Never Been Witched

by BLAIR, ANNETTE

  “I am not a pro!”

  “I didn’t mean a hooker.” Morgan’s ears caught fire; that’s how embarrassed he was.

  “Morgan Jarvis, I’ll have you know that I only have sex with men I care about. You’re my fourth . . . relationship.”

  “This is a relationship?” He could feel his cock shrinking. Going into hiding, as it were.

  “Of course, it is. We’re friends, aren’t we? We’ve been attracted from the first, haven’t we?”

  Morgan swallowed. “Have we?”

  “Sure, or we wouldn’t have cared enough to watch, follow, bait, research, attract, and generally annoy the wandering widdershins out of each other. We would simply have walked away.”

  “But we couldn’t walk,” he said. “What do you mean, research?”

  “You asked my sisters about me, and I asked your friends about you. It’s called research.”

  “Questions. Right,” he said. “We’re in a relationship.” Which made him feel better about this whole sex thing. “I like the way you’re bringing the big guy back to life—brother do I—but I’d like to get to first base for the first time in my life without a precipitous foul out, if you know what I mean.”

  “Then let’s go for the homer. Once you’ve hit your first, it’ll get easier to go the distance. Nothing to do but dispense with the clothes.”

  To Morgan’s shock, she pulled her Orgasm Donor shirt over her head, and slipped her jeans down her legs. The panties she still wore were the same purple as her bra and made of lace so he could see her blond nest quite well beneath them.

  Turned out, he had a stronger heart than he thought.

  “Here,” she said, pushing her breasts his way. “I’m betting you need some bra unhooking practice.”

  He tried. He honestly did. But those beautiful breasts—the very things he wanted to get at—were in his way. “Are you mocking me with those twinkling eyes?”

  “Of course not, but you’ll lose your badge for sure if you can’t do this. Every Eagle Scout knows how to unhook a bra. Do what you do best. Get logical, Professor.”

  “Okay, not sex. Logic.” Morgan stopped thinking with his hyperactive cock. Logic said to fold the bra at the point of connection and pull both halves in opposite directions.

  “Wahoo!” Destiny cheered and jumped, like a cheer-leader on speed, so that no matter how often he grabbed for them, he couldn’t get those puppies into his hands where he wanted them. As if to prove him right, she spread her legs and raised her arms as if she were about to do a real witch cheer—her, um, pom-poms, jiggling before his glazed eyes.

  “Three cheers

  For the eagle,

  The hawk,

  The scout.

  “No sport like sex

  For a virgin ex.

  Tattoos to schmooze.

  Nothing to lose.

  “A home for your cock,

  Like a sheath or a sock,

  But warmer and wetter.

  Nothing feels better.”

  Morgan thought he might short circuit from sensual overload. Still wearing only her purple lace panties, she ended ass up, legs spread wide, and bent over double.

  Then she bounced up and turned to face him. His knees nearly buckled at the sight of her full breasts—had they inflated when she bent over like that? Oxygen, please. Her taut nipples with their wide russet aureolas made him so hungry, he wiped his mouth in the event of drool before he finally grabbed those puppies, two hands full. “Mine,” he said.

  She slid her panties down, barely, first one side, then the other, inch by inch, walking them down her legs so slowly as to make his cock jump to attention. Then this dynamite woman stood before him. Destiny. His for the taking. Dreams did come true.

  She lay on the bed and opened her arms. “Climb on.”

  “A virgin could have a coronary from such an invitation.”

  Mounting his favorite woman meant mounting a rebellion of the first order against the mistakes of his past.

  Destiny took him in hand, slid him into her tight, slick center, and pulsed all around him, and Morgan understood that a man could travel beyond the promised land during such an experience.

  “The eagle has landed,” Destiny said, raising her hips to pull him deeper.

  Pleasure roared in his ears. Satisfaction, or the ultimate promise of it. A silk sheath, pulsing around him. “This is like nothing, nothing I’ve ever—”

  “Don’t move,” she warned, barely stopping him in time. “This stage is not for the faint of heart, First-Timer. Get used to the feel of me gloving you before you try anything fancy.”

