by Mary Hughes
She was too, momentarily bereft of the heat of that big hand.
Then she felt a tug and the pop of a button and the waistband gave. She could breathe again—until his mouth reclaimed her with fierce heat. She was panting and breathless in an instant.
Skimming one hard palm over her backside, he maneuvered the other into the low neckline of her camisole. Her breastbone raised in response, as if her breasts were begging for his touch. He delved deeper and cupped one, his hand fitting it perfectly. She sighed and relaxed into that warm, perfect hand.
Then he gently tweaked her nipple. She squeaked.
He captured her squeak in the dark cave of his mouth. His tongue began to thrust in hot wild rhythm. His lips were fierce and his shifter’s stubble rasped her skin. He kissed her, pinched her, kneaded her, overwhelmed her.
Her blood sang with need and her skin was on fire. Her breasts swelled and throbbed, nipples tight as nuts. Her pelvis churned with tense, growing need.
In counterpoint, her muscles melted with desire and her sex softened in anticipation, warm and damp and silky against her panties.
The opposing forces clashed and crossed, building bigger and bigger, waves of hunger that made her so hot and needy she shuddered with it.
He stopped. Spun her.
She confronted their reflection in the mirror.
His arm wrapped around her ribs, tendons and muscles tight with claiming her. Her eyes were huge, her pupils dilated so wide that her eyes were almost black. Her lips were red and swollen, and so were his.
Hesitantly, she whispered, “Is it the hex doing this?”
“No. It’s us doing this.” Holding her firmly with one arm, he drove the other under her neckline to cup her breast. In the mirror, the mound that was his hand began to squeeze gently, like a breathing animal.
“What are you—ohh.” He’d slotted her nipple through two fingers and pinched. She arched violently.
“Sex. You and me. In front of the mirror.” He slid his other hand into her skirt, his fingers tunneling under her panties to make his arm an esker running from her waistband to her mound. Bending, he put his mouth by her ear. “Now.” He slid one finger along her slit.
Thrust into her.
She whimpered. One big finger inside her, his thumb on her clitoris, he squeezed, gently, rhythmically, in time with the tugging on her breast. She was caught between his hands, hot-wired nodes zapping electricity through her. Her hips began to rock and a moan bubbled through her parted lips.
“You smell amazing.” He buried his lips into her neck, kissing the delicate skin. “A rosebud opening.”
Her trembling expanded into delicious shudders.
“Sweet. Heady. Lickable.” His warm, rough tongue lapped her neck, her collarbone.
She started purring like a cat, a tiny portion of her mind wondering insanely if he was turning her into a shifter. “But if the hex is trying to distract us… Oh.” She gasped as his probing finger hit her sweet spot. Lightning need streaked through her. “It must be the hex.”
“Why?” He slipped a second finger into her, stretching her with warm wonder. He began rocking against her, their hips pressing together deliciously.
“This. It’s so fast. Magically fast.” She let her head fall back against his chest, raising her chin to give him better access to the skin of her throat. Her brain squealed it was a sign of submission to an alpha wolf, but she only wanted his hot, talented mouth on more of her skin. He responded by tracing the tendon with his tongue.
“And ‘this’ is…?” He ground his hips into her buttocks. His erection pressed huge.
She shuddered, delighting in his hot slick licks down her throat. This was hot, potent wildness. Abandoning planning, thinking, throwing out anything but fiery, reckless feeling.
“I want you,” she whispered.
He revved a growl that came from the pit of his belly. “I’ve never heard words so beautiful.”
“But so hot…so fast…”
He nipped her neck with an alpha’s powerful growl. “It’s not the hex. This is you and me, Sophia. Us. Look, see what I’m doing to you. Acknowledge it, acknowledge us.”
He drove his fingers deep inside her.
She gasped, her eyes popping open, and looked.
Every muscle in his body stood out as he held her fused to him. His hands worked her hard, almost brutally.
His gaze, his whole focus, was concentrated on her. On giving her as much pleasure as he could. And not her as the intermediary in the hex. But her, Sophia. That blazing focus told her the shocking truth.
