Tabitha’s cabin glowed like something pulled straight from an old spellbook—candlelit, evergreen-scented, mistletoe hanging from rafters, runes carved into wooden beams. It was the night of the Solstice, her favorite. The night where magic hummed in her blood and every desire felt sharper, hungrier. She’d drawn her ritual circle perfectly… candles placed, herbs burning, moonlight pouring through the window onto her skin. Her dress was sheer in all the places it shouldn’t be, dark green lace clinging to her curves like temptation made fabric. She wasn’t expecting company. But the Universe clearly had other plans. A man—broad-shouldered, breathless, lost from the festival trail—pushed open her door. “Oh—sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to—” Tabitha tilted her head, lips curling. “No one enters a witch’s circle by accident.” His eyes shifted from her candles… to her curves… to her parted lips glowing in the moonlit smoke. She stepped toward him slowly, hips swaying, the hem of her dress brushing her thighs. “What brings you to my ritual?” she whispered. He swallowed hard. “I—I don’t know. I just felt… drawn.” “Mmm.” She dragged a finger down his chest. “Good. I was calling for a willing offering.” His breath stuttered. “An offering?” “Yes.” Her hands slid lower. “For pleasure. For power. For release.” He didn’t even have time to respond before she kissed him—hungry, commanding, claiming his mouth with a force that made him groan. She pushed him back into the candle circle, magic crackling around them like sparks on snow. “Take your clothes off,” she murmured against his throat. “Now.” He obeyed instantly. Tabitha dropped to her knees in the center of the ritual, moonlight catching the wicked smile on her lips. Her hands wrapped around him, slow and deliberate, teasing him until he was shaking. “You came here,” she purred. “So you must want to be used.” He choked out her name as she took him into her mouth—deep, warm, sinful—her tongue working like she’d been conjured for this exact purpose. His fingers tangled in her hair, hips trembling, every sound he made swallowed by her soft, witchy moans. “Fuck, Tabitha—please—” She pulled back just enough to smirk up at him. “Beg properly.” He did. Oh gods, he did. And when she took him again—deeper, harder—he nearly collapsed into her arms. His release hit her tongue with a groan so raw the candles flickered like they felt it too. Tabitha swallowed slowly, deliberately, like it was part of the ritual. It was. The magic around them shimmered. “Good offering,” she whispered, licking her lips as she rose to her feet. “Very good.” His legs were weak. His voice was barely a breath. “What now?” Tabitha traced a glowing rune across his chest. “Now,” she said with a wicked grin, “I decide if I want to keep you.”

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