  “But I’m aching to move, Kismet, or I’ll die, I tell you.”

  “If you wanna last more than one surge, take a couple of deep breaths. Cup my breasts, kiss me.”

  He surged without meaning to. “Your words made me do that, and I just realized that I got foreplay, and you didn’t.” He’d die if this ended in a rush. “I’m afraid this’ll happen without you.”

  “Hey, you think this is our only shot? We have the rest of two weeks. You are so screwed.”

  Screwed and unglued. No words ever sounded kinkier. “And, Kismet, you’re the one who’s screwed. Once I get the hang of this, watch out.” He kissed one of her nipples as if it were sacred, with reverence and a great deal of emotional and physical investment. He closed his mouth over the nubbin, suckled, gave it a tug, and pride filled him when Destiny moved her body beneath his, along his length, making them both shudder in hot expectation.

  “You liked that?” she asked.

  “Very much. Do you know how nervous I am? I suppose a man shouldn’t admit that.”

  “Are you kidding? I hate conceited jerks who think they’re God’s gift to women.” She cupped his face and raised her hips. “Your honesty is a turn-on.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You can’t tell?”

  “How would I? I have no basis for comparison.”

  “You have a lot to learn. I’m so glad that I get to teach you. Take a walk on the wild side, and let’s take that boner out for a spin.” Destiny wrapped her legs around him, and that’s all it took for him to surge and retreat—again and again—rush after rush of unbearable sensation. He watched Destiny’s eyes glaze over while she watched him, and he wondered if his expression said as much about his arousal and sexual excitement as hers did.

  A huge swelling of pride filled him. He was finally having sex with Destiny. And she liked it as much as he did!

  He went for her other breast and made love to her with his mouth while her hips rose in welcome, and the muscles deep in her womb pulled and squeezed him as if she were milking him.

  He was only a man. How strong could he be?

  A man, a first-timer, could only take so much. Worried that he couldn’t satisfy her, Morgan tried to take it slow, make it last, and as his reward, her hips took over, and she convulsed around him. Excited, he concentrated on lasting, and she had two more orgasms in quick succession, which gave him superhuman confidence.

  By the saints, he wanted to see how many he could give her before holding back killed him.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  ONE hundred and thirty one; that’s how many orgasms Destiny had . . . or so it seemed. If he could pat himself on the back without breaking stride, Morgan would try, but he’d settle for his button-busting pride.

  He knew how to make it last for her, and he tried every book trick he remembered, aiming for her pleasure, not his own, though, in doing so, he experienced a pleasure beyond the physical. Besides, he’d get the final ride. Unless . . . “Please don’t pass out on me.”

  Instead, she climaxed again. “I can’t believe how amazingly, long, you’ve lasted.”

  “Damn, and I thought you were going to say you couldn’t believe how amazingly long the big guy is.”

  “Oh, he is, but as a thirty-year-old virgin, you should have gotten your jollies in the first ten seconds.”

  “I’m getting a kick out of
playing you. I may be as big as Bigfoot, but you’re a goddess. I think you could kill your lovers with your voracity.” He didn’t like thinking about her having other lovers.

  “I know. My sisters have always been jealous. I won the orgasmathon when we were kids. Storm says I’m just an easy lay.”

  “Whoa. What’s an orgasmathon?”

  “We counted our orgasms and compared notes later. Why?”

  “Because I got a concurrent triathlon type picture in my head that could keep me going for a decade.”

  “Hey! We were just normal horny teenage girls. We didn’t get kinky until we got older and had dates.”

  “What kind of kinky?”

  “Never mind. Am I too greedy?”

  “No comparison, but you’re turning me on like crazy. You’re the best lover I’ve ever had.”

  She laughed and came at the same time. “I’m the only lover you’ve ever had.”

  He leaned back and found the smooth skin of her ass with both his hands, which gave him a new way to move in her, and gave her a sea swell of an orgasm. She sat up to face him and increase the friction.

