Heh.
I got so many looks when I said no to having the parents-and-me group over to the house. Sorry, but we had an entire wall of brooms, dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, taxidermic animals, shelves full of witch brews, two spare bedrooms dedicated to spellcraft stock that was too dangerous to keep at the store, and a dedicated ley line beneath the floor that made the house feel like it was throbbing sometimes.
Yeah.
Having Mercy and her friends over to my house with their toddlers just didn’t seem like it was in the cards for me.
“When you’re finished mating, I’ll take a steak, please,” Bastet purred, crouching on the railing as we moved past. I gave her a pat, and she bumped her spotted head against my palm. When I was done doing … whatever with my hubby, I’d find her and we’d cuddle. She always made me feel a million times better.
Argent took me upstairs to our bedroom—all four of us shared one room, and one bed although we each had a separate room we could use if we needed space—and closed the old door behind us.
“I feel like you’re gearing up to something naughty,” I said, and even though I was damn near tears, my voice sounded like a porn star’s, all husky and breathy. Argent looked at me with a swirling storm in his eyes, half-passion and half-anger. He wanted me, but he also wanted to kill Hex. I liked that combination of lust and violence in him.
My fae prince. He was the bastard son of the current Seelie Court monarch, but an outcast, a man to be used for the queen’s bidding whenever she felt like deigning to acknowledge his existence. But not anymore because I’d stolen him, quite literally stolen him. If I ever went back to Faerie, I’d probably be killed.
“Naughty?” Argent asked, stepping up close to me. Even though the sky was getting dark outside, fresh storm clouds rolling in, the room was lit up by the silver glow of his skin. It was mesmerizing, like he’d swallowed a shard of moonlight and would forever light up the night sky. “I just want to help you out of these wet clothes.”
His hands went to the small of my waist as our eyes stayed locked, that smell of his, like lilac and ginger, perfuming the air around me. My lids felt heavy all of a sudden, and I let them fall shut as I leaned in for a kiss, tasting honey and fresh rain on Argent’s lips. My fingers lifted to the silken green strands of his hair. It was like no other texture on earth, supernaturally soft. I put a bit of it to my cheek and rubbed on it.
“Grace,” he said, and even though ninety-nine percent of the time, I loved the deep, almost cruel cadence to his voice, I lived for these moments when it broke and the real Argent came out. “You are not a bad mother.” He took my chin in one hand, studying my face like he was committing my image to his long, long memory. “And Hex Sorciere is a fool. Running away from you only proves that.”
“I just feel like a failure today,” I whispered as I leaned into Argent’s soothing touch. He could snap a demon’s neck with these hands if he wanted to and yet, he held me so goddess-damned gently.
“You just have a lot on your plate,” Argent corrected, tracing my mouth with his glowing thumb. “It’s too much pressure for one so young.”
“I’m thirty-two,” I snorted, and Argent lifted a mint green brow.
“That’s what I said: young.” He leaned down and captured my mouth with his as the rain pelted down on the old roof, singing the song of autumn turned winter. It was beautiful, almost melancholic, and while I usually loved this sort of weather, I longed for the sun. “After I get your clothes off, I want you to lay on your belly for me.” He nodded his head in the direction of our huge-ass mattress—two kings spelled together into one bed—and then slowly, agonizingly, peeled my shirt up over my head.
The fingers of his left hand traced my cold flesh, and with a snap of his right, we had a fire blazing in the old fireplace. It crackled and flickered as Argent moved his hands down to my skirt, spinning it around so he could see the zipper. My tattoos peeked out from either side, swirls of ink that I desperately wished he’d trace with his tongue.
Argent took his time undoing the button, pulling down the zipper. He often said he lived on an immortal’s schedule. The fae weren’t actually immortal, but they were so long-lived that it could seem that way. And my husband, he’d lived many different lives all wrapped up in this one. At times, his slowness could be infuriating, but right now, I was craving it.
He pushed my skirt to the floor, leaning in and reaching behind me to get my bra, kissing my neck and collarbone as he did. But my tights and underwear, those he left on. My witch’s hat, too.
