Warlock's Charm

by Marly Mathews

  Chapter Three

  They lay tangled in each other’s arms for a good fifteen minutes.

  They hadn’t said a word to each other in that time, content to just enjoy being together. Words sometimes complicated matters, and given the fact that they had too many complications existing between them that could keep them apart, being quiet was the best way to handle matters.

  “Well, that was good for the first act,” he mused, finally breaking the silence.

  She smiled. Her first urge was to challenge him for making such an audacious remark. Instead, she remained quiet, just content to let it be.

  Sometimes, she said things she wanted to take back after the damage was already done and she didn’t want to do that in this situation. They’d already said and done things to each other that they either had to forget or forgive.

  Maybe she had to give him exactly what he wanted. They lay cuddled together so she had her arm draped across his chest. She swirled her fingers through the thin smattering of hair that he had on his chest.

  When she twirled her finger around his left nipple, he inhaled sharply. She was naked save for the skirt that was somehow still around her waist.

  She rolled away from him and stood up. She quickly shimmied out of the skirt and threw it across the room, stopping for one moment to eye the scene of carnage she’d created during her climax.

  “I’m thinking you shouldn’t have decorated the room with those breakable figurines, Damien. You know I tend to lose control when my passions are riled.”

  She turned back in time to see his grimace.

  “We can always fix it with magic. That’s what I figured anyway.”

  “You rely far too much on magic.”

  He frowned. “This coming from the Witch of the Year.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “It is true—I am a master when it comes to the craft but my mother always drilled into me the fact that we must not become a slave to magic. Those who are slaves to the craft covet the abilities of others imbued with magic, and because of that they make slaves of those whose abilities they want.”

  “Wise words,” he murmured, sitting up.

  She looked at him and brazenly twirled around so he could get his fill of her naked body.

  “Commit it to memory, Damien, because after we have our whirlwind honeymoon, you won’t be seeing it again.”

  His posture went rigid. She could feel his irritation and knew he would never give up on convincing her that he was the right warlock for her.

  Given enough time, he might actually succeed as every part of her warred against her better sensibility. She actually didn’t want to leave him; she just didn’t see how she could stay with him given his family background.

  “You’re wearing too much, honey. You need to strip out of those clothes so we can be completely skin to skin.” She went over to him while he was still lying on his back and sat down so she straddled him. “Here, let me help you,” she murmured, using her magic to remove his shirt.

  He winked at her.

  “I guess you’re not going cold turkey after all when it comes to using your powers.”

  “I never said I’d go cold turkey, darling. I merely said that you relied on using your abilities a tad too much.”

  He grinned, his eyes twinkling.

  Memories flooded her mind, memories of when she’d held the Ross Amulet.

  Anya’s body trembled as she sat atop him, grinding against him, and wishing that she could somehow wipe what she knew about his family history from her mind. She’d never quite understood the saying “ignorance is bliss” until he’d given her the black tourmaline amulet as a gift after their wedding ceremony.

  From the moment her hands touched its smooth, cool surface, she wanted to somehow have amnesia befall her—to her despair some things could just not be unseen.

  During the day she could cope with the frightening images and the anguished emotion trapped within its depths. It was the nights she feared.

  Nightmares plagued her sleep since she’d left her dear Damien and now that she was back with him she feared the nightmares would continue. If he witnessed her screaming fits in the middle of the night and the many fragile items she shattered as a result, perhaps the magnitude of what he had done would finally hit home for him.

  A sheet of ice settled over her soul, and she pushed away from him. Standing up, she reached for her discarded clothes and put them on as quickly as possible. She had to escape, she had to leave him. She couldn’t stay, staying was madness.

  “Please don’t go,” he murmured.

  Her body continued to tremble and only relaxed when she felt his arms wrap around her from behind. He pulled her against him, and his body warmth invaded her own. The rushed intensity of their encounter had faded, she still wanted him as he wanted her but somehow he understood that she needed to sort out her raging emotions.

  “I love you deeply, Anya. Whatever comes our way, just know that I would do anything for you,” he whispered.

  He’d always easily professed his love for her by saying it aloud and not just showing it to her…she knew those three little words were dreadfully hard for most men to even whisper let alone declare as proudly as Damien said them.

  Her heart melted as his words struck home. She needed to believe him, she needed to trust him again. She could fight her love for him her entire life but she’d also be robbing herself of a gift she could never find again.

  He was her true love, he was the man she wanted to spend her life with—now she just had to convince herself that he wouldn’t hurt her again.

  Damien kissed the nape of her neck and wrapped his hands around her waist. She wouldn’t fight this. She had to submit, she wanted him again.

  She thirsted for his touch. She’d continue giving her entire body, heart and soul to him and pray that in the end the only fire that would burn them both would be the flames of their love.

  The ghosts of her family would always haunt her, and she suspected they also haunted Damien. Her family had suffered too much pain at the hands of Damien’s and yet maybe the element to heal the scars between them would be their fiery love. She had to give it a chance, she had to give him a chance; she had to take another chance on love.

