Mohegan: A Siren's Spell Romance

by Stella Marie Alden

  “Oh fuck, Olivia. You feel so damned good.” My right hand tightens on the back of her neck while my left cups her breast.

  Before she can respond, I claim her mouth, loving the softness of her lips and the small grown that escapes. Kissing her deeper, harder, I hold her captive. When she opens for me, I thrust my tongue in an out, letting her know my intent as I back her onto the bed.

  She falls onto her elbows with her legs open, mouth wide, and taut nipples pointing toward the ceiling.

  When this is over, I want her to remember me, Mohegan, the alpha-healer, not some random guy who wasn’t strong enough to leave his dick in his pants when hit by a lust-spell.

  I’m going to worship you, Olivia, from head to toe.

  Before I can begin, she sits, winds her fingers around my cock and sweet Jesus, pulses healing energy into it. I grow so fucking hard my balls tighten, my back muscles tighten and I’m damn near ready to shoot my load.

  “Baby, no. Hold on. Not so fast.” With both hands shaking, I pull her fingers off me and kiss her hand but she fights and grabs me again, wrapping her legs around my thighs, her mouth near the tip of my cock.

  My God, what a wild woman.

  I push her back onto the mattress, I straddle her, and grab both wrists over her head. Then I kiss her until she stops struggling.

  “Do you always take the lead?”

  “What?” She pants, her aura turning deep violet with sexual want.

  Chuckling, I grab a tie off from her drapes, and bind her hands behind her back. “Anyone ever do that to you?”

  “No.” Her eyes widen, the centers so wide, the green is almost covered.

  “Good. Be a nice witch and let me prepare you.” I make sure her aura’s okay with my kind of foreplay before putting my mouth to her body.

  I lean over and devour her lips again, enjoying how she squirms under me, trying to break free. When she moans, it’s time to leave there with a little goodbye-nibble. Then, I kiss her jaw, down her neck, and my tongue plays into the space of her collar bone.

  Shuddering, she tries to open her legs but I squeeze them closed with my thighs. She’s teased me all night, and I’m going for some retribution.

  Her nipple grows hard at the flick of my tongue and she arches, crying out, “Mohegan, please. Untie me.”

  A bright aurora flares, blinding me with colors of passion, lust, and desire. This is exactly where I want her to be. Slowly, I make my way down her body, kissing and tasting. I take a small pit-stop at that amazing little belly ring. It does irrational things to my cock, so I stay and play for a while, letting my right-hand slide between her legs.

  Those thick curls are slick, wet, and dripping just for me. My cock says ‘move it along’ so I scramble down her body, kneel on the floor, and pull her butt to the edge of the bed. When I spread her legs wide and stare at those beautiful, glistening folds, my balls tighten.

  “Mohegan.” Green eyes stare down at me between her knees, lids half closed.

  More turned on than I can ever recall, I lick her clit front to back, fucking mesmerized how her eyes roll up into her head. Wanting to see her come, I play her taunt folds with the tip of my tongue, driving her wild. With two fingers into her, I curl my knuckles while sucking on her nub.

  She screams, rocking on my fingers.

  Ah fuck, I’m so damn into this, so close, I don’t want to stop.

  “Condom?”

  “Don’t need one.” She’s panting, her aura truthful. “Mohegan. I mean it. We’re good. Fuck me now, hard and fast. Do it.”

  The thought of entering her with no barrier lets loose the Neanderthal within. He wants to spoil her for all other men. Taking a deep breath, I slow it down, take it easy, and climb up her body, stopping once again to play with her navel ring and suck her tits.

  There’s a wildness in her eyes as she arches and clenches the sheets with her fists. “God Dammit.”

  She holds her breath, tightens all of her muscles, and I stop, watching how damn beautiful she is in heat. Then I slide my index finger across her nub, her gorgeous eyes open, and her mouth forms this amazing ‘oh.’

  Our gazes lock, she quivers and comes.

  I did this to her. Male satisfaction overcomes me and in that brief instant, I have an epiphany. I’ve been choosing sex partners all wrong. What I need is a strong woman like this, willing to give me everything and more.

