Casual Hex

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “All set with your MySpace page?” Dorcas asked.

  “All set.” Ambrose’s cheeks should have started to lose their pink color the longer he was indoors, but instead they got brighter.

  Gwen was no psychic, but she didn’t think Ambrose had gone into town to check his MySpace page. She also thought the front of his parka stuck out at an odd angle, as if he had a package inside. Obviously he didn’t want to show it to everyone, because he didn’t unzip his jacket.

  Instead he glanced over at Marc. “Can I see you in the office for a minute?”

  “Yes.” Marc popped off the sofa as if he’d been sitting on a spring, and both men disappeared into the room across the hall.

  Gwen heard some manly chuckles, and what sounded like a hearty backslap. She looked at Dorcas. “What’s going on?”

  Dorcas acted as if she could barely contain herself. Her amber eyes sparkled. “You’ll find out. But if I tell you now, Ambrose will kill me.”

  Marc came out of the office and walked back to the kitchen, for some reason. Ambrose opened the door to the basement and his footsteps could be heard descending the steps.

  Gwen turned back to Dorcas. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “I’m guessing Marc went to fetch your coats and boots.”

  Obviously she was right, because Marc was back in no time. He already had his boots on and his jacket was zipped. Now the bulge beneath the coat belonged to Marc instead of Ambrose.

  Marc held Gwen’s coat in one hand and her boots in the other. “If you do not mind, I would like more time to examine that potted plant in your kitchen. If we go out the back door and take the walking path, we should be able to avoid the curiosity seekers.”

  All of a sudden the picture clicked into focus for Gwen. Ambrose had gone shopping for condoms. That was what he’d smuggled in under his jacket, and what Marc had tucked in his jacket right now. She should be terrifically embarrassed that Ambrose had been pressed into service, probably by Dorcas. Instead, Gwen was thrilled.

  Finishing the last of her wine, she walked over and slipped into the coat Marc held for her, and shoved her feet into the boots.

  A little out of breath, Ambrose came through the cellar door, carrying another bottle of Mystic Hills wine. “Here. Take this.”

  “Merci.” Marc took the wine and glanced at Gwen. “Ready?”

  “Let’s go.”

  Marc supposed the scenery at this end of town was picturesque, but the only scenery he cared about included indoor views of Gwen stretched out on her feather bed. That view could take a while to materialize, considering the distance they had to walk.

  In order to get to the path circling the town, they headed in the direction of the lake. It was frozen at this time of year, and the evergreens surrounding it were covered in snow that sparkled like white Christmas lights in the afternoon sunshine. Pretty, if you wanted pretty. Marc wanted naked.

  Gwen walked quickly toward the path and turned right. “Ambrose bought condoms this afternoon, didn’t he?” She flung the words over her shoulder without breaking stride.

  “Oui.” They had to go single file on the narrow trail, so, being a gentleman, he followed her. He saw no human footprints other than hers, but the forest animals must have used the path today, because there was a rut through the new-fallen snow just wide enough for a person to walk.

  “I can figure out that the second meeting in the office involved transferring the box from him to you.”

  “Oui.” That second meeting had gone easier than the first. Ambrose obviously had been proud of himself for completing the assignment. He had felt comfortable enough to tease Marc about putting all his condoms in one suitcase, sort of like putting all his eggs in one basket.

  “What was the first meeting in the office about, then?”

  Marc cast around for a distraction so he could avoid the question. Birds flying in a V formation caught his eye. “Alors! Look up! Canadian geese!”

  “Uh, right. We get them flying over a lot.”

  “I saw a program on television about them and their migration patterns. Incroyable.”

  “They are, but I’m a lot more curious about that first time Ambrose called you into the office. Surely he didn’t ask you to give him the money to buy them.”

  “No.” Marc groaned. “And I should have offered. Sacre bleu! I will need to remember to give him money the next time I see him.”

  “Then what did he want?”

  “My size.” Marc hoped never to live through a moment like that again. Gwen would probably laugh herself silly when she pictured that scene.

