Frustrated, unaware of the subtly of his control, Anne pushed down, but still he held her fast. “Paul,” she moaned, drawing out the syllable in a whining mewl of need.
“What is it, wench? What is it you want, hmm?” Again she pushed, telling him with her body she needed to feel his cock thrust up inside her. She needed it desperately, all the more desperately because of his refusal. “Tell me,” he commanded.
“You,” she managed, lust overtaking her completely. “I need you to fuck me. Now! Just like this. Fuck me hard. Please!”
“Ah,” Paul’s voice was low and throaty, his cock like a sword ready to plunge into her. “I never refuse a lady’s plea.” With strong arms he lowered her, controlling the penetration with agonizing slowness. Anne’s vaginal muscles clamped down, spasms of desperate pleasure arcing through her with each inch of his offered manhood.
When at last he’d settled her fully against his lap, his cock buried deep inside the hot clench of her sex, Paul began to move, tilting and undulating beneath Anne. He was breathing hard, the tendons in his neck standing out as he moaned his pleasure into her ear.
Together they danced, Anne safe and tight in Paul’s strong embrace, his cock sending delicious spirals of pleasure swirling into every nook and cranny of her being. Anne felt her climax rising, swelling over her, consuming her. She was no longer Anne, or at least no longer aware of herself, except as she pertained to Paul’s cock, pummeling and thrusting inside of her, drawing the tidal wave of pleasure over them both, obliterating the world for one perfect, sustained moment.
The water was hot, its soft oils easing and soothing Anne’s muscles as she came to herself. Somehow in the moments after that searing orgasm, Paul had slid back down into the water, his cock still buried inside of her, his arms still firmly around her. Anne felt an incredible languor, as if she couldn’t move, every muscle completely fatigued, perfectly used.
“That was amazing,” Paul whispered into her hair. Anne felt a flush of embarrassment and pleasure at his words. With what strength she had left, she eased herself from him and with his help, settled herself next to him in the tub.
Paul pressed a button in a panel along the wall and a shelf folded itself down. On the shelf were several bottles of shampoo and conditioner. He selected one and squirted a dollop into his hand. Lifting Anne’s heavy mane of wet hair, he began to lather it, carefully and thoroughly washing it. He rinsed it with a detachable showerhead, running the clear, warm water over her head as Anne closed her eyes, surrendering herself utterly to his spa treatment.
He wrapped her hair in a thick white towel and then proceeded to wash his own. No one had ever washed Anne’s hair before. She felt something inside her soul shift and open, like a secret door to a tiny reserved place. More than the wild sex, the amazing magic, the incredible tenderness, this single act of ministration moved Anne. She began to cry, not raging sobs, but cleansing, pure tears of gratitude.
“Thank you,” she whispered, too softly for Paul to hear.
Chapter 10
Anne sighed happily. It was hard to believe she was the same person she had been before Paul had entered her world—weary and disconsolate, feeling on some level her life was over at thirty-two. Then it had been an effort just to drag herself out of bed.
Now she felt more than alive. Was this what it was like to fall head over heels in love? She had to admit her beginning relationship with Greg had been nothing like this. It had been a slow easing into camaraderie, friendship and finally love. This sort of fiery passion she and Paul were experiencing—Anne had always been convinced such feelings only existed in love songs and romance novels.
Perhaps it wouldn’t last. Perhaps this was just some kind of reentry into the world of potential love, a short bridge of passion to be crossed over before reentering real life. Paul would tire of her—the magical, stunningly handsome warlock probably had a bevy of beautiful women eagerly waiting for his call, his visit, his charms…
Anne shook her head. If that were the case, then so be it. If she never saw him again, what they’d shared these past two days had been incredible. Just to realize such intensity of feeling could exist. That alone was worth the pain of loss, should he choose to leave her now.
And the magic! How utterly thrilling to discover a whole secret world, a world intricately interwoven into mortal life with most people never aware of the secret spells and incantations swirling around them.