  Sweet Goddess. Reeling with that revelation, I place my cock at her entrance and thrust in until my balls hit her curls. She bucks fast, uninhibited and I’m already so damn hard, it’s tough to hold back but I do.

  I want her good and high for as long as I can hold out but she drives me to the brink of madness. Arching, bouncing off the bed, her boobs jiggle in my face.

  Lubricated by our sweat, I thrust into her, fully.

  She’s so, damn, damn good.

  On my elbows, my knees press hers open, and I pull out all the way. Repeatedly, I do this while she moans.

  This is how a woman like her should be taken. She needs to know the joy of having someone make her come instead of finding her own need.

  I work her into a frenzy until she’s screaming and yelling out my name.

  “Mine. Olivia. Say it.” My balls tighten and the back of my spine coils as she locks her heels into the small of my back and holds on tight.

  “I’m yours, Mohegan. Now move it!”

  Shouting, I thrust one final time and reach my fucking high.

  My liquids shoots forth and fill her, flowing down her legs as she milks me dry.

  My God, I’m in heaven. That was the best damn fuck ever.

  Still high, I untie her wrists and roll her onto my chest while her aura pulses to the beat of my heart.

  It’s never been like this before, never.

  While we come down off from sex, I play with her hair and she catches her breath, cheek to my chest. All soft and relaxed, her fingers trace my nipples and pull on my small curls.

  If I wasn’t a goner, I am now.

  If I could see her adoring gaze the rest of my life, I might die a happy man. I try to find the words to tell her but as I rehearse inside my head, everything sounds trite.

  “Olivia. You’re amazing.” That’s the best I got given the fact my mind is blown.

  “Me too.” She smiles, candlelight dancing across her face, and I groan.

  Generally, there’s this awkward moment when a woman has second thoughts and I wait for it while we cuddle. When it doesn’t come, I slowly pull out of her sweet sheath, missing our connection, wondering when we can do it again.

  She puts butterfly kisses on my chest and says, “Thank you.”

  “Thank you? Wow.” My ego whooshes out and suddenly I feel like a man-whore.

  “What’s wrong with thank you?” Her mouth drops open at my tone and she scoots back on the mattress.

  “I don’t know.” Grumbling, I get out of her bed, needing to cover myself up with more than a towel. In the bathroom, my jeans are still soaked but I don’t care and slide the cold, sandy fabric up and over my ass.

  She grabs the candle and pads across the hall, eyes all wide and innocent. “I don’t get it. What did I say?”

  “You don’t thank a man for having sex with you, babe.” My wet t-shirt chills me to the bone but it’s nothing compared to her words.

  “Why not?” With hands on hips, an angry aura starts to flare.

  I let her see more of mine. “Because it makes everything feel cheap, okay?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I always say thank–”

  “Don’t make this worse than it already is.”

  Shit. Now she’s lumping me with all her other lovers?

  I put my finger over her lips.

  “Worse? You thought I was bad?” With bright red splotches on the tops of her cheeks she swivels on a heel and heads back into the bedroom.

  Something crashes against a wall and shatters as she mumbles a curse under her breath, “Fuck
all men to hell!”

  “I didn’t mean....” Forget it. I wish I could get on my bike and ride away but I’m not an idiot. The storm is in full force.

  Instead, I grab the bottle of vodka and take a swig. What the hell had I expected? She’s a sea-witch. Hadn’t I learned that from my ex? They’re wild like the ocean, impossible to hold onto, and will steal your heart forever. From what I’m told, my mother was just like her, my father under her spell.

  Ball and shackle. Ball and shackle. That’s the new beat of my heart and I’d like to strangle her.

  Who the hell thanks someone for sex unless it’s a paid transaction?

  I head downstairs to the healing room cot, unable to fall asleep while the storm rages on.

  What if I can’t figure out how to break the hold she has on me? I check the bars on my cell phone but there’s still none. I’ll just have to sit tight and start researching tomorrow. There’s got to be other references to this unnatural attraction.

  I must’ve slept some because when I open my eyes, the sun is sparkling in my face, bouncing off the waves. The ocean is still angry as it crashes against the shore and I wonder if Olivia has anything to do with that.