  She lifted her hands up and reached back to caress his face. He hadn’t shaved in a while and his five o’clock shadow bristled beneath her palms. He used his magic and stripped her down to her skirt and bra.

  He turned his face and kissed one of her hands and then swept his hands down the length of her body, tracing a path to her back and deftly unhooking her bra. Her brassiere fell to the floor, forgotten in their lust for each other. Her nipples pebbled against the cool rush of air flowing over them, and he cupped both breasts with his massive hands.

  He kneaded them gently, making her body go wild from the glorious sensations of his touch. He always had the ability to make her go weak-kneed and absolutely at his mercy for whatever he wanted.

  Electric bursts of sheer delight rushed through her, preparing her for the shattering climax his ministrations would produce shortly. If she had her way they would continue fucking well into the night.

  She never wanted to leave his side. She wanted to drown out the inner voice that told her to run from him and keep running and the only way she knew how to do that was to let him continue to bring her pleasure. She wanted to savor this moment and capture it in her memory for perpetuity.

  She leaned against him, purposefully rubbing against his groin, which caused him to let out a shattering moan that told her he was close to losing his control. She would have to keep pushing him because she was ready for him to lose it completely and give her what she craved—what she’d always craved ever since she’d met him.

  Living like a nun had almost driven her crazy with distraction and it was probably why she’d gleaned such satisfaction out of turning Oliver White and the other witch hunters into living wax dolls.

  Her sexual frustration had done wonders for gi
ving her the edge she needed to take down all of the bloody witch hunters that pursued her.

  Damien kissed her neck again, and she twisted in his arms to meet his hungry lips with her own.

  “You’re so beautiful, Anya. You look as if your beauty could rival that of Aphrodite’s.”

  “Aphrodite was a fair beauty while I’m a dark beauty born of the night.”

  It was true—she’d been born during the Spring Solstice as the clock chimed midnight, otherwise known as the Witching Hour.

  “Then you are my dark witchy beauty.” He kissed her again and moved his hands to her skirt. Unzipping the zipper, he let her skirt fall to a silky pile onto the floor. She ran her hands over his chest. The muscles rippled beneath her hands.

  He still wore his trousers, although his fly remained open. She wanted him out of his clothes as soon as possible. She took a brief moment to appreciate his ruggedly handsome looks.

  His reddish brown hair caught the light reflecting from the open balcony. The sun would set soon and drape the world in darkness. Nights on Vanguard could be hauntingly beautiful or terrifyingly ugly.

  She trailed her fingers down his chest, stopping to circle her fingers around the star-shaped scar he had right above his left nipple. She’d never taken the time to study his numerous scars—received in battles against witches and warlocks no doubt.

  “How did you get this one?” she asked, her voice sultry with arousal.

  Damien grimaced, momentarily wrenched out of their blissful moment. Swallowing heavily, she watched his Adam’s apple bob uncontrollably.

  ”I don’t think you will want to hear about that part of my childhood.” His eyes went distant. “In fact, I attempt to blot it out as best I can. Unfortunately there are parts of my childhood I’d rather forget.

  “I think this particular hiccup when I was a little kid made my father truly grateful that he’d married a woman like my mother who had a family the complete opposite of his and the legends surrounding her family’s heroic deeds almost made up for the fact that my father’s side was filled with so much poisonous treachery.

  “The only reason I can still do business on Earth and the other colonies is because of the Forsythe name. Fortunately, whenever they hear it, they think immediately of my maternal grandparents, whose generous philanthropy benefited so many who needed it. I thank my lucky stars every day that my father made the positive choice to follow his heart and marry my mother instead of following the path my grandfather had chosen for him. I’d rather not continue on that road down memory lane, darling.”

  Intrigued, she rubbed the area again, earning a hiss from him. He reached his hand up and captured hers so she couldn’t continue.

  “I want to hear about your childhood, Damien, we shouldn’t have anything between us, should we?” she asked seductively, knowing that as he was dangerously close to speeding things up between them, he wouldn’t be able to refuse her when she used her wantonly sexy voice. He wanted her again just as much as she wanted him.

  His eyebrows furrowed and his jawline hardened. “My grandfather didn’t die until I reached my teens,” he said, his voice halting as if he didn’t quite want to speak aloud the information he had to divulge.

  “I take it he wasn’t the kind of grandfather other children would want,” she murmured.

  “He was hardhearted, hardheaded, cruel and devious right up until the very end. I used to pity my father and I often wondered how he could have had such a hard childhood and in turn become such a good father.”

  “What did your grandfather do to you?” she asked, closing her eyes briefly against the pain that flooded her heart anytime she thought of the Asher Brothers.

  “My mother thought we should spend a family holiday with the old bastard and my grandmother. I don’t think she quite believed the terrible legend surrounding him. She wasn’t from Vanguard, you see, and any of the reports back on Earth didn’t quite give the whole sordid tale of what the Ashers did here before Earth authorities heard about it and intervened.

