Chapter 3
“Oh, yes.” Esme’s hands were on her, spreading her legs, rubbing her inner thighs; Ursula felt the witch’s gaze on her there too, and she did not know quite what she needed, more glorious exposed vulnerability or a sudden fierce touch to wrench the sensations higher; she only needed—
Esme’s fingers touched her body, the folds of her, the wetness. They coaxed the little hood back and left Ursula’s small rigid bud revealed to the air, to the witch’s workroom. One of the witch’s hands must have found the pot of warmed honey again, because it dripped, oh it dripped, a burst of sudden new heat right there, there where she was so open and so helpless and so desperate—