Wicked Spell
By BloodRose
He moved closer, and the room fell into silence, as if sound itself had been banished in reverence. Even the light dimmed, shrinking away from the space between them, where something darker bloomed—undeniable, unwanted, and irresistible.
She didn't step back. Her body betrayed her, rooted in place while her pulse screamed against her skin. Every instinct told her to retreat. Every desire begged her not to.
"You feel it too," he said, voice a low ripple that slipped beneath her defenses. "Don't pretend you don't."
Her breath caught, lips parting, but no answer came. He didn’t need one.
His fingers brushed hers again, slower this time. Deliberate. She flinched, not from fear, but from the way it curled heat through her veins—something primal, intimate, wrong in all the right ways.
"I shouldn't," she whispered, barely audible.
He smiled then—slow and knowing. “No,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t. But here you are.”
She looked up at him, eyes defiant but crumbling. “This is dangerous.”
“Everything worth tasting is,” he replied, inching closer, so close she could feel the tension pulling taut between their bodies. “You’re not afraid of me. You're afraid of what I will wake up inside you.”
Her voice trembled, but not from weakness. “And what if I don’t want it to stop?”
His gaze darkened, voice dropping into something near reverent. “Then you’re already mine.”
She didn't step back. Her body betrayed her, rooted in place while her pulse screamed against her skin. Every instinct told her to retreat. Every desire begged her not to.
"You feel it too," he said, voice a low ripple that slipped beneath her defenses. "Don't pretend you don't."
Her breath caught, lips parting, but no answer came. He didn’t need one.
His fingers brushed hers again, slower this time. Deliberate. She flinched, not from fear, but from the way it curled heat through her veins—something primal, intimate, wrong in all the right ways.
"I shouldn't," she whispered, barely audible.
He smiled then—slow and knowing. “No,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t. But here you are.”
She looked up at him, eyes defiant but crumbling. “This is dangerous.”
“Everything worth tasting is,” he replied, inching closer, so close she could feel the tension pulling taut between their bodies. “You’re not afraid of me. You're afraid of what I will wake up inside you.”
Her voice trembled, but not from weakness. “And what if I don’t want it to stop?”
His gaze darkened, voice dropping into something near reverent. “Then you’re already mine.”
