Mind Mates (Pull of the Moon Book 2)

by Mary Hughes

  She tried to tear off his sweater vest in return, barely ruching it a foot up his torso before it caught on the flare of his lats.

  Lifting his mouth from hers, he muttered, “Clothes off.”

  When he pressed against her this time, it was naked skin to naked skin.

  Excitement jolted through her, set her heart to hammering. Cloth-covered, his torso was hard; bare, he was like a rock cliff. She felt every jerk of his washboard abs as he panted, every ridge of pec and lat as she grabbed him for stability—and she felt his big erection grow even fatter, trapped against her upper thigh.

  That jacked her sky-high.

  Reaching down, she wrapped one hand around his naked cock. The length and girth of the thing made her belly shiver in delight and her sex weep for joy.

  He released a soft groan. “I’ve wanted to feel you do that forever. I’ve wanted to do something to you for as long. May I?” He dropped a hand to her breast.

  “Please.”

  “Thank you.” He began cupping and kneading.

  She was well-endowed for her size and he hefted and pinched until she was mewling. Until she swayed hips into his thigh in the age-old rhythm. Until she wrapped both her hands around his shaft and worked it like she was yanking a lever.

  He groaned with each squeeze, finally muttering, “Do that against me.”

  “This?” She flattened him between their bellies and pressed wantonly, bumping and grinding him until he hissed.

  “That. But more, this.” Anchoring her hips with both big hands, he thrust his knee between her legs. His hair-roughened, muscled thigh scrubbed her sex. He flexed quads.

  “Ohhh.” Her hips began to rock again, this time sliding her slick labia over his hot skin. Her rising clit rasped against the hair, adding extra sparks.

  She grabbed his ears, nearly unseating his glasses, torqued his head down to hers, and tried to kiss him. But as he began to flex his thigh muscles in time with her undulations, she didn’t kiss him so much as pant into his open mouth.

  Every few thrusts he’d nip her swollen lower lip or lick the corner of her mouth. Excitement built rapidly inside her until her nipples stood stiff and her clit was jangling.

  Hard, hot, and gloriously fast, but they’d been dancing around the fire for months.

  Trusting him to keep her anchored, she released his ears to wrap her hands around his cock. She began pumping her palms along his hard shaft like she was trying to ignite him.

  “Emma.” He wrapped arms around her back and hips and rhythmically ground his thigh into her, in counterpoint to her thrusting hands. She keened her pleasure. He bent, bowed nearly in two, to feast upon the delicate flesh of her neck.

  Arching into him, she trembled as sensation juddered through her, from throat to clit and back again, ripples of pure, white-hot desire. Sparks of pre-orgasm electrified her.

  Underneath her hands, his cock leaked glistening pleasure, his own orgasm not far off. Perspiration prickled her, and an answering sheen spread across his broad, muscular shoulders, bent to below her chin.

  “Emma,” he muttered against her damp skin. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

  “You first,” she rasped.

  “Yes, I’m close. So close. Your hands are slick, hot, and so very tight…” He hissed. “Fuck me. I’m coming—but not without you.”

  He spun. Her stomach swooped as he backed her into the wall beside the fireplace and pinned her against it with his muscular thigh between her legs.

  He pressed a single hot finger against her clit. “Come.”

  Power jolted into her pussy like a vibrator set on now. She shrieked and climaxed all over his thigh at the same moment his balls gave a mighty tug and he spurted in her hands.

  Her first pow was followed by a second, sweeter but no less forceful. A third rolled over her, and a fourth. She managed to crack her eyes to find him looking at her with something akin to adoration.

  And over his shoulder…

  A wavering circle midair caught her attention, near the piano, rippling as if a pebble had been tossed in the pond of reality.

  The portal? But it was on the opposite side of the room from where they’d entered.

  And it was closing.

  “Gabriel,” she panted, pointing at the watery image by nodding her head toward it. It was hard, her neck muscles turned to rubber by her climax. “Is that…?”

  He blinked slowly and took his sweet time glancing over his shoulder.

