mythean arcana 07 - witchs fate

by Linsey Hall

  “The things I want to do to you.” His voice was almost a growl, the need so clear. He grasped a handful of her hair and tilted her head to speak at her ear. “I want to bend you over this desk and fuck you so thoroughly that you know you’re mine. I want to feel your pussy squeeze my cock, know how tight you get when you come.”

  She whimpered, her mind a haze of confusion. She wanted that too. “No.”

  He bit her shoulder a bit too hard. “Not yet, maybe. But I’ll take what I can get. Gladly.” His hands went to the hem of her shirt and he began to tug it upward. “Raise your arms.”

  She shivered as cool air kissed her stomach, as the heat of his hands brushed her ribcage. “No.”

  “Raise them.”

  She did. Because deep down, she wanted to. She wanted to see what he would do if she succumbed to his desire to touch her. Years ago, he’d kissed her. Touched her breasts. But he’d been a different man. A kinder, gentler man.

  This man was cold. Hard. He took what he wanted through coercion or force. He’d only do the things he wanted. Would he squeeze her breasts too roughly, pull at her nipples? She’d had some good encounters and some bad since she’d left him. Where would this one fall?

  The shirt came over her head quickly. His big hands were deft at the back clasp of her bra. She reached up to press the scrap of silk to her breast.

  “Don’t fight me,” he rasped, tugging the material free.

  She lowered her hands back to the desk, trying to pulverize the wood with her fingertips. She felt his head over hers, bent to take in the view of her breasts.

  “So lovely,” he said. His big hands came up to clasp her aching flesh. His palms were rough and hard against her. So delicious that she dropped her head back and moaned.

  He massaged her breasts, pinching her nipples just hard enough to make her gasp.

  “Fuck yes,” he groaned as he ground his cock against her back. “You like that.”

  She bit her lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of confirming it.

  “I want to lick these nipples. To bite them. To make you come with just my mouth on your breasts.”

  She whimpered. “Not possible.”

  “Perhaps.” His hand slid lower, down the expanse of her stomach to the waistband of her jeans.

  Did he really intend to—

  He flicked open the first button, then began to tug the zipper down. She jerked in his arms, trying to break away, but it only pressed her harder against his cock.

  He groaned and bucked his hips against her.

  “You can fight me. But I warn you, I’ll like it,” he rasped at her ear.

  Her first instinct was to shudder with desire. The second was to stiffen in fear.

  His hand stilled on her zipper. His breath rasped. “If I must stop, zap me with your power. But the terms still stand.”

  Meaning he wouldn’t help her with the witches. But also that he wouldn’t force her to have sex with him.

  He was ruthless.

  And he wanted her.

  She said nothing, holding her breath and waiting to see what he would do. The zipper hissed as he drew it down. Her heart pounded.

  “Gods, I’ve wanted this. I’ve fucked my own fist countless times, all while thinking of you. What you would feel like. Smell like. Taste like.” He wedged his big hand into her panties. Her jeans pressed him tight against her flesh.

  “Fuck, you’re wet.” One big finger pressed between the lips of her sex, an invasion that made her knees weaken. It just pressed him deeper. His hand on her breast and the one cupping her sex kept her upright.

  How far would he take this? What did he mean by touching? Everywhere, it seemed, from the way his hips rocked against her back and his fingers left no fold untouched.

  “More,” he rasped, his voice almost wild with need. He gently pulled his hand free and pushed her pants down to her knees.

  She stood frozen, almost entirely naked with him fully clothed behind her. Trapping her.

  Her breath began to saw in and out of her lungs.

  When his heavy hand came to rest on her upper back, she almost breathed a sigh of relief.

  Then he began to push.

  “What are—”

  “Bend over,” he said, pressing harder.

  “What? But we’re not having—”

  “Bend over.” His voice was hard with need, the pressure of his hand greater than her strength.