He meant it. It wasn’t the hex doing this to him. He wanted her.
And she… Her skirt hung loosely from her hips. Her legs were spread wide, and the rougher he worked her the farther they spread. She wanted him so badly she was flushed and visibly trembling. Her back was arched, her breasts thrust forward, and she was grinding into his hand. Grinding her butt into his hips, feeling his erection grow.
It stunned her how powerful her desire was. His desire. Their desire. He was right. It wasn’t just him doing her, or her doing him. They were doing it together.
Grabbing the hem of her camisole, she dragged it up her ribs past his arm, tugged the cloth over her head, and threw it away.
He sucked in a breath.
She seized his hand and slapped it back on her bare breast, feeling the nut of her nipple rasp his palm. In the mirror, his eyes were glowing so brightly they practically burned.
She wanted them on fire.
Her skirt was already unbuttoned, and her writhing had worked the zipper halfway down. She opened it all the way, almost botching it because she was trembling so hard. The skirt slid down her thighs to crumple around her ankles, leaving her clad in nothing but panties, thigh-high stockings, four-inch heels, and him.
His hand was as gorgeous squeezing under her bikinis as it was on her breast. It felt even better. His thick cock, pressing urgently against her panties from behind, would feel even better yet, skin-to-skin.
It might have been the hex’s fault to start. But this was happening, it was happening now, and it wasn’t the hex’s fault any more. She wanted it.
No, she wanted him. And if she were honest with herself, she’d wanted Noah Blackwood from the moment she figured out he was loyal, brave, and sexy as hell.
Chapter Fourteen
She snagged the inch-wide elastic of her bikini panties in either hand and pulled down. Without bending, she only managed ten or so inches, but it was enough to uncover Noah’s hand and a whole lot of her private skin.
He let out a low, rough howl. Dropped to his knees. Grabbed her hips in both hands, tilted her back, and pressed a kiss to her sex.
His mouth was searing hot. She screamed. He lapped at her roughly, beating her with his tongue until she whimpered her need. Until she grabbed the frame of the mirror to keep from being shoved into it headfirst. It tingled under her hands, but her whole body flushed with a more powerful fever.
He must’ve sensed she’d found purchase because he lapped harder, thumbs spreading her for his onslaught.
Urgency flamed along her slit, exploding into her pelvis, settling hot and heavy and throbbing.
In the mirror her face was flushed, her bare breasts heaving. His fingers dented her hips, his skin dark against hers. She saw flashes of his chin, moving savagely against her.
She felt nothing but bliss. Sharp pleasure built, higher and higher the faster he worked her. He ground and ravaged with his mouth until she ached for him to fill her. Until she was needy, hollow, in anguish, and she’d implode unless he fucked her right now.
“Noah…take me.”
He stood and lost his pants in one fluid motion. Seizing her hips in his big hands, he tilted her up.
She was too short. But instead of crouching to fit, he wrapped one arm under her breasts, one around her hips, and lifted her off the ground.
Her pumps fell off her feet and hit the floor with a clatter. She dangled f
rom his arms, naked but for her thigh-high stockings and the panties banding her knees. His lips moved to her nape, his breath hot enough to scorch. The edge of his teeth took hold. And just nudging her sex…
Her eyebrows rose. Heavens, he was big. Instinctively she grabbed the mirror frame—just as he drove himself in.
Her aching channel shouted with joyous fulfillment.
Her eyes flew open. In the mirror, they were wild. Her mouth dropped open too, red and wet in reflection.
He thrust. Her whole pussy clenched with a thrill of response. She gasped. Urgency sang from her sex, branching up into her body. He thrust again, harder. Every cell opened inside her to bright sensation. She clenched the wood frame. He set up a steady, strong rhythm, holding her firmly with arms and hands and teeth, and she closed her eyes and gave herself over to the growing waves of tightening sensation.
Her ears filled with the thwack of his muscular belly hitting her smooth buttocks, almost drowning out her panting. Her heart raced in her chest, thudding so hard she could feel it. Her skin prickled as moisture rose. Her ears rang as her pussy cried out in pleasure and wept for joy. He thrust deep and ground down. Her body’s eager response to him released a tsunami of wet along her thighs.
