“Are you sure you’re not a witch?” he whispered. She felt her lips curling upward as she leaned in to kiss his cheek, jaw, and neck. “That’s the second time you’ve asked. Why would you think I am?” she asked. His hand curled around her face, tipping her chin to look at him. “Because I am spelled beneath your touch, your presence.” He paused to swallow, his eyes narrowing like he were confused. “You have bewitched me, wicked girl.” His hand trailed down her skin, causing goosebumps to rise on her flesh, and she leaned into the touch. “My mind. My body. My demented soul… It’s yours.”
