted. Gossip and nightmares claim my land. Don't go into the woods, children! She will steal your husbands and children, ladies. Whatever. Yet I get good wood from the most eligible man in town. I can't stand children.
"You may," and I lift my eyebrow. I let my black hair flow around my face and bite my bottom red lip. He watches me. His eyes dilate. That sexual chemistry is like no other, and he loves to be at my mercy.
I turn and walk to my bedroom. His foot steps loudly on my wooden floor. There are no questions about where we are going. No child likes games of cat and mouse. I turn around, glancing at him, his eyes swirling towards my ass. He can touch it later. I grin and snap my fingers. He lifts his head up as my front door slams shut. I flip my finger, and my locks arrange themselves. It doesn't faze him anymore. He seems to be used to my powers. I know he has sexual ideas about using them against me. If he could make me cum with the snap of a finger, he would live in between my thighs.
We walk inside my bedroom, where black antiques frame the decor. He loves my big black couch. Just perfect to please me.
"May I sit?" he asks, and I flip my finger as he's shoved towards the seat. He smirks, loving the pull of my powers.
I slowly walk to him. Letting the temptation peak. "Why are you here?" I demand.
"To please you," he admits.
"I told you to stop visiting me," I challenge.
"I can leave after you cum."
I enjoy the banter, but rules are rules. "Rules are rules," I tell him.
"Punish me then," he challenges back.
His chest tightens, and the muscles in his neck and jaw bulge. I like to test his balance. He loves sexual gratification. Holding himself back is like an added benefit. He can go weeks with pleasing me until I break him for his release. I'm a spoiled bitch, but this witch has needs.
I open my black robe, letting the glow of my skin reflect off the fireplace. A potion I just finished creating for the moon dance tonight. A naked retreat of the stars.
He leans back, spreading his legs, letting me walk between them. He doesn't touch me. There is no permission yet.
"I was going to dance by the moon tonight," and I lean forward, holding the back of the couch. My breast heavy and full in his face. He lifts up to my eyes. We're face-to-face.
"I'm a very busy woman."
He says nothing, but the tremble in his breath shows how much I affect him.
"Don't you know I need to charge my batteries?"
"Let me charge your battery," and I pull into his breath. A whisper of a kiss between us. I'm silent in my demands, and he's patient until I give him a taste.
"Didn't you get enough yesterday?"
"I'm man enough for more," he smirked.
"Is that what all the town women tell you?" and I move my lips, letting them barely graze his top lip. He doesn't twitch. The proper women of this town seem to only want one thing. Marriage.
"No, they're not screamers," and I lift my head, laughing.
"A little cocky, huh?"
"Determined," he replies.
"You could be a missionary man."
"Their legs don't squeeze my head."
"They want your heart."
"And I want you."