“Get on the bed,” he commanded, his voice making me quiver. I did as he asked, enjoying our momentary power play. Sometimes, it got downright dangerous between us. I didn’t think we’d go there now, not tonight. After the day I’d had, I wasn’t willing to delve fully into some crazy BDSM session, but every once in a while, I liked being told what to do. It was as if I were surrendering to someone else, giving up all the responsibilities I carried on my shoulders on a daily basis.
I climbed up on the black silken comforter, settling myself with my head on my folded arms. I wiggled my fingers, and the myriad candles in the room lit up with tiny, flickering flames.
Argent rustled around in our dresser, looking for goddess only knows what. When he came back to the bed with a jar of his homemade massage oil, I just about melted into the mattress.
"Are you planning on giving me a massage?" I asked quickly, giving my husband a flirtatious, little wink. He didn't say anything, simply awarded me with one of those bemused, little smiles of his. "Goddess bless you for that," I sighed as he moved around behind me, straddling my ass but keeping most of his weight on his knees.
The slick oil dribbled down my spine, smelling of roses and honey. At first, it was a little cold, but then Argent warmed it with his magic, kneading his fingers into the tightness of my back and shoulder muscles. I groaned and bit down on my arm gently as I struggled to accept the immense amount of pleasure surging through my tired body.
After a while, I began to fall asleep, but Argent gently woke me up with a kiss to the cheek. "Grace," he crooned in my ear, making me shiver. "Do you want to sleep … or do you want me?"
I smiled because he was already moving down the bed and sliding his warm fingers underneath my panties and my skeleton-patterned tights. Argent paused with the fabric halfway down my ass; I heard him chuckle wickedly, and I knew I was in trouble.
"What do you think you're doing back there?" I asked quickly, sitting up slightly and glancing over my shoulder stare at my now naked husband. I cocked a brow; he must've taken his clothes off while I was sleeping. Cheeky bastard.
Argent let a slow, evil smile creep over his full lips. He tossed some green hair over his shoulder with an arrogant little scoff.
"Whatever I damn well want," he drawled, letting go of my tights and underwear. The wet fabric snapped back into place against my skin, and before I even realized what he was up to, Argent pushed my legs apart and tore my tights at the crotch.
He left the panties in place, and I soon heard the buzz of a small vibe. He slipped it under the fabric, so that it was nestled against my clit. My body bucked with pleasure as a moan slipped past my lips. The pleasure was so intense, so sudden that I almost reached down to make it stop. But with a snap of his fingers, my fae lover created vines to bind my wrists.
"You tricky, little bastard," I groaned, as he lifted himself over me and snatched a pillow from near the headboard. It was an old, wooden thing, that headboard. It'd been passed down in the Spells family for generations, and it had over two hundred spells carved in it to help with sleep, block nightmares, keep prying eyes out of one's dreams … and enhance pleasure.
I have to say, that of all the wedding gifts I received: this was my absolute favorite.
Argent tucked the pillow beneath my hips, propping up my ass. He didn't mount me just then though, no, he slid his body over mine, using the oil on my back to slick our skin together as he r
ubbed against me, and played with my breasts.
His bare hips ground against mine, as the little vibrator worked its own magic. My first orgasm of the night was rapid, fiery, and almost angry—like it wanted more. I shuddered and gasped, fighting against the shackles on my wrists. But holy bitchin’ broomsticks … it felt so flipping good.
"Argent, please," I whimpered, lifting my ass up and hoping I could tease him into finally mounting me.
I should've known better.
My fae husband, he liked to take things slow.
"You're not getting anything just yet—not until you come for me again." His voice was sensually cruel, at the same time it was thick with love and devotion. Those two sides of him melted together into a dichotomy that I couldn't seem to resist. The first time I'd met him, we ended up fucking against a wall within two minutes of meeting each other.
Thus, was the frenzy of our passion.