  In the tea room, the witch left plenty of the lust-busting tea in the pot, steeping all night. It’s so strong that I gag before I’m able to swallow. Quietly exiting, I text Fialko about my bike, and head out. I wonder how long I have before I’ll need to fuck her again.

  The dark foreboding has returned and I follow the urge, stopping first for caffeine at a local joint. After downing my coffee, I toss my cup, acid burning my stomach lining. I should eat but the urgency to ride is greater. So, I sniff the air, turn with my eyes closed, and stretch. With the direction clear, I straddle my bike and head north toward trouble.

  My internal GPS sends me on local roads, the ocean at my right. Multi-million-dollar mansions top the dunes, white balconies striping the blue sky. On the Garden State Parkway, cars are going about eighty. Soon, Atlantic City skyscrapers loom in the distance and I exit.

  Shit. Everyone knows this town is a den of vipers. Most of my kind stay clear and if I had an ounce of sense, so would I.

  My grandfather called my talent for finding adversity a gift, believing it would disappear if ever I ignored it. For me, it’s both a curse and an addiction. I can no more ignore this blessed calling than I can ignore breathing. Sure, for a few minutes I can hold it back but like inhaling, I can either follow where it leads or spend days agonizing over who I could’ve saved.

  There’s a couple other males with this talent including my father but he didn’t live long enough to explain how it works. I barely remember him except for this sense of well-being whenever he was around. I haven’t felt anything like that except for this morning. Well, until the sea-witch thanked me for sex.

  I park my bike across the street and keep watch at the house with the aura similar to what Olivia described. It’s the weirdest shit. Like she said, the house actually exudes a kind of dark, smoky atmosphere. Mostly young men on bikes or clunkers drive up, stop, and enter the building. They leave shortly thereafter, a clear sign of drug dealing.

  The odd thing is, when the men leave, their auras are enhanced, as if they’ve gained more power.

  I’m one of only a dozen talented male healers in the US, so you can imagine how seeing this surprises me. The only thing to do, if I want to learn more, is pretend to be one of them.

  I sit and meditate making my own aura barely detectable, a trick I learned from my grandfather. Key off, I park my bike and cross the crumbling asphalt. Perhaps built in the thirties, the house leans at an odd angle and probably hasn’t seen a coat of paint in over a decade. When the front steps creak under my boots, I wonder if they’ll hold my weight.

  More careful to ignore the rotting boards, I open the rusty screen door, and knock. I’d ring but the doorbell is gone, wires hanging out of a hole in the frame.

  A middle-aged man with an aura similar to those I’ve been monitoring all morning answers, “Yeah?”

  “I’m here to change.” My emotions in check, I focus on keeping my aura hidden because I’ve no idea how much these quasi-witches can read.

  He chuckles. “Change? Is that what we’re calling it, now? Sure, pal. C’mon in. Follow me. You have to answer a few questions, first.”

  I join a line of five men in a small living room, some sweating profusely, all showing signs of drug abuse. In the dining room, a dark-skinned man covered in tats sits at a laptop, asking questions of a light guy in a folding chair. Beside them, a healing witch taps on a syringe at eye level where she waits with an evil smile, and even worse aura. From where I stand, she’s the only one with real talent and the one I need to watch out for most.

  When the addict stops talking, he rolls up his sleeve, and gets injected with a clear liquid.

  “Oh fuck, man. That is so fucking good.” His eyes roll and the light around his body glows in a putrid yellow but the part that tells me he has power, is greater than it was before.

  The one behind the computer says, “Remember what I said.”

  “Sure, sure. You got it. I’ll be back. This shit is too good to waste.”

  The next one in line steps up to the table and sits. I’m too far away to hear what is said but apparently it isn’t what laptop-man wants to hear. Even if I couldn’t sense murder in his aura, I’d see it in his body language.

  I’ve seen a lot of killers. The pair in the dining room are cold and cruel. The woman picks up a different syringe and injects it into the addict. For a moment he’s ecstatic, then he clutches at his chest and falls onto the floor, gurgling, foaming at the mouth.