She slit open her eyes to see steam clouding the mirror, her breath, misting and clearing in rapid succession.
“Sophia…my heart…you’re incredible.” He began circling his hips with each deep thrust.
She whimpered her pleasure, her pelvis full and heavy and hot. He was the incredible one, smooth and slick, filling her to bursting…and then he drove himself in to the hilt. Her pussy clenched hard. “I’m…I’m…”
He adjusted her in his arms to slide two hot fingers onto her clitoris.
Orgasm swelled on her horizon. Ballooned huge, filling her whole sight.
He pounded into her twice as hard, her swollen clit bouncing against his fingers until she screamed. His thrusts deepened, slowing, each scouring her to the core of her being. One. Winding so tight with pleasure it was pain. Two. Pushing to the very pinnacle of rapturous agony.
“Sophia.” He groaned and crushed her to him, so tightly that they fused. “Now, love.”
Love. It triggered a powerful release. She came hard, so hard her eyes clenched against the brilliance of it. A keening cry forced its way from her throat. Wave after wave of contraction and release plowed through her. He buried himself inside her and came with a shout. They shuddered together, her contractions seeming to lengthen and reinforce his, his tugging cock adding to hers, going on and on.
The waves rippled out into joined pleasure that was wildly, deliciously sweet.
As climax eased, he set her gently into her shoes. Her eyes opened. In the mirror, her face looked sated, tired, and satisfied.
Behind her, the sweep of Noah’s black lashes rose in the mirror. She prepared herself for the burning silver of his piercing stare.
His eyes were softly glowing. Sated, like hers. Satisfied.
And gold.
* * *
“Noah? Come help Mommy with the cookies.”
The small boy ran into the kitchen, his second-favorite room. Four-year-old Noah’s favorite place was the book room, where his mommy had her big loom and the hard man had the soft reading chair, smelling of leather and paper, warmth and love. The boy adored crawling into the hard man’s lap for a bedtime story. His favorite stories were about princes and princesses who wielded wands and skin-prickles, or what the man called magic. “How can I help, Mommy?”
His mother held out a cookie. “Taste this.”
He loved helping but especially with this. He took the cookie and tasted it thoroughly. Seriously. He wanted to do a good job for her. “It’s good. Even though it’s oatmeal.”
Her smile was the sun coming up for him.
The hard man swept into the kitchen. The man always swept, his purposeful stride unfurling his long star-and-moon robe. Noah’s mommy had made the cloth on her loom. She worked for the hard man, and she and Noah lived with him.
She held out a cookie to the hard man. The man smiled and Noah’s mommy smiled back. It was a different smile than she gave Noah, smaller, more adult. Promising things other than hugs and cookies. Noah didn’t like that smile because it meant his mother and the hard man were going upstairs where Noah was not allowed.
Noah thought about pouting, but his mother’s smile turned to him. She handed him another cookie, this one chocolate chip.
He tasted it with the same seriousness, but his mouth couldn’t lie. He smiled back. “This is great!”
His mother wasn’t listening. Her nostrils flared. “Simon.”
A bad feeling rolled over Noah, bitter like weeds.
The hard man’s head came up. “I hear. They’re coming from the front. Take the boy. Go out the back.”
Wrapping Noah in one arm, she clutched the hard man’s robe with her free hand. “Simon. You come too.”
“I must hold them off. Take the boy, Hayley. Quickly.” The hard man pushed Noah’s mother toward the door, gently, but Noah still growled. The man paid no attention to Noah, his gaze locked on Noah’s mother. “Go. For the boy’s sake.”
She blinked shiny eyes. Noah was angry with the man for making her cry. She gathered Noah and urged him outside.
They ran down the garden path leading to the big woods. Suddenly Noah realized someone was missing. “Raven! Mommy, we have to go back for Raven.”
“Not now, honey.” She tried to tug him along, but he dug in his heels. Raven was more than his pet, he was his friend.
Suddenly a cyclone of star-spangled wind whipped around the corner of the house—headed straight for them.