  She lowered herself to the desk, her heart racing and her pussy throbbing. The wood was cool against her breasts. Her legs were closed, so he couldn’t see anything, but—

  He used one foot to nudge her knees apart and her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest. Cool air kissed her sex. Kissed everything.

  Her face burned. She should get up. She should call this quits. Any moment he would undo his zipper. Then she’d be trapped against a desk with an immensely powerful warlock who could do whatever he wanted to her.

  She’d just started to push herself up off the desk, to fight the pressure of his hand on her back, when he dropped to his knees behind her.

  What the hell?

  He groaned low in his throat. “Beautiful.”

  He had to be looking at her. Her cheeks burned.

  She trembled uncontrollably as something brushed against her upper thigh. His cheek? She’d never felt so exposed. She strained her senses in the darkness, trying to figure out what he was doing.

  She cried out when she felt the press of his lips against her upper thigh. Then higher. And higher still.

  When the heat of his tongue swiped across her pussy, she almost passed out from the shock and pleasure.

  So bloody sweet.

  This was everything he’d waited for. Everything he’d wanted. Malcolm’s cock throbbed unbearably, desperate to break free of its confines and plunge into the tight, wet heat of Sofia’s pussy.

  He licked her slick flesh again, seeking the exotic flavor. Her scent made his head spin. Bloody hell, he’d dreamed of this. He wanted to fuck her, to feel her clench around him, but he wanted this just as much. To learn every inch of her—what made her moan, what made her writhe, what made her come.

  He couldn’t believe he’d lived without this for so long. That he’d let other men taste her like this, know her like this.

  Though her pussy was wet and her desire scented the air, she was tense against his mouth. It wouldn’t do. He wanted her to like this as much as he did, even if he’d been a bastard about getting his way.

  He ran his palms up her thighs, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. His thumbs parted her flesh and he leaned back slightly, gazing at the lovely pinkness of her.

  She was slick and soft and so small he was terrified he’d hurt her. If he ever got to sink his shaft into her, he’d spend ages preparing her. He’d make her come until she was begging for his cock.

  The thought made his shaft grow unbearably harder.

  Sofia jerked in his hands as if she didn’t like him looking at her, but he tightened his grip, entranced by the way his big fingers pressed into her lush flesh.

  “Shh,” he murmured, then pressed his mouth against her pussy, running his tongue through her folds and exploring every inch of her.

  When he found her clit, she jumped. Gods, he’d never get enough of this. He licked, slowly and leisurely—getting to know her. Her moans drifted through the room, making his cock throb. He wanted more of her moans. Louder. More desperate.

  Malcolm began to lick more quickly, focusing on the bundle of nerves until she pressed her hips against his face in a steady rhythm. He groaned against her, loving her greediness.

  “Malcolm!” she gasped when he sucked on her clit. Her muscles tensed.

  She was close.

  He pulled back, swiping his tongue against the expanse of her pussy.

  “I was—” she cut off her complaint, as if she didn’t want to reveal the weakness.

  Too late.

  He wanted her to come so hard
she lost her mind. There’d been men before him, he was sure. She was over four hundred years old. Of course there had been. But he’d erase them. The best way to do that was to hold off her orgasm until she was desperate.

  And if he were honest with himself, he wanted to drown in her taste forever.

  She was shaking with need by the time he thrust his tongue into her channel. Her taste was strongest here and he lapped it up, unable to stop his hips from thrusting at the air. He gripped her soft ass, learning her curves.

  Gods, how he wished it were his cock plunging deep. He wanted her taste on his tongue while her tight little pussy gripped his shaft. He’d plow into her until she screamed, until she begged him to fuck her harder.

  He dragged his tongue free and returned to her clit. He waited until she was fucking his face again, her cries growing more desperate, then he dragged his tongue up, savoring the slickness of her soft flesh.

  “I want you to come on my face, Sofia,” he growled against her. “I want to feel your wetness slide down my chin and know that I did that to you. I want to taste you and feel you and own you.”