  But he did not hear any laughter coming out of her. She bowed her head, as if trying to control herself, but she did not actually laugh, for which he would be eternally grateful.

  “But, um—” She paused to clear her throat. “What if the sizing is different over here? What if they don’t fit?”

  Marc muttered a few choice swear words in French.

  “What was that?” Gwen called, laughter bubbling through her words.

  “I said I will make them fit, mademoiselle!” His voice echoed through the trees, and a blue jay squawked and flew away.

  Gwen stopped on the trail and turned around, her cheeks flushed from her obvious attempt to control herself. “Pardon me for giggling, but this is about the funniest situation I’ve ever been in.”

  “I agree. It is ridiculous.”

  “I love your accent when you say that word.” She attempted to mimic him. “Re-dic-u-loose.”

  He could not resist her. Sticking the wine in a snow-bank beside the trail, he took her face in his gloved hands. “I love your mouth when you try to imitate a French accent.” Then he finally gave in to the urge that he had been fighting ever since this morning, and kissed her.

  Bad mistake, if he expected to get all the way around the walking path. She tasted of wine and cheese, a combination guaranteed to please a Frenchman. And she was kissing him back with great enthusiasm. His penis responded immediately and joyously to her little moan of pleasure when he thrust his tongue into her mouth.

  Much more of this and he would not be in very good shape to walk. But he could not seem to stop. Delving hungrily into her warm, wet mouth, he pulled her closer, and the condom box dug into his ribs.

  Stupid box. He was not about to give up her delicious lips, so he continued the kiss, but he did let go of her long enough to unzip his jacket and pull out the box. Holding it in one hand, he wound both arms around her and pulled her in tight enough that he could feel her heat, even through the layers of clothes.

  He wanted her with a fierceness that amazed him. He tried to unbutton her coat with his free hand, but the borrowed gloves made doing so awkward. The thought penetrated his lust-fogged brain that he needed the glove off, so he dropped the condom box in the snow so he could remove both gloves, which also landed in the snow.

  Gwen pulled back a fraction. “What are you doing?”

  “Removing my gloves.”

  “Why is that?”

  “So I can unbutton your coat.”

  “Marc . . .”

  “I know.” He worked on the buttons. “It is cold, but I will keep you warm. I need to touch you, hold you.” He gazed into her eyes. “It is essential, like breathing. If I cannot get closer, my heart will stop beating.”

  “That’s so romantic.”

  “I mean very, very close.”

  “How close?”

  “As close as a man can be to a woman.”

  Her eyes widened. “Now?”

  “Now. Take pity on me, cherie. I will never make it to the cottage.”

  Her low laughter filled the cold air between them, creating an intimacy that told him she was willing, even before she softly said, “Okay.”

  “Ah, cherie.”

  “But you’d better pick up that box you just dropped in the snow.”

  He nodded, not yet believing that she would let him do what he had in mind.

  She gestured to
ward a tree a few feet into the forest. “Up against the trunk would work, don’t you think?”

  He could not think. If he had been thinking, he would be urging her down the trail to her house and into her very civilized, very centrally heated, bedroom. But logical thought had evaporated from his brain like water in a boiling teapot. She would do this for him.

  Consequently he found himself ripping open the box of condoms and grabbing one before taking her hand and leading her through several snowdrifts. Considering how much he was shaking, he managed to get her pants and panties down to her ankles in record time. He thought about the silk dragging in the snow. . . . Then completely dismissed it as irrelevant.

  He was too busy opening his fly and rolling the condom on to worry about potentially damaged silk. “Have you ever made love outdoors?” he asked, gasping for breath.

  “No.” She was breathing hard, too. “You?”

  “Yes. But never in the snow. Hold on to my shoulders.”

  She followed directions well. She gripped him so hard he could almost feel her nails through the coat. Mentally thanking all those hours at the gym, he grasped her bare bottom and lifted her up against the snowy trunk of the tree.