Paul had said the magical community was small and even dwindling, yet nonetheless, there were others like him. Human but not quite human—able to change their physical guise, able to live centuries where mere mortals lived decades. It was hard to fathom, mind-boggling to attempt to grasp the significance of such extended life and enhanced ability. A part of Anne naturally still rejected the whole concept of witches and warlocks, magic and spells. Could it really be an elaborate hoax or some kind of hypnosis?
Yet another part of her thrilled to the concept, eager to accept the notion of a secret, magical world somehow nestled between the folds of mortal reality she had always assumed was all there was. And how else to explain the amazing things Paul had revealed to her? The simple spells, his telepathy, the crystal ball, even the magically filled and heated tub?
Anne thought about the modicum of magic she herself now already knew. Paul had promised he would teach her several simple spells. He’d begun right after their lovemaking in the bathtub with the blocking spell, at her request. Though she trusted Paul, the thought of anyone poking about in her head was disconcerting.
He’d taught her the words—strange words that required a twisting of the tongue she hadn’t yet mastered. He explained for the spell to work most effectively, she had to look the witch or warlock straight in the eye, and while it wasn’t necessary to speak the words aloud, unless one was quite skilled, the spell was much more effective with the spoken word.
Anne had practiced, staring into Paul’s dark beautiful eyes. She had only his word to go on if the spell was working or not. She’d been frustrated as he’d kindly but honestly admitted she wasn’t making much headway. “I’m afraid you’re definitely not a dormant witch,” he had said, laughing. “But don’t worry. These things take time. Your tongue isn’t yet used to shaping the sounds you’ll need for magic.”
He’d suggested something easier—an immobilization spell, one of the simplest incantations that all fledglings were taught to give them confidence in their ability at the start. In Paul’s large kitchen he kept a birdcage, a huge affair with enough room for the lovebirds housed there to fly and swoop, if they so chose.
“We can practice with the birds,” he said. “I’ll make us some breakfast while you give it a go. This spell also works best if you can see the face of your subject, though it’s not essential. I know it’s hard to catch a bird’s eye, but they will look at you if you come close to their cage.”
“It won’t hurt them, will it?” Anne didn’t want her first bit of magic to harm a bird.
“No, of course not. It only prevents mobility for a time. It doesn’t last very long—perhaps five minutes. Long enough to get away from someone or to prevent them from doing something stupid. The subject is frozen in a manner of speaking. They are completely unharmed but also completely immobile. When the spell wears off, they have no recollection of it.”
While Paul had toasted bread, fried bacon and made coffee, Anne practiced her spell. “Anah rrrrathra. Anah hebuk. Woiyek, woiyek, wigafey.” Over and over she tried these nonsense syllables, attempting to mimic Paul’s rendition precisely.
“The r on the first syllable of rathra needs to be farther back in your throat. If you’re familiar with Arabic, that’s the guttural feel you’re going for,” Paul offered, listening as he prepared breakfast. “And you need to pause a fraction of a second longer between the two woiyeks.”
Though she didn’t speak Arabic, Anne had always been good at foreign languages in school. She tried very hard now to imitate him precisely. Over and over she
said the spell, tilting her head in an attempt to catch the beady eye of her subject. On the seventh try one of the birds suddenly stiffened, swaying on his perch, his birdsong cut off in mid-tremolo.
“Wow!” Anne cried. “I did it! I did it! I cast a magic spell!” She couldn’t take her eyes from the seemingly frozen bird. Its partner darted and hopped near it, no doubt agitated by the sudden change in her mate.
Paul stepped over, his voice admiring. “That’s my girl. I honestly didn’t expect it so soon. Perhaps I was too quick to judge earlier. While you are no witch, you do have some ability as a novice. There have been mortals known in the magical community for their skills with simple spells and potions that do not require innate magic to perform. Perhaps you are destined to enter their ranks.”