The mattress creaked as Argent adjusted himself, wrapping his arms around my thighs and putting his face to my cunt. His mouth and tongue played a sensual, carnal rhapsody against my overheated body. The candles flickered, as tears rose in my eyes and I bucked against the waves of pleasure. The vibrator was still going, and my body was so damn sensitive, that even the brush of my nipples against the comforter was too much.
There was only so much I could take, and when Argent's tongue slipped inside of me, I came again. This climax didn't hit me quite as hard as the first, and it was more like a warm-up rather than a release.
My husband chuckled, this slow, sinful brush of satin against my eardrums. I could see the glow of his silver skin, casting wicked shadows against the walls of our bedroom. The mattress dipped as he settled himself between my thighs.
The head of Argent’s cock pressed against my opening, and he teased me with it for several, long, agonizing moments. It was all I could do to look at the candles, listen to the rain splattering against the glass of our window. I wiggled against him, but all that earned me was another chuckle.
He would enter me when he was damn well ready.
"Grace," Argent whispered, kneading the flesh of my ass with his strong, silver fingers. "No matter what happens with Hex, you're mine, you're beautiful, and I love you."
I opened my mouth to respond, but Argent was gripping my hips with dominant fingers, and thrusting himself balls–deep. I cried out, and bit the pillow closest to me as he began to thrust, rocking me forward and back, forward and back.
The headboard bumped against the wall, the mattress creaked, and the rain came down in frozen sheets. Argent let his magic wash over me in a warm wave, connecting with my own powers. As sometimes happened when two powerful spellcasters made love, glimmering lights danced in the air above us like a sunset, or aurora borealis.
It was fucking beautiful.
My husband came inside of me, and the feeling of him shuddering against me made me cry out. Knowing that he was giving his seed to my womb made me climax again, a full body orgasm that took over every part of me, including my fingers, my toes. My pussy clamped around him, drawing us both closer together as he collapsed on top of me.
The vines released my wrists, and Argent lifted up just enough on his elbows so that I could turn over and look at him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulled him close, and kissed him as thunder cracked above us, and lightning lit up the old panes of our window.
I was so not looking forward to Hex showing up that I almost hoped he really would bail.
But no.
Fifteen minutes after the hour, there he was, knocking on my door with his familiar asleep on his shoulders. Hex looked around the wraparound porch at the dozens of glowing jack-o’-lanterns with a bit of skepticism and maybe … something else? It was hard to tell, but I detected a shred of longing and a dash of jealousy in his gaze. I was a bit of an empath—nowhere near my sister's level—but I could sense strong emotions. Right now, I was getting crumbs off of Hex, but at least it showed he had feelings other than disgust and fear for me and my kids.
"Come on in," I said, standing back and gesturing him into the house. As he crossed the wards, the spell on my door rippled happily, the ley line feeding extra magic into the defenses. Hecate's tits, even my house liked the asshole. "And don't worry, we've locked the kids up in their cabinets under the stairs, so you don't have to look at them."
"You what?" he asked, orange eyes widening as I popped a hip and put my fist on it. Argent was in the kitchen cooking—it was the only non-magical, domestic chore he enjoyed—and the smell was making me drool.
"They're asleep in their beds," I said coolly, watching as Hex took in the living room with a fairly neutral expression. After seeing Lulu's house, I knew he'd grown up in a traditional witch's house, so it was doubtful there'd be anything here to startle him. Our decor was eclectic, racy (most of our paintings had witches in various states of dress and coitus), and there were things in there that would cause a lot of humans to shit their pants.
Spells were carved into the walls, there were pentagrams on the ceilings, and sometimes the furniture moved of its own accord. Oh, and a serval was sleeping curled up on top of the woodpile. Bast cracked one eye, stared at Connard for a minute, and then closed it again. Likewise, Hex’s familiar did the same, grumbled and tucked his head in his paws.
Fucking cats.
Even our familiars were similar. Sigh.
"Okay," Hex said, and that was pretty much it. How exciting. I wanted to punch him in his purple nuts. Fine, so maybe his balls were never purple, but I could change that with a stupid little Bewitched style twitch of the nose.