  Later, she lay back down and placed her ankles on his shoulders so he could pump deeper and harder, and she cried his name in an extended orgasm that shocked her and made him clench and hold to his . . . dignity.

  “This should be more for you than me,” she said. “If I do pass out, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Every rookie should have such a sex goddess as his coach, because I don’t feel like a first-timer. I feel like Morgan the Magnificent. Bigger than life. A superhero in the sack.”

  “You are. You’re a natural. And I’ve never been so sexually satisfied in my life.”

  “Wanna come again?” he asked.

  “I’m game if you are.”

  He’d die of embarrassment if he passed out before his turn came.

  “Okay,” she said after taking the sexual world by storm, “I’m starting to see stars. How about one more time but with the two of us in sync? This time, when I start to come, let yourself go, and we’ll come together.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his body already reacting to her suggestion.

  “Boy Scout,” she said, “I wanna live to do this again, after a reasonable recovery period.”

  He patted the sweat from her brow with the corner of a blanket. “How long is a reasonable recovery period?”

  She slipped her hand between them to stroke him, and he lost it.

  “Twelve minutes,” she said, distracting him.

  He hadn’t been prepared for the satisfaction of pleasuring her. He certainly hadn’t been prepared to let go, to reach the ultimate pleasure, that final thrust as he spilled his seed, the ultimate sensation lasting longer than his breath, the unbearable and surprising aftershocks—hers and his intermingling—drawing pleasure from pleasure. He especially hadn’t been prepared for an emotional connection. By the saints, sex with Destiny poleaxed him, but before he could make any sense of it, he collapsed.

  “You okay?” she asked. “Because I don’t think I have the strength to give you CPR.”

  He rolled off her so as not to crush her, found her hand, and squeezed. “Never better. Wanna do it again?” The urge to chuckle, or run, was the last thing he remembered until he woke hours later.

  He could seriously care for the woman sleeping beside him, he thought—not for the first time—though the rush of heart and soul that accompanied his yearning hadn’t been present previous to taking her to bed or her taking him or whatever one called what had taken place between them, besides a high-octane inferno.

  He adored the sight of her body in moonlight. He ached to touch, so he did, softly, gently, so as not to wake her. He kissed her hip, her mound, sweet with the musk of their sex, her belly button ring—a surprise, but not, like the toe ring—her ankles, calves, thighs. She slept through every touch and kiss.

  When she mumbled his name and turned on her side, he got a breast in the face. Nothing he could do but accept the gift and close his lips around it, and as he did, he nestled his awakening cock against her soft, pliant body. He slipped a hand between her legs to unfold her petals, one by one, and find her slick, sleeping center.

  Sweet, warm, willing, she opened to him, spread her legs in sleep, allowed him access. When she whispered his name and arched against him, she might as well have taken his heart in her hand and claimed it as hers, he was that humbled. Even in sleep, she wanted him.

  He suckled her and worked at her core until she began to rock against him, sighing and moaning, finding his mouth and Frenching him the way she’d done the night of King and Harmony’s wedding, but this time—this time—he knew exactly what to do.

  On their sides facing each other, Morgan pulled Destiny’s leg over his and slipped inside her sweet, sweet haven, but he let her take over the rhythm. When she rose and climaxed, she opened her eyes and gazed at him with a world of tenderness.

  Lovers. He’d never understood the intimacy before, the vulnerability in sharing a sexual bond. Powerful. Mighty powerful. Scary powerful.

  Could be mistaken for love.

  “What?” she asked. “Again with the ‘no foreplay for me’?”

  He kissed her and surged inside her. “You slept through it, but that’s okay. I’ll start again from the top.”

  “See that you do.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  DESTINY woke alone and stretched like a sated feline in the sun, disappointed that Morgan no longer slept beside her. Speaking of cats, she heard Caramello yowling in the distance, talking to Morgan.