  “Take care of him.” Laptop-man nods at the guy in front of me who jumps to drag the dead man out of the house. God knows where they’ll bury him and how many are out there.

  I work like hell to pull my shit together, not wanting to blow my cover to the witch with the syringe. Quickly, I glance at the stained carpet, hoping to play the part of a subordinate. If I’m discovered, I’ll no doubt join the rest of the dead guys buried in the backyard.

  I know his type. He’s a dangerous predator in a cheap business suit.

  “Who the fuck are you?” The fortyish, yo-ne-ga, Cheyanne for not-real-man, glances up over his reading glasses.

  Channeling my inner low-life, I lean back with my chin jutted out, cross my arms over my chest, and say, “I saw some action and wanted in.”

  “You’re no addict.” Brows furrowed, he glances up at the witch who nods, reaching for the same vial that killed the guy ahead of me in line.

  For her benefit, I let a little of my aura flare. “I didn’t know there were pre-requisites.”

  The witch behind me tap-taps on a plastic syringe, making me nervous so I roll up my sleeve and glance with what I hope is hunger at the syringe. In truth, my heart is racing. I hate putting any kind of shit into my body.

  “What I really want, is more power.”

  He grabs my wrist and twists, checking for track marks. “Not so fast. Have you ever done any dirty work?”

  “I’ve killed a few here and there but they deserved it. Y’know?”

  This seems to be the right answer because the accountant types my name into the computer, along with where I can be reached.

  Finished, he gives the woman a nod.

  “Give me your arm.” She inserts the needle into a vial and I’ll be damned if I know which flavor I’m getting.

  Dead or alive?

  Slowly she raises the needle to my eyes, clamps onto my arm, and digs the stinging needle deep into my vein.

  Oh shit.

  Chapter Eight

  Olivia

  I hardly slept a wink after the weird fight with Mohegan. So, when morning comes, my head drags itself off my pillow as I strain to look out the window. The clouds have cleared and the sun sparkles on a huge puddle that used to be my parking lot.

  While my guest uses the downstairs bathroom, I yawn, shrug on my clothes,
and open up my senses. The air is buzzing with electricity, the hairs on my arm stand on end, and my teeth chatter even though it’s warm.

  I’ve never had this kind of unrest before so it has to be coming from him. Thankfully, it’s going to take him a few minutes to call Jack to find his motorcycle. When my front door slams, I’m ready. Grabbing my sneakers, I slosh through the ankle-high water, open the door to my VW, and jump in.

  As I slowly back out onto the main drag, I know Mohegan’s about to do something stupid. It probably has to do with the evil from last night. Dammit all. This isn’t his problem or Jack’s. It’s mine and no one, not even an egotistical, one-named witch cleans up after me.

  I try not to recall how good the sex was last night as I trail him up the block. Sure, we were mind-blowing together but it was a one-night thing. It’s a lust spell, for crying out loud. Nothing more.

  I could kill him for finishing off the tea and leaving me hot and bothered.

  He keeps walking toward the garage, phone to his ear. When he meets Jack, the two men talk and I wish to hell I knew what they were saying.

  When Mohegan’s motorcycle roars, I ease off my brakes. There’s only two directions he can go, north or south. Following is easy until I almost miss the turn where he veers off onto the parkway. Luckily, his loud muffler needs some work.

  I wonder why he doesn’t see me in his rear view. Maybe he does and doesn’t care. Maybe the homing-pigeon urge is so focused, it ignores everything else. Whatever it is, I’m on his ass all the way to Atlantic City until traffic thins to nothing. At that point, I begin to rely on this connection I have with him, sitting still at every intersection. If I don’t hear the grumble of his engine, I can use the pull in my heart to find the way.

  As he makes more and more turns into the worst section of the city my heart races. He’s going to get himself killed. Worse yet, I’m following. I almost cry out for him to stop when he parks outside a condemned building with rough men milling about.

  Men with auras of the addicted come and go as I drive around the block a couple times. Then, I park down the street with a view of the house hoping no one is watching because I stand out like a sore thumb.