"How's the spell working out by the way? No more purple dick?"
"No more purple," he said as Caine and Spec moved in from the kitchen with witch's brews in their hands: basically champagne with a little magic kick. Spec handed one to Hex while Caine offered the other up to me.
"Still limp as an earthworm, huh?" Caine growled, and then smirked. He was dressed in a gray flannel shirt over a wifebeater, his raggedy jeans hanging low on his hips. His new tattoo looked near perfect while mine was still leaking goo, smearing bright colors all over my white tank.
I looked a hot mess. I mean, I had bedroom hair which was sexy, but I was dressed in yoga pants, no bra, and a tank top covered in fresh tattoo goop. Fan-fucking-tastic. Also, I was not about to dress up for this prick.
I sipped my witch's brew, and tried not to look at the framed painting of me with the Oracle at Delphi. Pythia was her name, and she was a crazy motherfucker, one of the most powerful and prophetic people in the entire world. She lived in a literal hole in the ground, with a blindfold on and a whole coven to serve her. She never took the blindfold off, and she never left the underground.
Pictures were not allowed, but there was a painter who captured the moment, and collected money to help support Coven Delphi. Every single person in Coven Apothecary went to see the Oracle when they turned sixteen, no exceptions.
And I'd blessed with three awesome soulmates … and Hex Sorciere.
Hmm.
I exhaled sharply, and tried not to be greedy. Some people only had one soulmate. Some people lost their soulmate at a young age. Some people had shitty soulmates. I should be grateful for what I had, and I was. I just wanted to get this Hex business over and done with, so I could stop staring at him. Because as much as I said I didn't give a fuck, as little as we had in common, our bodies and our magic called out to one another.
"Yeah, still limp, thanks for fucking asking," Hex snapped as Spec offered him up the high-backed black chair that was normally his. My vampire-sweetheart. He was a fucking dick to everybody else, but not to me, not to the family. And I knew he was extending his kindness to Hex to make me feel better.
I appreciated it immensely.
"What's it like? To only be motivated by your dick, and not care that a woman is literally rotting away from some fucked-up curse?" Caine asked next, and I groaned.
"Please,
no more fighting. Let's just get through the next six days, and we can be done with each other, okay?" I sat down on the couch and crossed my legs, tapping my black-painted nails on the side of my glass. My big, purple witch hat lilted to one side, and I reached up to fix it. There were spells to keep it affixed to my head, but that didn't seem to stop it from moving around on its own. "Spectre, can you grab the spellbook?"
He nodded, pushing dark purple hair away from his face. It was razored like a rock star's. That, and the boy could fucking sing. His croon was what dropped my panties in the first place. The night I saw him perform was the night we hooked up. We'd been inseparable ever since.
Spec left the room while Caine flopped down next to me, reaching out to stroke my leg in a very possessive manner. I let him do it; he was werewolf. It was sort of part of the deal.
"Here we go," Spec said, dropping the massive tome into Hex's lap and making him grunt. The half-demon ran his fingers through his orange and black hair, and scowled before finishing off his drink and setting it aside. He opened the heavy book to a page marked with a purple ribbon.
"That's the spell we're going to be doing on Halloween," I said, and Hex's face snapped up to mine.
"On Halloween? You never said anything about Halloween." He looked panicked, almost white in the face. Also, I was pleased to see that his tattoo really was leaking a bit of goo after all. Good. He was a witch, just a bit before he was a demon. A demon's tattoo would not leak. Also, I'd noticed that he was getting inked with witchblood while my boys all had to use their other half to get the color to stay.
Interesting.
"We have to do it on Samhain or else it won't work," I said, feeling panicked. I needn't have though: I had the magic mark on my wrist. If Hex didn't help us out on Halloween night, my mother would die, he'd breach the contract, and he'd die, too. He was too selfish to let that latter bit happen.
"I have a wedding on Samhain," he growled, and my mouth dropped open.
Oh.
The Family Spells: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance Page 11