  “Anyway, we spent a weekend at his plantation, Devil’s Pride. As soon as my mother saw the place and heard what my grandfather called it she didn’t want to be there, but my grandmother convinced her to stay and my father grudgingly went along with it. My grandmother was a different sort of woman but while she might have treated other children with indifference, she did genuinely care about those who shared her own blood.”

  “I guess it wasn’t a holiday in paradise,” she murmured.

  “Far from it.” He fell silent and remained that way until she distracted him by softly kissing his scar and the area around it. He drew in a sharp breath and threaded his fingers through her silky raven hair. Capturing his mouth with hers, he sighed longingly.

  “Less talk,” he murmured, “more action, lots of action.”

  “I can heartily agree,” she murmured. Turning in his arms, she reached down and wrapped her fingers around his shaft.

  Dropping to her knees, she surveyed the hard length of his cock. He felt so smooth in her hand and yet she could also feel the power that pulsed through him in his member. She wanted to taste him, she wanted to make him bow to the power she held over him.

  His entire body went stiff as she rubbed her hand his cock, and then touched the upturned bulbous head of it. It was coated with pre-cum and she felt all powerful when she heard him gasp loudly.

  “Not right now, Anya,” he murmured, surprising her with his refusal. She looked up at him as he gently pulled her to her feet. “It’s all about you for the next little while. I don’t want you thinking I need to put myself first. For the last few months I’ve thought only of you, Anya. I’ve fantasized about how I would pleasure you and in turn gain pleasure from knowing that I’ve given you what you deserve. I want to treat you like the princess you are.”

  He swept her off her feet and carried her the short distance to the bed. He placed her upon it and moved up to kiss her slightly rounded stomach. His hands rubbed up to her breasts and he brushed his rough thumb over one nipple, making it pebble hard against his hand. She writhed beneath him, wanting to touch him as much as he wanted to touch her.

  Her lacy panties were next on his hit list. He pulled them down and off and threw them across the room to land in a pile on top of her blouse, bra and skirt. His hand continued to roam down her legs to her feet.

  Damien stared at the high-heeled sandals she wore on her feet, the laces tied up her calf. He unlaced them and then carefully slipped off the sandals and placed them out of the way. His hands touched the arch of her feet and then he swept them back up her inner calf and thigh, stopping midway to watch the look of utter bliss on her face. When she was in heaven, she had the most beautiful expression.

  Anya’s eyes blazed with passion, her lips looked swollen as if they invited more exploration and her breasts were like two full globes ripe for plundering. Next, he dropped his eyes to her nether regions and licked his lips at the moisture gathered there.

  “You’re so wet and ready for me, sweet Anya,” he murmured.

  “I’ve been hot and wet for you since I came back to Vanguard Prime. As soon as I saw you, I wanted you so badly that being in such close proximity with you today as Stopper nearly drove me batty. I was caught between wanting to screw you silly and wanting to turn you into a living wax doll. The only thing that put me off that was that I couldn’t bear the thought of making you so tiny.” She smirked at him and earned a chuckle from him.

  “I should have shocked the hell out of you by coming on to you when you were in the guise of Stopper…maybe I should have given you a few hard spankings. I’m sure you would have been questioning our entire relationship if I took Stopper into my office for some extracurricular activities.”

  Her eyes sobered up as they locked gazes with him. “You shouldn’t jest about that, Damien. You’ll be playing with fire if you ever think I’m in Stopper’s form again and come on to him—he just might shock the shit out of you with his hard reaction�
�and that would just be toying with his affections far too much. You can’t be that cruel to him.”

  He regarded her for a good few seconds. His need for her only continued to rise and he didn’t want to talk about Stopper any longer. It just might throw a sheet of ice over his growing erection.

  “I always thought he lusted after my designer suits,” he muttered. He had distracted her about her inquiries concerning the scar on his chest and now they were on this line of conversation.

  She knew she hadn’t forgotten about the scar and that she would ask again later about it, and he knew that she was only throwing all of the focus on him to deflect any questions he had about her time spent away from him.

  They had so much to talk about and that was starting to put a distinct crimp in their lovemaking session. He was trying to give her foreplay to remember. After all, the better the foreplay the better the climax. He didn’t want her thinking he missed her just because he wanted her to satisfy his carnal desires, but he couldn’t continue like this much longer.

  “Just be careful with Stopper’s feelings if you ever have to reject him. I think he’s content with loving you from afar, but one never knows, you are pretty irresistible.”

  He kissed her again. “Let’s not talk about Stopper, okay? By the way, where is Stopper?”

  “He’s safe in one of his desk drawers… I’ll have to transform him back tomorrow. I guess I’ll return the other witch hunters to their normal size as well. Maybe I can short-change them inch wise in another region on their anatomy.”

  “You’ve got to leave them with something…a few of those men probably already had a hard time finding it,” he laughed. ”Do you have to be in the same room with them to reverse the spell?” he asked. “If you don’t, maybe you should turn them back now so you won’t have to face them when they become full sized again.”

  She grimaced. “If you insist.” Closing her eyes, she whispered the incantation that would turn them back and envisioned Damien’s office in her mind’s eye.