Anne wasn’t particularly sure she wanted to enter such ranks but the spell had been thrilling. To know she had cast a magic spell, just with the way she shaped sounds in her mouth. Now several hours later she sat in her living room, practicing the sounds again and again, wrapping her mouth around the strange words.
The intercom buzzed and Anne pushed it to release the front door. Paul was early—they’d agreed to meet again that evening around six and it was only a little after five. Anne smiled to herself, pleased her lover was so eager to see her again he couldn’t wait a moment longer.
Paul was going to take her around Central Park in a horse-drawn carriage at sunset. Anne knew it was a touristy thing to do but she loved the idea just the same. Greg and she had always meant to do it but somehow had never found the time.
Glancing at herself in the hall mirror she moved to the door. She could hear Paul’s footsteps on the stairs. He knocked and she swung the door open, her lips already tingling in anticipation of his kiss.
“Well, I must say, I didn’t think I’d receive such an easy welcome, Anne. Do you release the lock for anyone who buzzes? Or were you expecting someone?”
Anne stared for a moment at the tall man, trying to place the ice blue eyes, the long narrow nose, the thick blond hair brushed straight back from his high forehead. Adrenaline began to pulse like a drug through her body. Langley. Robert Langley.
Anne tried to close the door but Langley stuck his foot in the way. “Hey,” he said, his voice gentle, even contrite. “Don’t shut me out without giving me a chance to apologize. I just wanted to say how sorry I was for the horrible way I behaved at Donner’s party.” He thrust out the hand he’d had behind his back, revealing a huge bouquet of lush roses, deep red and clustered together amidst baby’s breath, wrapped in a funnel of green tissue paper.
Confused, Anne stepped back and Langley pressed his advantage, pushing the door with his shoulder as he stepped across the sill, smiling down, the flowers held in front of him like a peace offering.
“I’m sorry,” Anne said coldly. “I am expecting someone. That’s why I buzzed you up. I thought you were him.” Anne glanced at her watch.
“I understand,” Langley said smoothly. “And I won’t keep you. I just wanted to apologize again and to offer these roses as a small token of my sincerity.”
Anne took the roses. There must be two dozen there—by the quality she knew he must have spent a small fortune on them. “Well,” she said uncertainly, somewhat mollified by his gesture. “Thank you. I guess you’d had more to drink than you’d realized.”
“I must have,” Langley said, his voice rueful. “I hope I didn’t behave in a way that was improper but I have a feeling I did. I honestly don’t remember what happened. I remember being at the party. I had quite a bit to drink. I remember you there—the most beautiful woman in a room is hard to forget.” He paused as if waiting for Anne’s reaction. She simply stared up at him, the flowers cradled in her arms. He went on. “Then it’s—blank. I think it’s what they call a blackout. It’s a wakeup call, I guess. A warning to me that whiskey and I don’t mix, at least not well. I came to on a couch in a hallway, my head splitting in two, several nervous hotel employees hovering over me. My first thought was of you, Anne. You’ve been through a tough year—losing your husband, your job…”
“I didn’t lose my job,” Anne interjected, annoyed. “I quit to pursue other interests. And how did you get my address anyway?”
“Bennett gave it to me. I’m quite tight with your boss, er, with Bob Bennett and the boys down at the firm. I told him I’d just heard of your loss and wanted to send you flowers. He gave me your address. All harmless, I assure you. I just wanted to come by and apologize for anything I might have done and, as I say, offer my condolences on your bereavement.”
Anne stood uncertainly. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge Robert Langley. She’d seen alcohol make more than a few people act in ways they never would have when sober.
“Aren’t you going to put them in water?” He smiled at her, perfect white teeth in a handsome if somewhat cold face. His features were regular, his body long and lean, the body of a natural athlete who looked as if he’d developed his muscles sailing his boat and playing tennis on private courts. Dressed in a white button-down shirt and khaki pants instead of the tuxedo he’d been wearing the night before, Robert Langley still seemed to carry himself like an aristocrat, someone a cut above the rest, at least in his own estimation.
