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Authors: Madeline Pryce

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BOOK: Wicked Magic
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He lay there for a few seconds, stunned, confused and horny
as hell. Jeremiah appeared in his line of sight. His brother’s face eclipsed
the sway of the tissue ghost. There was an amused tilt to ’Miah’s face. When a
hand appeared in front of Trent’s eye line, he took it. He stood and rubbed the
back of his head, wincing at the knot that had already formed.

“That went well.” Jeremiah laughed.

Trent smoothed his palms against his shirt, brushing off the
debris. He’d be damned if he was going to let anyone else have her. Taking a
chance, he let out a long, low whistle, then patted his brother on the back. He
shot him a toothy grin. “You let anyone down in that basement and I’ll hurt
you.”

Following the exact same path Sam had, he crossed the room
in half the time. As the dented brown metal doors closed, the low light of the
elevator faded. He saw a glimpse of her hand pushing frantically at the button
to help speed it along. No way was she going to tell him she was a virgin, kiss
him the way she had, then run away. The doors closed around his foot, and he
wedged it in the crack. The outdated motor gave a groan of protest before the
doors moved in the opposite direction.

He stepped inside and Sam backed into the corner. She held
out her hand, palm up, as if it were a stop sign. It trembled.

“Wait,” she stuttered.

“Fuck that.” He grabbed her wrist and tugged her to him.

The doors shut behind them and he cupped her hips. One step
at a time, he pushed her back against the wall. Hard, demanding, there was no
finesse when he smashed his mouth on hers.

She hesitated for a beat. It was a very small moment. She
shoved her hands under his shirt, nails scratching a path up the indent of his
spine. Goosebumps followed the wake of her fingers. When she was done exploring
his shoulders, she curved her hands around the sides of his ribs.

He nipped at her lips, teasing her tongue into his mouth as
he slipped a hand between their bodies. He tugged on her tank, pushing it up
her stomach. Her caress moved in the opposite direction and traced the rigid
lines of his abs. Up, down. The muscles in his stomach jumped each time she
dipped near the hem of his jeans.

Growling, he shoved his knee between her legs. He snuck
beneath the cotton of her shirt and nearly came like a fucking schoolboy
getting to second base for the first time. This was Samantha Monroe. The
forbidden. The one woman he couldn’t have. The one woman he should walk away
from.

Her bra was satin, almost as smooth as her skin when he
pulled it below her breasts. She arched against him and he pinched her nipple
into an erect, hard little nub. A goddamned virgin. Untouched. Probably tight
as fuck.

His.

“More,” she pleaded, breaking their kiss only long enough
for that one single word.

Nudging her thighs apart, he ripped his lips from hers. He
trailed his mouth over her cheek, down the curve of her jaw. The soft
breathiness of her moans made it hard to concentrate. He pressed his leg up
against her clit and almost lost it when she rolled her hips for greater friction.
Her skin was every bit as sweet as he’d imagined. With more force, he cupped
her breast in his palm. He tightened the grip he held on her hip, most likely
bruising her skin when he urged her to rock against his leg.

She cried out, her body trembling, the thunderous din of her
heart beating out of control before she threw her head back and stiffened.
Fucking hell. Once, twice, her body convulsed with orgasm and she dug her nails
into his back. He was going to lose it. The last waves of her climax subsided
and her head lulled to the side. He was there with his mouth, sucking the
delicate flesh of her throat between his teeth.

Sam trailed her nails through the dusting of hair covering
his abs. His body jerked in response. When she flattened her palm and drew her
hand down the length of his cock, there was nothing virginal about it. The heat
from her palm melted through denim and surrounded his erection. Slow, as if
memorizing him, she stroked him over his clothes. Pleasure peaked. He bit
harder against her neck and his testicles tightened.

It was too much. If he wanted this to last, she needed to
stop. Abandoning her breast, he caught her hands. When he pinned her wrists to
the wall, she cried out, thrusting against him. He pulled away from her neck.
The dark purple bruise he’d given her was probably going to piss her off. He
couldn’t say he was sorry. After tonight, she’d be his—he’d make damn sure of
that. They’d see who owned who when the dust settled.