Magic. Noah could feel the skin-prickles from here. His mother stopped tugging on him, knelt, and pulled him into her arms. Her heart was drumming and she trembled against him.
The hard man popped between them and the magic cyclone, his star-and-moon cloak snapping in the wind.
He raised a hand. Noah saw a greeting.
The wind died, revealing three black-robed men. Noah’s skin buzzed, bad, wrong, like nasty wasps. His hackles rose. The hard man had shoved his mommy away and was now meeting bad men.
Caw, caw. A blue-black bird flew around the corner of the house.
“Raven,” Noah cried, and tried to rush for him. His mother’s arms tightened and he couldn’t get to his friend.
Following the raven was a fourth robed man, but his silks were pale, and an ivory fur collar curled around his neck. He stood back, arms crossed, watching.
The hard man pointed his wand at the black-robed men. Noah only cared about his friend. “Raven!” Noah struggled loose from his mother’s arms and ran toward him.
Below Raven, the hard man’s face paled. “No!” One palm shot out toward Noah, the other at the bird.
A wall of wind slammed into Noah. He pushed against it, churning his legs as hard as he could, but he couldn’t get any closer to his pet. He called, “Raven, come.”
The ivory-collared man pointed at Raven and started chanting. Raven began to win through.
The hard man turned white. His palm still flat toward Noah, he spun up his wand.
Pointed straight at Raven.
The bird shot into the sky like a missile. He got smaller and smaller, a bird, a blotch, a dot, gone.
A single black feather floated to the ground. Noah, face wet, struggled toward it.
The hard man aimed his wand at the feather. It exploded. Noah shrieked.
Noah’s mother wrapped arms around him, picked him up, and ran.
Over her shoulder, Noah saw the black-robed men bookend the hard man and shoot horrifying magic at him. The hard man, after a final glance toward Noah and his mother, jerked as if he’d been hit in the back.
He fell. He did not get up. Noah felt the hard man’s sparkles disappear, and for a moment was frightened.
No. The hard man had destroyed Raven, Noah’s friend. He’d pushed Noah and his mommy away to me
et the nasty robed men.
Noah was not, could not be sorry for the man.
The ivory-robed man motioned toward Noah and his mother. Bad feelings bit Noah’s tummy. His mother crashed with him through the outer thickets, still too far from the deep woods to hide.
The black-robed man ran after them, wand pointing ominously.
“Mommy!” Noah grabbed his mother’s shoulder to get her attention. “The bad man.”
She slashed a glance back. Then she whispered the word Noah was never to say, so viciously that winter stormed in his chest.
She set him down to throw her daggers. As his wand spewed fire toward them, the blades thunked into the man. The stream of magic cut off, but not soon enough.
The leading tongues of magic snapped like a whip into Noah’s mother. She cried out and fell to one knee. Her hand slapped her ribs.
Blood dripped between her fingers.
“Mommy. Your wolf!” His wolf healed his own owies.
She shifted. Bright red streaked her fur. It scared him.
But when she nudged him with her muzzle, pushing him toward her shoulders, he mounted as she’d taught him. He didn’t know what else to do. The hard man was gone. Raven was gone. He dug his fingers into his mother’s fur and held tight.
She ran. She ran so fast the wind slapped his face. If Raven had been flying with them, it would have been fun. But now…
He didn’t understand. Why had the hard man made Raven go away? Why had he pushed Noah and his mother away?
Noah clutched his mommy, sad and angry and scared. No, being scared was for babies. Angry.
Noah’s mother ran off and on for days. The bright red on her fur never dried. More leaked out. It smelled funny; it felt wrong. It buzzed like the black-robed men had.
Days and nights blurred passed. Eventually, Noah’s mother stopped outside a tiny shack in the forest.
She turned human. But her skin was gray like a wolf, and her breath came in gasps. The gash on her flank was fiery red.
Noah was frightened. Why hadn’t turning wolf taken care of her owie? He reached to touch his mother’s wound.
She took him by the shoulders, stopping him. “Noah, listen to me. You must never again use the skin-prickles, do you understand? No magic from now on. Can you do that for me, honey?”