  Almost there. “Is your back all right?” He prayed her coat was enough cushion, because he could not stop now.

  She gulped for air. “Back’s fine. Concentrate on front.”

  “Front?”

  “Do me, Monsieur Chevalier. Do me now!”

  He did. Sliding into her was the easiest motion he had ever known in his life. Finding the right rhythm was child’s play. A feather bed was not needed to make love to this woman. All he needed was privacy and a condom.

  It seemed as if he had anticipated this moment for years instead of mere hours. She looked into his eyes, choked out his name, and climaxed within seconds.

  He felt his orgasm galloping toward him at a pace most uncharacteristic for a laid-back Frenchman. He certainly was not in control of it. Surrender was his only option.

  With a bellow of ecstasy, he gave himself to the intense pleasure of her tight vagina. His last thrust must have been vigorous enough to shake the tree, because at the exact moment when his climax roared through him, changing the world as he knew it, a layer of snow fell from a branch and landed on his head. With angels singing and trumpets blaring, he hardly noticed the impact of a little snow.

  Chapter 19

  Leo had spent the rest of the afternoon watching ESPN and talking to his dick. When Sylvia came home from work, his buddy boy was going to perform, or else. Lying down on the job was simply not acceptable. For the past week he’d been a real stud with Gwendolyn, so how could he lose it that fast?

  Sylvia walked through the door a little after five. She looked hot in her short leather skirt and tight black sweater, so why wasn’t he hard? She was the kind of woman who would be willing to do all kinds of interesting things. This afternoon she’d tried the basics, fondling and a little mouth-to-cock resuscitation.

  She’d probably be willing to get more exotic than that. Leo pictured some light bondage courtesy of the leggy blonde, but even that mental image left him limp. He wondered if his father’s old book covered this condition. But the book was tucked away in the castle at Atwood, and Leo was left with . . . ol’ floppy.

  Sylvia tossed her coat on a chair, pulled something out of her shoulder purse and sashayed over to him. “I’ve been thinking about you.” She ran her tongue over her lips. “And what I’d like to do to you.”

  Ordinarily a comment like that would have turned him into a seething mass of lust. Instead he felt nothing whatsoever down below. Mostly he was wishing she’d move so he could see the TV. He was pretty sure the Sonics had just gone ahead, 85 to 84.

  She wiggled a box under his nose. “Chocolate-flavored condoms.”

  “You found those in—” He stopped himself before saying this hick town. “Big Knob?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, Big Knob is a very sexually oriented community. We don’t spend a lot of time talking about it, but with that big hunk of granite to inspire us, we spend a lot of time doing it. The drugstore has a ton of choices.”

  “Good to know.” He wouldn’t be telling her that condoms were extraneous with a fairy prince who was not only able to vaporize his sperm, but was immune to giving or getting communicable diseases.

  “You might also like to know that I love chocolate. I could nibble on it forever.”

  He gave her a leer because she obviously expected one. “Got a sweet tooth, babe?” By moving a little to the left, he caught the score. Outstanding. The Sonics were ahead.

  She leaned down and cupped his crotch. “You have no idea.”

  He felt the faintest of stirrings, which gave him hope. Brushing his knuckles over the spot where her nipples pushed against the sweater, he favored her with one of his killer smiles. “Then let me be your personal candy bar.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” She eased away from him. “I’m going to change into something more . . . accessible.”

  “Don’t take too long.” He wasn’t sure he could sustain this semierection he had going.

  “I won’t,” she called from her bedroom. “Guess who was in the drugstore buying condoms the same time as me?”

  Something about that statement niggled at him, pulling his attention away from the game. Then he realized what it was. If that Frenchman had been stocking up on condoms, then Leo would need to interfere with whatever plans the guy had. “Who?”

  “Ambrose Lowell.”

  “You’re kidding.” Ho-hum. Leo went back to watching the game.

  “I know. Surprised me, too. When a couple gets to be their age, they usually don’t need to worry about such matters, if you know what I mean.”