  Destiny got up and followed the sound to the open window overlooking the shower. Yummers. Morgan, getting naked for a shower, Caramello playing Chatty Kitty beside him. He pulled the chain to release the steamy stream of hot water, and her cat yowled, bounced from wall to wall, then scrambled up and over the top of the enclosure with Morgan laughing his ass off.

  He’d told her about it, but it was definitely more fun to watch.

  Speaking of which, be still her heart, how gorgeous was Morgan? Laughing. Easygoing. No grudge, no frown. Morgan the major sex god.

  Hot damn. No more wasting time. She wanted to share that decadent shower with him, so she ran downstairs and out the door, naked and uncaring. “Don’t start without me,” she called as she rushed in and jumped him beneath the silky spray.

  He caught her with a grunt, her ass in his hands, her legs around his waist. “Care for some company?” she asked.

  “Well, hello.” He kissed the triquetra on her breast. “What does this one mean?”

  “The triquetra is the Celtic symbol of three in a heart to symbolize triplets—me and my sisters.”

  “If they each have a tat like it, I don’t want to know.” He eyed her, challenged her to keep the information to herself, and when she did, he scooped a nipple into his mouth and took her back to their world of wonder and pleasure. Mr. Mammoth came into his own; she could feel him growing beneath her bottom. Slam it, she’d aimed too high. She didn’t want the big guy beneath her but inside her.

  One-handed, she brought him up to target and took him in. No man had ever filled her so completely, stretched and challenged her—and she was talking heart as much as flesh, with a good deal of spirit and emotion thrown into the mix.

  She was talking crazy.

  Good thing she wasn’t talking.

  Shut up a you mind, she told herself, paraphrasing their old, Italian grocer. She guessed she was the mind-talking triplet, but who cared when you were shivering and showering with a god and coming in his arms.

  They came together in a quick, cataclysmic mating and ended sitting on the raised slat floor, all soapy, beneath the warm, life-giving spray. “Sorry,” Morgan said, catching his breath. “Lost my legs. Did you bring vitamins?”

  “I did.”

  “You brought everything you’d need in the event you sapped the life out of me. You do see the future.”

  She hooted and
shoved him. “About time you figured that out.”

  “So you knew I was here?”

  “Here in the shower? Or here at the lighthouse?”

  “The lighthouse.”

  “No. I can’t see my own future, and since you would have been part of it—since you were already here—I didn’t know. I came looking for my psychic purpose, a clear mind, and ordered priorities.” You among them, which she didn’t admit.

  Morgan gave her a nod, as if he approved her goals. “Did you find everything you came looking for?”

  “Not everything, but I did find more than I expected.”

  “Because you taught an ex-priest how to have sex.”

  “So you know everything there is to know about sex? You’re finished with your lessons?”

  “ ’Fraid not. I’ll need lessons every other hour for the rest of our . . . two weeks.”

  She’d caught his hesitation as he lathered her breasts with wicked enthusiasm.

  “There are other parts that need washing, you know, but no soap around the vaginal area. Causes itches that can become infections.”

  “New information. Thanks. The big guy wants a place to go.”

  “You’re all heart.”

  “What can I say? Jumbo likes his new venue.”

  “Which is why he needs a good wash.”

  The object of their discourse rose to attention, and Destiny took him in hand for a good scrubbing. Slowly at first, one-handed, while she oh-so-gently cupped Morgan’s pretty blue balls, and he looked ready to float to the firmament. “They don’t hurt anymore?” she asked.

  “What? Who?”

  “Your balls.”

  “Oh them. They’ve never been treated so well. They wouldn’t take kindly to being kneed or cart-busted again, but they’re recovering fine and appreciate your attention.”

  “I watched you in the shower the other morning,” she confessed. “You were washing the big guy quite vigorously, but you didn’t finish to my satisfaction, nor your own, I noticed. I wanted to see your face while you came.”

  The big guy firmed and thickened in her hand, overlapping her palm by another inch at least. Obviously turned on at the thought of her watching, or washing him, Morgan let himself go, his eyes glazing over, while telltale brown flecks appeared in their green gold depths.