As she struggled to catch her breath, her chest moved up and
down against him. When she pushed against the restraints his hands made, he
didn’t budge.

“I’m not sure what to do first,” he said against her mouth,
tongue flicking out to taste her lower lip. “Fuck you or lick that beautiful
pussy of yours.”

 

Chapter Five

 

Holy fucking hell.

Every inch of Sam’s skin tingled as if she’d been
electrocuted—but in a good way. Shouldn’t she feel lethargic and limp from her
orgasm? Instead, her heart raced. Her palms sweat. The damp flesh between her
legs throbbed. She tightened her fists above her head where Trent had her
pinned to the wall. Something hard dug into her stomach and she wasn’t sure if
it was his gun or his cock.

“Do I get a choice?” Her voice was raw and, dare she say,
sexy?

His eyes darkened. “No.”

Before she could tell him to stop, he released her wrists
and dug his fingers into her waist. He pulled her to him and her head jerked
back at the impact. The hard slant of his mouth over hers took her breath away.
She twisted his shirt in her hands, pulling him closer. He moved both of his
hands up her ribs, and an earthy moan left her.

She needed to do something, prepare for the ritual to give
herself to him. God, what did she need? Herbs. A candle. Something… All reason
vanished under the demands of his passion. She couldn’t think beyond the surge
of electricity that crackled inside her. Created deep in her soul, magic
consumed her. It ripped through her body like her climax had minutes ago,
drawing them closer together. Trent gasped into her mouth. The sound was raspy
and delicious. Those trailing whips of light tightened around them like a
lasso. They were bound.

He gripped her waist, hands moving under her shirt. Where
their skin touched, heat exploded. He lifted, picking her up off her feet.

They stepped from the elevator and the stale, musky scent of
the basement filled her senses. It was cool and damp, so unlike the upstairs
portion of the bar. The liquor she’d knocked back hit her. Or maybe it was her
heady reaction to Trent. Her head spun, making everything hazy and warm. He
cupped her ass, pressed their lower halves together, and rocked his hips. The
feel of him against her kicked her hormones into overdrive.

She slanted her head and threaded her fingers through his
curls. Hugging him close, she dominated the mating of their mouths. He pushed
up on her thighs, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. She broke the
kiss and drew his lower lip between her teeth and nibbled. When their eyes met,
she could see how much he wanted this. Her. This was how it was supposed to be.

He clutched her ass, harder this time, pulling her against
him, until the only thing she was aware of was the hard length of his cock
begging to be released. Trent walked forward.

When she opened her mouth to speak, she knew it was going to
be the best idea she’d ever said out loud. “There’s a couch in the corner.”
Pointing past the rickety desk, she directed him to the leather sofa she
sometimes used as a bed. Although it was lumpy and bled white cotton from a rip
on the corner, she couldn’t get rid of it.

Trent spun them around, changed directions. As his tongue
flicked against hers, she tried not to imagine what it’d be like if he was
doing that somewhere else. Her pussy slickened with arousal from the thought of
him gripping her thighs and burying his head.

Trent knocked the breath from her when he slammed her up
against a hard, cool surface. It was the beige vertical filing cabinet that
hadn’t seen any type of organization in the three years since her mom had left.

“Sorry,” he muttered and pulled at her tank top.

She lifted her arms and he pushed it up. Her silver
pentagram thudded against her chest—she had the passing thought that she was
forgetting something important. Her hair fell in front of her eyes. When Trent
pushed the tresses out of the way, she forgot to breathe. He looked between
them, hunger clearly written on the hard angles of his face. She sucked in her
stomach and pushed her chest out.

Her breasts, as small as they were, spilled from her black
satin bra. Thank God for laundry day. It was the one time biweekly she broke
out the underthings in the back of the drawer. He traced her exposed nipple
with a single finger, tightening the areola into a peak. He bent his head, and
his hair tickled her neck. He used the tip of his tongue to make a circle
around the bud before he sucked it into his mouth. Hot. Wet. Decadent. He
tugged on the sensitive flesh until she cried out. Sensation penetrated her and
her pussy clenched.