  Along came another niggling thought, and when it finally got Leo’s attention, he sat up so fast that the remote hit the floor. “You’re sure he was buying condoms?”

  “Very sure. He wasn’t very accomplished at it, either. He kept changing his mind about which ones to get. In the end I advised him to go with the ribbed. Dorcas will thank me.”

  Zeus’s balls! Leo jumped up, all thoughts of sex with Sylvia gone. Ambrose didn’t need condoms. A witch and wizard had much more sophisticated birth-control methods than that, but Leo would guess both Dorcas and Ambrose were past child-bearing age, anyway.

  Of course they were. They’d made the decision that those of their kind were given to make—kids or long life. They’d obviously chosen long life over diapers and teething.

  Good choice, in Leo’s opinion. Too bad fairies weren’t given the same option. He’d take it and convince his mother to give him the throne because he’d live for a very long time.

  But he was stuck with a normal lifespan of something like eighty years, which was why he was expected to produce an heir. If witches and wizards chose that route, their lifespan would return to the normal average.

  The bottom line to all that was, Ambrose hadn’t been buying the condoms for himself. Dorcas had been acting all mother-henish with Gwendolyn at the Hob Knob today. She and Ambrose were probably doing their matchmaking thing with Gwen and Chevalier.

  That left an obvious candidate for the little raincoats Ambrose had purchased today. Leo’s jaw clenched. He was not about to allow some Frenchman to move in on his territory.

  “What do you think?” Sylvia appeared in a black corset that barely covered her nipples, a black garter belt attached to fishnet stockings, a skimpy black thong and five-inch black stilettos.

  Leo noted with great concern that his penis didn’t so much as twitch, let alone stand up and take notice. What in Hades had happened? He’d been completely fine two nights ago!

  An image of Gwendolyn lying in her feather bed hovered in the back of his mind. His penis began to throb. With a sense of immense relief, he focused on Gwendolyn and how she’d looked that last night he’d slipped into her dream.

  He pictured her satin skin, flushed from the orgasms he�
��d given her. He remembered her nipples had tightened when he touched them. By concentrating really hard, he could almost hear her soft moans.

  And he had liftoff! His penis strained against the material of his slacks. A glance at Sylvia reversed the effect, however. Only thoughts of Gwendolyn seemed to rescue his buddy from Flaccidville.

  That made life easy, now didn’t it? He required Gwendolyn to keep his penis happy, and that meant preventing any interference from the condom-wielding Marc Chevalier. He couldn’t hang around Sylvia’s a minute longer.

  He walked over to the closet where he’d left his coat.

  “You’re not leaving?”

  He made the mistake of looking at her. Maybe he was going soft in the head as well as in the cock, because her sad expression got to him. He wasn’t into mercy missions, but on the other hand, she’d dressed up just for him. He probably could spare ten minutes.

  “Sit on your kitchen counter,” he said.

  “Oooo-kay.” She walked into her kitchen and hopped right up there. “It’s not the most romantic proposition I’ve ever had, but I like the way you think.”

  “Just wanted to give you something to remember me by.” Leo was fairly certain he’d never done this without expecting reciprocity afterward. Self-sacrifice had never been his thing, and he hoped this wasn’t a trend.

  Kneeling between her outstretched thighs, he ripped away the thong and gave her the best tongue job he could manage, all things considered. She seemed to like it, judging by the way she whooped and hollered.

  He stood, leaving her collapsed back on the Formica. “Now I really have to go.”

  She was gasping for breath. “You’re welcome to come back . . . anytime.”

  “We’ll see.” Maybe a session with Gwendolyn would fix him and he’d be back to his old self. Then he’d take Sylvia up on that offer. She was undeniably hot.

  Grabbing his coat, he left her apartment. The corpus status quo had finally worn off, so once he was out the door, he minimized himself and flew in the direction of the town square. He would dream up an even better costume tonight. But first he had to do a little reconnaissance and find out what was going on.