  She moaned and he wished he could see her face. He returned to her clit, laving as he moved one hand to her entrance. Though he’d thought to thrust his fingers into her while sucking her clit, he realized that he had to see some part of him enter her.

  He pulled his face back to look. His fingers were so big and rough compared to the smooth slickness of her pussy. His cock throbbed and his breath caught in his throat as he watch two wide fingers press against her, forcing her flesh to give way and disappearing into her channel. The firelight shone golden on her skin, highlighting the deep pink of her labia as his fingers sank deeper.

  Her groan came long and loud as her tender flesh adjusted to the invasion. He feared he was too big, that he’d been greedy and started with too many, but she pressed back against him, begging for more. She wouldn’t beg with words, but her body would.

  Slowly, he thrust his fingers deep, groaning at the feeling of her closing tight around him.

  “Malcolm, Malcolm.” Her words were senseless, as if she weren’t entirely there.

  “You’re so damned hot. Wet. Perfect,” he said as he began to thrust his fingers.

  He placed his thumb on her clit and began to rub in tight circles, concentrating on making her come. He was desperate to see her that way.

  She keened high in her throat and began to grind her hips into his hand, trying to get him deeper.

  Insatiable. It made his cock throb painfully and fantasies roll through his head. He pressed his fingertips down, rubbing hard against the pad of nerves inside of her.

  She stiffened and her legs began to tremble. A cry wrenched from her throat and her interior muscles began to clasp on his fingers.

  “Fuck, I can see you clenching.” The words tore from his throat. It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, watching her pussy react to the pleasure he gave her. Desperate to taste her again, he moved his thumb and pressed his mouth against her clit, laving and sucking.

  She tried to jerk away, as if she were too sensitive, but there was nowhere for her to go. She whimpered, but after a second pressed back against him for more.

  When her pussy began clenching again, squeezing him for her pleasure, he couldn’t take it anymore. The taste, the feel. The knowledge that it was Sofia.

  He couldn’t fucking take it anymore. With his free hand, he tore his fly open and grasped his hard cock. He groaned against her and she cried out.

  His cock was so hard it hurt. All he could imagine was her heat, her tightness, wrapped around his shaft. He began to stroke, roughly because he’d used all his control on her, on moving his fingers in a way that would get her off.

  Gods, how he wanted to pull his fingers free of her sweet heat and rise to his feet. He jerked his cock and licked her clit as the fantasy rolled through him.

  He would grasp her full hips in his hands, pressing his fingers into her golden skin. She might try to get away at first, to fight him. But he’d hold her hips tight and calm her fears. He’s smooth a hand down her back, rub her sensitive little clit, until she was begging for it.

  Then he’d fit the head of his cock to her tight entrance and push, watching her pussy give way and close around him. He’d grip one of her slender shoulders to keep her in place as he drove his thick cock into her pussy. He could imagine her pinkness enveloping his dusky shaft, the way she’d shudder and moan as she accepted him.

  If she asked him to go slowly, to give her time to adjust, he’d manage. Somehow. He’d sooth her and take his time, but once she was desperate for it, once she wanted it hard, he’d give it to her. He’d grip her shoulder and her hip and fuck her until her hot little pussy clenched around him and she moved her hips backward, trying to get more of his cock.

  Malcolm groaned against her pussy, thrusting his fingers inside her as he imagined her coming around his cock. He’d give her anything she bloody wanted.

  “Malcolm!” She was coming again, harder than ever, her cunt gripping him tightly.

  He began to fuck his fist, clenching it as tightly as he thought her pussy would, imagining that he was thrusting into her. Making her writhe on his cock and soak him with her juices.

  Malcolm roared against her pussy as the orgasm slammed into him. It tore through his entire body, pleasure so intense he felt like he might explode. He shuddered and shook as his cock jerked in his hand, pumping seed onto the floor.

  Her muscles still clenched his fingers as his orgasm faded. When her cries and the movement of her hips stopped, he gently pulled his fingers free and gave her pussy one last lick, savoring her taste.