He pulled her away from the chilled metal cabinet and her
tank top fell from his fingers. What would have taken her ten steps, he did in
four. He set her down on the couch and she spread her legs. She cupped his hips
and pulled him between her thighs before lying back. The sofa creaked and
dipped beneath their combined weight. She had a moment to wonder if it would
survive the promises she read in Trent’s eyes. From her mouth to her neck, he
rubbed his jaw along her skin, nuzzling her like a feline.

He cupped her cheeks and looked down at her, his gaze moving
from her mouth to her breasts. “I’ve dreamed about you so many times, but I
never expected it to be like this.” His voice was husky, sexier than she’d ever
heard.

When he found the stretch of skin below her ear with his
teeth, all she could do was suck in a breath. She surged forward, closer to the
heat radiating off his body. “We need—” She panted, arched her back as he drew
a circle around her nipple with his finger. She grabbed his ass and guided his
cock against her.

Trent pulled away from her neck. “We need to stop talking.”

He removed his shoulder holster and gently lowered his gun
to the ground. His badge hit the floor next. He reached behind him. In one
move, he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Her eyes widened at the marks across
his chest. The only thing that left a scar on a shifter was another shifter.
Trophies, she tried to remember. A lighter shade than the rest of his skin,
three slashes marred the perfection of his torso.

She traced the lines with her gaze and her magic leaped. His
jaguar surfaced, its fur soft under her touch. The low rumbling purr in her ear
drew her closer. Trent shuddered and she wondered if it felt as if invisible
fingers were stroking him.

“Sam.”

If it was a warning, it wasn’t one she was going to listen
to. When she lifted her fingers and drew them down his stomach, his muscles,
all defined and sexy, jumped. He placed his palm on top of her hand. It was
hot, rough. He moved south, guiding her wandering fingers to his erection. His
eyes fluttered shut. She stroked his length through his jeans and his jaw
tightened. She watched, her arousal growing. He was thick and long.

Using the weight of his body, he pressed her farther into
the sofa. The leather creaked. She ignored it. The kisses he pressed along her
jaw were slow, gentle—such a contrast to how she felt inside. He moved lower,
dragging his body against hers until his beard scratched her stomach. When he
breathed, the warm air kissed below her navel. Trent slid his mouth lower with
hot, open-mouthed kisses that left a trail of moisture in his wake. When he
brushed the top of her jeans with his fingers, he looked up as if asking
permission.

Gaze never leaving hers, he trailed his touch under the hem.
He curved his digits, teased her stomach until a renewed rush of arousal left
her slick and ready, wetter than she’d ever been.

The impact of what was about to happen had her sucking in a
breath. A low, needy moan left her throat. She arched off the couch and pressed
herself against him. He popped the button on her pants, parted the zipper to
expose the black triangle of satin covering her curls. It was the rasp of her
zipper echoing through the room that gave her pause. How far was she going to
push this?

There was a specific ritual she needed to perform to inherit
her powers. Samhain. Candles. Rosemary and ribbons.

The faint beat of the music pulsed upstairs. She couldn’t
hear the words, but she felt the tempo. Every couple of moments, a weak spur of
cheers would hit her ears. It was all so distant. It made her realize how alone
they were. As he pushed a finger under the lace of her panties, the hair on his
chest tickled her skin.

His breath was sweltering against her ear. “Tell me what you
want,” he whispered.

She traced her hands over his back in a slow, unpredictable
pattern. When she gripped his ass, she bit her lower lip to keep from screaming
out what she really wanted. Instead, she concentrated on his butt. It was as
firm and tight as she’d always imagined. She pressed, brought him closer
against her. If she spoke, she was terrified of what would come out.

Nails lightly scratching, she zigzagged up his spine. It
made him tremble. Across the wide breadth of his shoulders, she encountered
another set of raised scars. Claw marks. He lifted her hips, apparently deciding
for her. The denim of her pants scratched against her skin as he guided them
past her thighs.

“Trent.” She had to tell him.

More than anything, she wanted to feel him inside her, to
experience the passion she’d fantasized about. Right or wrong, the first orgasm
she’d ever had was when she’d spent the night at Jeremiah’s and been forced to
listen to Trent screwing his girlfriend all night through the walls. Even
though she’d felt ashamed after, it hadn’t stopped her from recalling the husky
sound of his voice, the dirty words he’d used, the next time she’d slipped her
hand down her panties.

