Witch by Tim O'Rourke Page B

would have made you ten years old.”
    I looked at him.
    “Wow, I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” he half-smiled. “It makes me sound like a pervert.”
    “Are you?” I shot back smiling.
    “Am I what?” he asked.
    “A perv?” I said, fixing my eyes on his.
    “What do you think?”
    “Like I said, I’ve never seen or met you before until the other day,” I reminded him. “This is the third time I’ve seen you in less than a week. Are you following me?”
    “You came back to the farm, remember?” he said, placing his empty plate on the floor by the sofa.
    “To take your statement,” I said.
    “Was that the only reason?” he shot back, then took another sip from the wine glass.
    There was a pause, then downing what was left in the bottom of my own glass, I looked at him and said, “No, it wasn’t the only reason I came back to the farm.”
    Inching his way along the sofa towards me, Michael placed his wine glass on the floor so both of his hands were free. “So why did you come back?” he asked, and again, there was that intensity in his eyes I had first seen a few days ago.
    “The same reason you came looking for me today,” I said, matching his stare.
    “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, the gap between us now paper-thin.
    “You came looking for me because you wanted to finish what we started the other day,” I whispered, those feelings I had previously felt flooding back. That sweet warm sensation spreading from my stomach and down between my legs.
    “Is there anything wrong with that?” he said, placing one hand gently on the base of my neck, pulling me close so I could feel his breath against my face.
    “No, but I’m not looking for anything serious,” I whispered into his ear, one of my hands running up the length of his muscular thigh. “There is a lot in my life I need to square away. I need some time to think...”
    “I don’t want to marry you, Sydney,” he whispered back. “I just want to fuck you. Is that so bad?” he said softly against my cheek, his fingers losing themselves in my hair.
    “I guess not...” I started. Before I’d had a chance to finish, Michael had pressed his lips over mine.
    I opened my mouth slightly, but it was enough for Michael to slip his tongue inside. His mouth tasted of sweet wine, and I slid my tongue over his. He explored the inside of my mouth, our tongues pushing and prodding against each other as if acting out what it was other parts of our body really wanted to do. Taking his hands from my hair, he pulled at my sweater. Breaking our kiss and raising my arms above my head, he pulled my sweater free, tossing it across the room. He looked down at my breasts. Gently cupping them in his hands, Michael lent forward, running his tongue over them. I reached down and loosened the belt which held his jeans in place. My fingers brushed over the front of them and I could feel he was already hard beneath the blue faded denim. He shifted as if kneeling up, so I could undo the button fly. The buttons popped open beneath my trembling fingers. I wasn’t scared or nervous, just turned on.
    Michael arched his back as I fumbled the last button free. I reached inside, my fingers curling around him. He felt hard. Michael groaned. With the fingers of one hand curled around him, I pulled Micha el’s jeans down further. Placing my hands flat against his chest, I pushed him back onto the sofa. He reached for my breasts again and I slapped his hands away.
    He looked at me wide-eyed. 
    “No,” I said.
    “But I want to hold...”
    “Do as I say,” I snapped at him. I knew from what had happened between us the previous day, he liked the idea of me being a cop and being in control.
    Michael looked at me, not knowing if I were joking, acting, or being serious. As if trying to test me, he reached for my breasts again.
    “I said, no! ” I hissed at him as he grew harder in my hand. He was secretly enjoying me taking charge of