  “Burnt toast and coffee. I don’t know how that’s possible, but hang on.” He tightened his arms around her, spun like a tornado, and leaped for the portal so fast her hair snapped.

  The closing portal.

  She’d barely registered they were moving when he dove for the narrowing hole.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wind rushed over Emma’s bare skin and through her hair—abruptly edged by pain, the bottom of the portal scraping off a layer of buttocks and calves as he bumped the two of them through. He’d leaped headfirst toward the piano, with her on the bottom.

  This would not end well. Carpet burn at the very least, ivory and ebony teeth at the worst.

  Yet somehow when he hit the other side he kept his feet, bouncing one-handed against the parlor wall at an angle and running out the momentum. She heard the whap of a door opening.

  He stuttered to a stop—outside. In the middle of the street. With her clinging to him like a towel wrap of arms and legs.

  Both of them stark naked.

  “Bacon-fried damn.” He set her down and away from him like a hot match burning his fingers. “Clothes, now.”

  She’d barely gotten used to tottering on her own feet when cloth weighed her down, yards of scratchy starched cotton abrading her overheated, over-sensitized skin.

  His subconscious had covered her in a canvas muumuu, wool knee socks, and shoes like twin sheep.

  He spun toward his roadster, hand flashing out over it, eyes closing.

  Almost immediately a scowl carved his face. Eyes opening, he grabbed her hand and yanked her into a run. “Come on.” He cornered onto Second Street.

  “Wh-where…?” She panted after him, partially because she wasn’t quite over the mind-blowing orgasm but mostly because she couldn’t run in the damned clown-car shoes.

  His subconscious had clothed him in his usual short-sleeved Oxford shirt and sweater vest—and comfortable-looking runners. She was jealous.

  A flash of movement distracted her. Black, bigger than a dog, dark eyes, disappearing into the alley between buildings. But her clompy gait meant her vision was jumpy, and she couldn’t tell if it was a small deer, a large wolf, or a penguin on a pogo stick.

  Gabriel was muttering. “The parlor was empty. But the damned Enforcer put a damned psychic eye on my damned car.” Explaining why he hadn’t stuffed her in the roadster and squealed out of there, but not where they were going.

  Clomp-clomping, she stuttered the question again. “Wh-where?”

  “Out of sight. To someone who can help us get away from you-know-who.”

  “Ry—?”

  “Don’t say his name. He can sense it.”

  Her flesh crawled. The Enforcer was so powerful even Gabriel, a wizard prince, ran from him? What could beat him?

  Use me, her iota talent crooned.

  No. Never again.

  “Can he—the Enforcer—sense we escaped?” She got her stuttering under control as he towed her around another corner onto Main, but still panted because his legs were long and strong, and even though she was a wolf, he was out-pacing her.

  “I don’t think so. If he comes after us, we’ll know. But whatever wild or chance magic opened that impossible second portal, it happened inside the pocket dimension. The arcane signature—the magic’s traces—stayed inside when the portal collapsed.”

  “Chance magic? You didn’t open it?”

  “No. Look, I think you’re safe, for now. But I want to get you away from here as soon as possible. Out of Matinsfie
ld.”

  “Me?” They ran east, past a tavern, past the FreshFresh sandwich shop. “What about Sophia?”

  “I’ll deal with her issue after I make sure you’re safe.”

  He was putting her first. Pleasure burst inside her at that.

  Then, as they crossed First Street, she remembered he’d lied to her twice. Supposedly to protect her, but it confused her. Did friends lie to each other?

  She’d offered a truce, until they were out of the prison.

  Now they were out.

  She still hadn’t processed her feelings, and the orgasm only confused things. Worst, her emotions were running rampant—and the last time that had happened, she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.

  She needed to think things through, or at least calm down. So when he ducked into a store’s doorway and reached for her arm, obviously about to hustle her inside, she stopped him.

  “Wait.”

