The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis

The first thing I noticed was warmth.

Not the fire. Not the blanket.

Him.

Shi Yaozu's arm was draped across my waist, heavy and sure, his breath slow against the back of my neck. His chest rose and fell behind me in steady rhythm, like he was breathing me in with every inhale. His legs were tangled with mine, the scratchy blanket shoved down low on the bed and forgotten.

We were skin to skin.

And I felt everything.

The ache between my thighs. The pull in muscles I hadn't used that way before. The hum still singing low in my hips. His breath dancing over me, giving me goosebumps.

But mostly, I felt safe… like we were the only two people in the entire world. And I was fine with that.

I opened my eyes slowly.

The cabin was dark but not cold. I was sure that the stove still glowed faint orange behind the door, casting just enough light to sketch out the lines of the room. The place wasn't nearly as cold as it could be, considering the fact that winter was whispering at us even now.

I shifted a little, enough to press myself back against him, and he groaned softly.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice raw with sleep. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I thought you were asleep," I murmured, rolling over so that my breasts were pressed against his chest.

"I was," he breathed, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. "Right up until you moved. Now that I've had you, my body reacts to everything that you do." He moved his hips just enough so that I could feel the length of his cock pressing between us.

I couldn't hold back the moan as I felt more liquid dripping out of me. My pussy clenched down, disappointed that it was empty.

Taking in a deep breath, I tried to push aside my feelings for a second, choosing to look at him instead.

His eyes were half-lidded, but he was watching me. Like he had been even in sleep. Like letting go of me would break something too fragile to name.

I reached up and brushed his hair from his face.

"Good morning," I whispered, my voice coming out rough from sleep.

He smiled gently at me. "Good morning," he replied, kissing my forehead tenderly.

We didn't move for a while. Just studied each other like the rest of the world had stopped. His thumb traced the curve of my hip, back and forth, as though memorizing it for the thousandth time.

My hand moved down to his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath his skin. He wasn't a man of flourishes or speeches. But every inch of him spoke.

He shifted slightly, pushing me gently onto my back and rising over me.

"You okay?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. "I wasn't too rough last night?"

I shook my head, trying to be honest. "A little sore," I shrugged before just going for it. "I don't mind if you are a bit rougher next time."

He smiled at that, but it was soft. Proud. Reverent.

"Oh?" he purred, his voice deepening just as his hand slid lower down my body.

And lower still.

He watched me, gauging every breath as his fingers traced along the inside of my thigh.

"You're wet," he murmured, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face.

Nodding my head, I arched toward him, and he dipped his head, brushing his mouth against my nipple. Gently at first.

Then again.

And again.

His lips closed around me, sucking softly, until my back arched and I gasped.

"Yaozu—"

He didn't stop. Instead, he moved so that his body was pinning me down, not forcefully, just grounding me to something real.

When he moved to my other breast, I squirmed, the sensation so sharp and tender I almost couldn't stand it.

"Too much?" he asked, his eyes darting up to my face.

"No," I breathed. "Just enough."

He continued, slow and unhurried, until I was shaking beneath him. Then, with one last look at my face, he began to trail kisses down my body.

Over my stomach. The sharp dip of my hip. The inside of my thigh.

I felt his breath before his mouth touched me.

And then—

He tasted me like it was a meal he'd waited his whole life for.

His tongue started out tentative as he kept looking at me, gauging my reaction. Finally, I grabbed his hair and pushed my pussy firmly against his lips, letting him know that I was more than happy for him to keep going.

Chuckling under his breath, he moved with purpose, slow and steady, until I was grinding my clit against his nose like he was my own personal vibrator.

"Last night was over too fast," he said, lips brushing against my core. "I have to make sure you remember me today. That you want me tonight, and every day there after."

I couldn't even respond.

His arms wrapped under my thighs, holding me open, as he continued—tongue circling, dipping, exploring until I was writhing.

I came once.

Then again.

And again, so hard I nearly screamed.

My whole body was on fire, every nerve singing.

He didn't stop. Even when I begged.

"Please," I gasped. "Please, I need you—"

He rose up, face slick, eyes dark and steady.

"Say it again."

"I need you."

"Then take me."

He flipped us in one smooth movement until I was straddling him. My hair fell like a curtain between us, and he looked up at me like I was something sacred.

His hands rested on my thighs, guiding me down.

When he entered me, we both stilled.

There was no rush this time. No edge of desperation. Just heat, pressure, fullness.

I moved slowly, finding rhythm again—our rhythm—and he let me. His hands only tightened when I leaned down to kiss him, and his hips met mine with a deep, slow thrust that stole the breath from my lungs.

"Take what you need," he whispered. "Use me."

I did.

Until we were both undone again.

And when it was over, I collapsed against him, my body trembling with exhaustion and peace. He wrapped his arms around me, one hand in my hair, the other across my back, and didn't move.

I fell asleep like that.

Still wrapped around him.

Still filled with him.