His mouth was sensual or would have been except for a perpetual sort of sneer that seemed to curl one side slightly upward. This sneer, coupled with the piercing blue eyes gave his face an animation it might have otherwise lacked. He had a sort of dangerous look many women seemed to find appealing.
Anne’s natural inclination toward good manners now that the man stood in her home, now that she’d accepted his roses and his apology, made her uncomfortable to keep him standing in her foyer. If he really was trying to make amends, she should respond in kind.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll put them in a vase. I am expecting company, as I said. But this was kind of you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
“Thank you, Anne. That’s all I wanted to hear. Listen, do you think before I go I could have a glass of water? It’s a bit warm outside.”
Anne took a breath, her instincts telling her to refuse him, etiquette making her say, “Of course. I’ll just get you a glass. I won’t be a moment.”
“I’ll come with you. I love to see how these old brownstones have been redecorated.” He looked admiringly around the room as they walked toward the kitchen. “So much you can do with these small spaces.” Anne set the huge bouquet on the counter by the sink. She poured him a glass of water and handed it to him, watching as he drank.
He sat the empty glass down on the counter and smiled at her. “Hit the spot,” he said. Moving closer to her, he added, his voice suddenly soft, “It’s been hard, hasn’t it? Being alone. A widow. A young, lovely woman such as yourself with no one to care for you.”
Anne swallowed and took a step back. Langley moved forward. He reached out his hand, touching her cheek. “I said I was sorry, Anne, for whatever I might have done. The truth is, I’ve always found you incredibly attractive. Even when Greg was—I mean, before, when we worked together. You were so no-nonsense then, all business. I loved seeing the softer side of you last night. So beautiful and feminine in that gorgeous gown, your hair swept up like a queen’s.” He touched a long, curling tress of Anne’s hair and she took another step back.
“Listen, Robert. I’m seeing someone. He was with me last night, if you’ll recall. It’s very nice of you to have brought me roses and at another time I might be more receptive to your, uh, compliments, but I’m not available. I’m sorry but that’s the way it is.”
The sneer returned to Langley’s mobile mouth. He stepped back, his eyes cold, though his voice remained pleasant. “I’m sorry to hear that, Anne. I didn’t realize you’d already have a lover so soon after—” He broke off, perhaps observing Anne’s scowl. Trying another tack, he continued. “I have to admit I find you very attractive. I always have. I’d love the chance to get to know you better. I could offer you a l
ot, Anne. At the risk of being immodest, I’m probably worth twenty times whatever that guy is worth. I know how to treat a lady right, I promise you. These roses are nothing. I could fill your house with them if you liked. There are a lot of women who’d love to go out with me. I’m listed in the Who’s Who as one of New York’s most eligible bachelors. Of all the women I could have, I’m choosing you, Anne. I hope you realize that.”
Anne couldn’t help a snort of laughter. Was the man for real? “No offense, Robert, but you sound like you’re campaigning for a girlfriend. You obviously don’t know me at all if you think the promise of a bunch of flowers and being seen on the arm of someone listed in some stupid society vanity publication is going to sweep me off my feet.”
Langley’s expression darkened. “I apologize if I seemed to be trying to sell myself to you. I remember you as a go-getter. Someone with her eye on the prize who would stop at nothing to get a deal done. I thought you’d appreciate my direct approach.”
“That was business, Robert. I was an investment banker, a professional. I don’t apply that sort of thinking to affairs of the heart.” Taking the roses from the counter, still in their green tissue paper, she handed them back to Langley.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accepted these. It wasn’t fair, given what your intentions are. I can’t take them. I accept your apology for last night. I think you should go now.”
Langley’s eyes flashed as he blocked her effort to hand him the flowers with his forearm. “Keep ’em,” he snarled. “Take them to your husband’s grave next time you visit.” Turning, he left the kitchen. Anne heard the front door slam. She stared unseeing into space, his last words echoing in her brain as the roses slipped from her fingers.
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