  “What’s wrong?” He stood before her, glasses intensifying the jewels of his eyes, his magnificent chest heaving. “Come inside. My aunt will help you get away.” His pectorals pumped the stretchy knit, and it was all she could do not to throw herself against those stunning cliffs now that she knew firsthand how glorious they were. But…

  “This is all going too fast.”

  “You can’t stay here. Not with the Enforcer wanting to jail you.”

  “I understand. I’ll go. But I need to pick up a few things from home first. A change of clothes and a book.” Her father’s heirloom journal, kept safe from Bruiser by her mother. “I’ll leave from there.”

  “B-but Auntie can help you.”

  His crumpled face and hurt expression cut her to the quick.

  “Gabriel, it’s just that I need to think. To get my head on straight. Look, before we kissed, you held off until you were sure my wolf wasn’t driving me, right? How can I do less?” When he still looked hurt and unsure, she added, “I won’t think straight with your gorgeous body and face anywhere within kissing distance.”

  He blinked. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

  Groaning, she resisted the urge to laugh. She didn’t quite believe he’d only heard that; surely women told him how superb he was? But she nodded.

  He sighed, one hand digging furrows in his hair. “Getting some distance, some perspective, that makes sense. But you should come back here to let my aunt help you escape. I’ll stay out of your way, i-if you really need me to.”

  He was doing everything he could to help her. All she had to do was come back. She could bend that much, couldn’t she? Besides, she needed the help. “All right. Yes, I’ll return.”

  His expression lightened. “Then hurry. But be safe.”

  “I will. You too.”

  She turned to go.

  “Y-you will come back though, won’t you? You won’t leave without Aunt Linda’s help…or saying goodbye to me?”

  The little boy he’d once been peeked out on the last words, thickening her throat with sympathy. But it had taken all her resolve to turn away. She didn’t dare face him now, or she’d throw herself into his strong arms and burrow in forever.

  “I’ll grab my stuff and be right back. Promise.”

  * * *

  She was leaving him.

  Pain knifing his heart, Gabriel’s gaze followed Emma as she strode away. Determination marked the sway of her hips. Yet moments ago her hips swayed with a different beat, that of pleasure.

  Pleasure he’d given her. He held onto that like a lifeline.

  As she crossed the street, warm yellow lamps cast intriguing highlights in her swinging tresses, hair so alive it made him want to spear his fingers into the strands and kiss her again, so hard and deep he imprinted her forever…

  And wouldn’t Ryder love that chance to nail them for good?

  While he ached to run after her, to both protect her and simply to be with her, the thought of Ryder stopped him. That, and she walked with such firmness along the sidewalk— it was apparent she was utterly resolved to leave him.

  Icy despair skewered him at the idea that it might be forever.

  Damned Ryder. If only he wasn’t enhanced with Council magic, if only the limiter wasn’t locked on Gabriel’s ankle like a cement overshoe, he could take the swizzle-stick of a mage out.

  Gabriel was the stronger witch by far, but he was no fool. With his magic bound, solving this mess and saving everyone would take more than brains and good intentions. It would take friends. He pushed open the storefront’s door.

  The familiar bell tinkled as he entered a brightly lit, slightly musty, very cluttered shop.

  His first breath brought him the scent of books, leather, and incense, the smells of comfort and home.

  Around him, crystals, talismans, and wands—from TMNT beginner sticks to serious titanium—scrabbled for space with glittering antique jewelry and thick leather-bound tomes.

  Linda Blue’s Uncommon Night Owl Bookstore was both bookstore and magic shop, and definitely reflected his aunt’s eclectic tastes.

  He shut the door and locked it with the snap of a new-looking bolt then flipped the store sign to Closed. Normally Linda shut up shop around three a.m. but along with Bohemian tastes his aunt had Bohemian hours; it wasn’t unusual for her to stay open until dawn if she felt the urge. He considered activating the wards with a push of power but worried it might snag Ryder’s attention. Probably not, but no sense asking for trouble.