Trent stood, tugged off her boots and pulled her pants to
the floor. As if he commanded her magic, he also took control of her body. Her
legs parted and gave him a teasing glimpse of her covered sex. Trent popped the
button on his jeans and drew down the zipper until his cock sprang free. He was
thick, long. Beautiful. Bigger than she’d anticipated. He palmed his shaft and
stroked himself from base to the crown. Heat blossomed in her stomach. Up,
down. She couldn’t look away.

When she lifted up, the leather peeled from her back. He sat
beside her, and the couch dipped. Trent reached over, caressed her hip, and
pulled her onto his lap until she was straddling him. He spread his hands along
her back, moved them up until he cupped her shoulders. She closed the distance
between them and captured his lips. They fought, going back and forth for
possession. He growled, gripped her hair and pulled until he had her submissive
and controlled the kiss between them.

When she couldn’t breathe, he pulled away.

“We need to talk,” she whispered.

His response was a grunt. Trent nibbled along her neck.
Before she could stop herself, she tilted her head to the side to assist him.
He walked his fingers down her spine, cupped her ass and squeezed. Guiding her
pelvis against his cock, he set a steady rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure
throughout her. She cupped his shoulders and threw back her head. Sensation
built, tightening her stomach, and her pussy ached. He sucked on the front of
her throat. Bolts of ecstasy ran straight through her.

This was torture.

“We can’t do this.” She had to stop before she couldn’t.

Nearly twenty-one years she’d made it without having sex.
She could wait two more days.

“Yes we can.” As if to make his point, he thrust against
her.

“No, we can’t. Trent, stop,” she said.

Trent stiffened underneath her. He released her ass and
lifted his head to look at her. She expected him to be angry. She didn’t expect
to see the concern in his eyes. It was even more proof that he was the man for
her.

“I thought this was what you wanted. Am I doing something
wrong? It’s been a hell of a long time since I made out on a couch. I’m trying
to take it slow, but—”

“It’s not you,” she said. “You need to know that you’re my
familiar.”

He sat up a little straighter and nearly spilled her from
his lap. Hesitation lurked in his gaze, dampening his lust. “Your what?”

She stood and picked up the pendant her mother had given
her, a symbol of protection, and tried to think of the best way to explain it
without freaking him out. Alpha males were touchy when it came to anything that
threatened their manliness—something her mother had warned her about after
she’d come home crying after he’d rejected her.

Sam glanced at the plants on a wide, thin bookshelf to the
left of the sofa. Pathetic. They were brown and hanging limply from their green
pots—she’d officially killed them. If she were a real witch, she’d be able to
infuse healing energy into them. The cold ground seeped through her feet and
made her calves ache.

Focus. After a moment she answered him. “It’s kind of like a
witch’s muse.”

“Witch’s muse?” Brow furrowing, the tender look he’d been
wearing before dissolved into a slight frown. “I’m not following.”

She didn’t even try to hide her grimace. This really wasn’t
going well. When her mom had explained it, it had come out romantic and
fantastical. There wasn’t a charming bone in Sam’s body.

“Familiars help a witch come into their magic, and after,
they help us concentrate and focus our spells,” she explained.

His mouth twisted into a scowl. He stood up and folded his
arms across his massive chest. “That sounds an awful lot like I’d be your
bitch, not your muse. Rumor my fucking ass. My dad was right! I should have
listened to the old man and left well enough alone.”

She’d felt his muscles before, but the way he was flexing
them made them look bigger than she’d expected. With his strong, broad chest
and lean waist, he had the body of a swimmer. In the wild, jaguars loved the
water. She wondered how many of those traits transferred to his human life.
While she contemplated whether he liked his steak raw and bloody, he continued
to stare down at her.

“This was the reason I pushed you away all those years ago,
why I stayed away. You tempt me, Sam, and for a moment, I thought maybe the old
man just wanted ’Miah to have you. I’m a cop, an enforcer, I don’t do bitch. I
didn’t come down here to sign up for this shit.” His tone was as rude as his
words.

BOOK: Wicked Magic
3.4Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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