  His breath heaved in and out of his lungs as he watched her back rise and fall with her heaving breaths. Her pussy gleamed pink and tender. Gods, he hoped he hadn’t been too rough.

  He’d die before he hurt her that way. He’d die before he let anything bad happen to her. But it wouldn’t. He’d see to it. He’d protect her.

  His spend gleamed white on the floor. A possessive part of him wished that it coated her slick flesh, a brand of possession that marked her as his.

  His chest tightened.

  Shit. This was dangerous. He could actually feel the soft thoughts forming. He’d loved her once.

  He couldn’t let that happen again. Love was a vow, even if unspoken.

  A warlock couldn’t afford vows.

  Fate would always break them.

  He stumbled to his knees, yanking his trousers up. He waved his hand at the floor and a bit of magic removed his spend.

  Sofia lay on the desk, her muscles lax as she caught her breath. So beautiful it made him clench his fists.

  Fuck, if this wasn’t going to be harder than he thought. With a last glance at her, he left the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The door slammed, startling Sofia out of her daze. She glanced up.

  Malcolm was gone.

  Quivery pleasure that had weakened her muscles turned to rage. He’d left her? She scrambled up and tugged on her clothes, fumbling with her shirt and trousers.

  He’d just…walked out.

  Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them away, trying to focus on the anger. This was the second time she’d ended up on his desk, coming to her senses and realizing that he didn’t give a shit about her. He might spend his time making her come, but then he discarded her.

  How dare he?

  Rage seethed in her chest, a black tar that threatened to boil over and choke her. She stormed out of the room and down the hall, then took the stairs two at a time. At the top, she glanced left and then right, toward the doors at the end. Because fates knew, he’d be at the end of the freaking hall.

  The door at the end of the left hall was cracked slightly, so she went that way. When she reached it, she shoved the heavy wood open so hard it slammed against the wall.

  Malcolm spun away from the window to face her. He stood in the middle of a richly appointed round room. Anoth
er tower, like his library. All dark, gleaming wood and elegant furnishings.

  “What are you—”

  She drew her wand and threw a blast of lightning at him. He threw up a hand and blocked it.

  “You bastard!” she screamed, then threw another bolt. This one made him stumble back. “You treat me like a fucking sex toy and then toss me away and I’m sick of it!”

  Surprise flashed in his golden gaze. “What? I don’t—”

  “Yes. You. Do. Twice now! And four hundred years ago I was obviously nothing to you. Just like I’m nothing now. Just a thing for you to play with. You risked my life and everything that I hold dear just so you can play with me!” Hot tears burned her eyes and she hated it. She threw a blast of frozen air at him, hoping it would freeze his heart like he’d frozen hers. The tears tumbled free.

  Something like pain flashed in his eyes and he was in front of her a second later. He grabbed her arms and pulled her toward him.

  She thrashed, trying to break free. “Let go of me, you bastard! I hate you!”

  “Don’t say that.” His voice was rough with pain, his gaze rife with it.

  She stilled momentarily, shocked.

  “What is your problem?” she whispered brokenly. “Why, after all these years, are you doing this to me?”

  He shuddered. “Because these last centuries without you have been hell. You’re the sun of my life. I didn’t realize what I was giving up when I became a warlock. You were the brightest and best thing to ever happen to me and I couldn’t spend another day without you.”

  Shock made her breath catch. He’d been such a bastard to her. “But you threw me away.”

  “I had to.”

  “Fuck you.” She struggled to break free again, but he was too strong.

  “Look at me.” His voice was harsh, desperate.

  She didn’t want to, but she did. And fates, he was handsome. Not in a movie-star way—though gods knew he could pass for one—but in a familiar way. The kind of handsome that happens when you’ve loved someone for years and have memorized all their features until they become vital to you. The kind of handsome that really mattered. It was a view that tore a gaping hole in her heart.