  Then he slapped his head. That clothing stunt had probably already snared Ryder’s attention. Not that he’d know the magic had been Gabriel, but it would tell the Enforcer that someone with magic was running loose on the streets of Matinsfield. Escape from a Council prison was so impossible, a logical person would assume the witch was Aunt Linda. But what if the Enforcer investigated and stumbled across irrefutable evidence that his jailees were free?

  “Gabriel!” Bustling from behind the register, a medicine ball of a woman greeted him, a great big smile plumping her cheeks into apples. “Dear boy, how are you?”

  Despite his troubles, knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders eased just seeing her. Linda had been as much a mom to him growing up as his real mother. After his parents died, she’d become the mother of his heart.

  “Not good, Auntie. Not good at all.” He went to her, arms out, as he had as a little boy.

  She drew him in for a bosom-suffocating hug, knocking his glasses askew. “What’s wrong?”

  “The Council Enforcer wants to execute Sophia.” His words sounded muffled to him as oxygen became scarce. “And now he’s after Emma and me too.”

  “That’s terrible! What can I do?”

  His vision started to go spangled around the edges. In his de-oxygenated state, he had the irreverent thought that, though both an alpha wolf and a rival witch wanted to kill him, it would take his little old aunt to actually do it.

  “Let up on the hug?” His own voice sounded faraway.

  She released him.

  He straightened and pulled in a bushel of air, letting it out on a three count before adjusting his glasses and breathing normally. “I’ll explain everything, but first I need you to put a muddle spell over some power I pulled in front of the Matinsfield B-and-B. I don’t want the Enforcer to get a full taste to analyze.” Active magic popped up on the etheric. Traces lingered that could be used to get a witch’s identity and even location, which was why the muddle spell.

  Thank goodness Gabriel himself wouldn’t show up on the etheric. Power betrayed itself in certain visible signs, especially in the eyes, but magic could only be sensed in things or when actively used, not in witches themselves.

  “Of course, dear.” Linda headed for the door, heels clicking away. “Although why aren’t you doing it? A little magic shouldn’t drain a wizard prince. Are you not eating right? Taking your vitamins?”

  “No, Auntie. Yes, Auntie.”

  “Hmm. Well, we’ll go into it in a moment.” Linda unbolted the door and started chanting. “Whisk-whisk
clean-clean, obscure the trail to anyone mean.”

  An angry rattle of beads came from the back of the store.

  Gabriel spun, thousands of hours of training automatically kicking in. Alert, relaxed, he fell into fighting stance, feeling for his talisman belt…which he’d left behind in the bubble jail, damn it. But his wand defied even the membranes between realities to appear in his guarding fist.

  “What the fuck?” Pan, his voice at its most strident, cut through Linda’s chanting. “Where the hell have you been?”

  Gabriel relaxed, his wand disappearing as his black-haired familiar stalked up—and whacked him upside the head.

  “Ow. What was that for?”

  “For not messaging me. What’s going on? Last I knew you were meeting me here. I thought you had the fast car. Even stopping by the garage first, I beat you here.”

  “We were delayed, not my fault. I went to parlay with the Enforcer.” Gabriel motioned his familiar to come with him as his aunt finished her spell and shut and relocked the door. “Noah’s in a bad way, so I tried to get his wife released first. Didn’t quite go as I planned.” Opening Aunt Linda’s charms cabinet, Gabriel began sorting through the various amulets and talismans, tossing bits of metal, wood, and string clicking and clanking onto a nearby countertop. “That wasn’t my fault either.”

  “Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much.” Pan’s eyebrow arched chidingly—Gabriel could almost hear the damn thing scolding him. One of his professors likened the three magical types to Freud’s psyche parts: shifters as id, witches as ego, and familiars as superego, aka parent. Pan did his job as Gabriel’s parent almost too well—he sometimes reduced him to feeling about four years old.

  “Mostly not my fault,” Gabriel muttered from inside the cabinet. “But I’m hiding from a certain member of the arcane police who must remain nameless until we counter any magical ears. Auntie, do you still have that Cone of Silence charm?”