Before he can change his mind, I lean in and gently press my lips to his. He doesn’t really respond at first, which is a little disappointing, but I suppose I am a stranger and we do have an audience, so maybe he’s shy. Instead of pulling back though, I open my lips slightly and sandwich his top lip between them. I suck on it lightly, inviting this kiss to go from friendly to more if he wants it to.
I stand securely on the top step of my bone tower, but I reach out with my hands and wrap them around the back of his neck, threading my fingers into his hair and letting my nails skim his scalp. At the same time, I move my mouth to his bottom lip, nipping at it gently and encouraging him to join in. To my delight, he responds immediately.
Saxon’s mouth goes from still and uncertain, to dominating and eager in less time than it takes for me to catapult the word shy right out of my brain. His hands wrap around my back, pulling me into him, and an approving little moan sneaks out of me. I flick the tip of my tongue against his, teasing and testing, and his mouth grows even more demanding, the kiss rocketing from flat and unsure to incredibly intense.
He’s good, not the best kiss I’ve ever had, but enjoyable nonetheless. He’s a little too loopty loo with the tongue at first, but the more I show him how I like to nip, suck, tease, and swirl, the more he’s catching on and doing it back. I tug at his hair lightly as our mouths begin to move in smooth harmony, and he growls into my mouth. We meet in a crescendo of hungry lips and taunting tongues, our bodies pressing even harder against one another, our hands itching to explore and turn up the heat.
Arousal starts to pool low in my belly, and my thoughts morph from my master plan to wondering exactly where Saxon and I might go with this. I thought this would be my best tactical advantage, my best way to catch him off guard, but I could easily get lost in this for a night. Lord knows I could use some serious stress relief. Saxon’s hands caress lower on my back, and it helps me rein in my wandering thoughts. As intrigued as I am by our obvious physical compatibility, I really do want that jackalope bone. The question right now is, which do I want more?
Saxon cups my ass with his large hands, squeezing my cheeks suggestively and encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist. Maybe he’ll step off the log on his own to pursue the fire now burning between us, but if he doesn’t…
I chase away my reservations, making up my mind once and for all. A night of potential molten sex could be epic, but jackalope bones trump that at the moment. Pretty sure my ancestors have ruined me. If anyone would have told me a week ago I’d pick a bone over a potential hot as fuck bone, I would have laughed my ass off as I hurriedly peeled off my clothes and prepared for that dick.
I lean back a little, my body telling Saxon that things are coming to an end, but I’m sure to mix the signals by kissing him even more feverishly. Saxon presses forward, determined not to let me go, and it’s all I can do not to smile at his reaction. I suck his bottom lip into my mouth with a salacious moan, pressing my breasts even harder against him.
I’m on the cusp of making my move. I can see it so clearly in my mind. I’ll pull my magic away from the bones under my feet. They’ll crumble, and with the help of gravity, I’ll start to fall. He’ll feel me begin to slip away, and I’ll do my best impression of a sand bag and let my weight drop. Saxon, being the teachable good kisser and the gentleman that I hope he is, will do his best to rescue me from the sudden precarious fall. I, of course, will have to sell it and make it seem like I’m about to plummet off a cliff instead of the four feet I would actually drop. But if I can execute this just right, Saxon will abandon his position on the stump to ensure I meet the ground safe and sound.
I tilt back a little more, making sure I set Saxon up to be as off-kilter as possible when I withdraw my magic in three...two…
Out of nowhere, I’m yanked away. My lips are abruptly stolen from Saxon’s searing attentions, my hold torn from around his neck. My body is separated from his so fast and so forcefully it takes me a moment to realize what’s happening.
What the hell?
A growl sounds off behind me, and it’s matched by an even more menacing snarl coming from Saxon as he fixes his golden gaze on whoever just fucked everything up for me.
“Interference on the play,” I shout out in objection as I try to wiggle free from whoever has a hold of me.
I can practically see the coveted jackalope antler slipping from my grasp, and I’m about to lay a serious lycan beatdown on whoever just got in my way. I expect to find a raging, jealous girl or even guy, frothing at the mouth, pissed maybe that I crossed a line. But what I’m not prepared for, when I finally wiggle enough to see who has a vise like grip on my waist and a possessive snarl in their throat, is...Rogan.
I’m so floored to see him that my brain temporarily freezes, like the scene just doesn’t compute and therefore will not be processed by my gray matter. In my shock, I release my hold on the bone stairs, and they tumble down, but the commotion is completely ignored.
“What are you doing?” Saxon barks, stepping down from the stump and menacingly stalking forward as Rogan continues to pull me away.
“Does that count?” I shout out a little too frantically as I point toward the now vacant stump.
No one answers me.
“Witch emergency,” Rogan announces, turning and carrying me toward the stone border that surrounds the festivities.
Concern rips through my resentment, and I try to push out of Rogan’s hold and enlist the power of my own two feet, but he doesn’t let me go.
“Rogan, what the fuck?” I snap at him, my emotions buzzing inside of me like wild angry bees unsure of where to land.
The heat that was just building between Saxon and me sizzles and smokes dejectedly like someone just threw a bucket of water on the fire. I’m reeling from the want I was just simmering in, from the excitement and anticipation I was feeling as my plan came together. Disappointment pumps through me as everything takes an unexpected turn, but it’s trumped by the worry I feel over Rogan’s emergency announcement. My varying emotions are seasoned with a dash of pissed off because I’m still being carried away against my will, like some tantruming toddler at the grocery store.
Rogan doesn’t say a word, and his declaration of witch emergency has Saxon backing off as frustration-filled eyes watch our exit. We pass Riggs, who has a wide shit-eating grin on his face.
“He’s off the stump,” I declare pointing behind me, like a pouty child intent on getting someone else in trouble.
“He is, but who can say if you are the cause or if Rogan here is?” Riggs counters with a shrug as he drops the bones back into the neck of his shirt.
I want to scream noooo as I watch the antler being hidden away, but then I really will look like a tantruming toddler, so I bite back my objection. Warm tingles move from my center down my arms as I summon my magic and call on one of the camel leg bones that are now sitting in a pile in front of the stump. I’m about to take a page out of Rogan’s caveman book and club him with it until he puts me down. The bone shoots up over the crowd and streaks toward me. I hold my arm out, ready to wrap my fingers around the calcified shaft, but at the last minute Rogan’s free arm shoots out, and he catches it, keeping the weapon away from me and foiling another of my brilliant plans.