Witch Me (Blood Chord Book 3)

by Alex Owens

  “I told you I was good at my job,” I interjected, still smarting from the way things had been going. “You may not like it, but you’ll love the results. It’s been a very productive evening.”

  “I can’t think about any of that right now. The only thing I can think about at the moment is sucking that sweet cunt of yours until you come all over my face.”

  His words struck a chord within me and I bit my lip in anticipation.

  Clive’s hand slipped under and into the slit in my dress. He stroked my waxed bits so lightly, so delicately, that I could just barely feel it. I leaned forward a bit, hoping for more contact. A finger slipping inside me, something. Anything. I needed more. So much for trying not to be a whore.

  “Behave, the night is still young.” Clive smacked my ass for good measure, then disappeared back into the swarming crowd of guests.

  I inhaled sharply, trembling.

  Good lord, I was turning into a shameless hussy. Worse yet, I was loving it. I had to get my mind back on business. Closing my eyes for a second, I gulped from my glass of blood-tinged champagne, swirled it around my mouth and finally swallowed.

  “I’m glad to see that you and Clive are on better terms in the present.”

  Oh, god...Bette. I’d recognize her voice anywhere. I opened my eyes and gawked.

  She stood inches before me, wrapped in a semi-translucent, white silk Asian number. Through the delicate fabric, I could just make out the curve of her breasts, the darkness of her nipples, the swell of her hips. Her ebony hair was in a complicated knot atop her head, from which a stick-straight pony tail snaked all the way down her back, past her hips. She smiled easily at me and her skin seemed to glow pearlescent.

  She was otherworldly; she was a goddess. I’d forgotten the effect she’d had on me, until that moment when, once again, I felt myself being pulled under, drowning, a smile on my face.

  Chapter Nine

  Awk-ward. That’s the best word to describe what happened when Bette and I ran into each other for the first time after all of the shit that went down in Orlando. We stood like polite little statues. We smiled a lot. We tried to make small talk. It was all so very excruciating.

  I wanted to hug her. I wanted to cry. I wanted to yell and curse and ask her if I’d meant anything at all to her, because ignoring me for almost two years had been a damned fine way to show it. I wanted to undress her with my teeth.

  “Do you want to...” she started, glancing around nervously.

  “Go somewhere more private?” I fiddled with the fabric on my dress.

  “Yes,” we both said in unison, breaking the ice just enough that we both relaxed visibly.

  As we casually made our way through the crowd, I caught Clive’s eye in passing. He seemed to be giving me an “Atta girl” look, which wasn’t what I was expecting. What about all of that business about keeping me for himself? Or the jealousy he’d oozed earlier when I was attempting to brain Mr. Darling? He certainly didn’t seem bothered by the idea of sharing me now and that worried me more than I’d like to admit.

  Passing through the immense double doors, Hank and Tank stood motionless like the Queen’s Guard. Either they were very boring Vamps, or exceedingly good at their jobs.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled in their direction and tried to remember how Clive and I had arrived at the banquet hall hours earlier, so that I could reverse engineer the course back to his room. I looked right, then left, then over at Bette. She stood politely, waiting on me to take the lead. That was a first.

  “This way,” I smiled started off in what I hoped was the right direction.

  Bette stepped in line with me and we walked for several minutes in silence. I’d started to notice the painting hanging on the walls, but it wasn’t until I recognized one that I stopped in my tracks.

  “There’s no way this is real?” I stood before the Mona Lisa. I knew, because I’d see it years before in the Louvre in Paris, which as far as I could tell was nowhere near Washington, DC.

  “Oh, but it is.” Bette replied. “Most of the art in museums today are either very good fakes, or duplicates.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Take for instance this painting, La Giaconda. Clive has had this in his possession since before the paint was completely dry. Gifted with an eye for art, if he saw something in an artist or the painting, he’d commission the artist for a second, almost identical painting. Clive would get the original, which he swears has the “certain something” that the duplicate does not. The second painting would be the one that history knows of now.”

  “If he saw a painting that he wanted and the artist was long dead, Clive would just steal it and leave a clever copy in its place. Most have never been detected as frauds. It is quite the hobby of his. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you about any of that.”

  “Well, I’ve only been here a couple of days, and we don’t... uh... talk all that much.” I felt like I’d stepped in it with that one.

  Bette only chuckled. “I’d imagine not. That man likes three things: art, combat and carnal pursuits.”

  “Carnal Pursuits? You mean fucking, right?” Now it was my turn to laugh. “Do you ever think of letting loose a bit? You should try it. Like now... say ‘fucking’ for me. Pretty please?”

  Bette pursed her lips and seemed to be trying out the word silently beforehand. It was the most relaxed, non-poised thing I’d ever seen her do. Finally, she turned toward me, backing me up against the while plastered wall.

  Her face inches from mine, she spoke in her trademarked sultry tone. “You want me to say it? It means that much to you?”

  I licked my lips. If I leaned forward just a bit, I could kiss her easily and boy, did I want to.

  “Yes, please.”

  Bette brushed her lips against mine, “Fuck-eeng.”

  “Yes, fucking.” I inhaled sharply and kissed her back, lightly.

  She kissed me again, a bit harder, toying with my bottom lip. “Fucking. Does that make you happy, Clara bella?”

  I nodded, unable to talk and regain my composure at the same time. I needed the composure more at the moment, I’m afraid.

  Bette stepped back and took me by the hand.

  “Good,” she said. “I’ve been waiting a long time to make you happy Clara, and I’m not done yet.”

  Her words sent gooseflesh up my back and all coherent thoughts running away at warp speed. I couldn’t have ignored the tightening in my crotch if my life had depended on it, either.

  “Just a little bit farther now,” I whispered, squeezing her hand and practically dragging her down the last corridor, at least I hoped it was. If I didn’t find the bedroom in the next few minutes, I was pretty sure that I’d end up banging her into the first room I found, even if it was a dusty janitors closet.

  Finally, I spied the correct door just up ahead. We practically sprinted there.

  I stopped us at the heavy baroque door, about as far from the banquet room as you could get and still be in the building. “We can go in here, it’s ...”

  “Clive’s room, I know.” Bette pushed open the door and waltzed in and left me no choice but to follow her and take care of closing the door quietly behind me.

  Why did I get the feeling that she’d been in there before? And why did that irritate me? If I was jealous, who was I jealous of, Clive or Bette?

  Or maybe I was just a little skeeved out, but for admittedly the wrong reasons?

  I knew that Clive was Bette’s maker, so I in my mind they had a parent and child relationship and that was just beyond-gross. Brain bleach level gross.

  But I suspected that I’d been way off base, especially once Bette dropped her dress to the ground with one flick of its clasp, climbed into the bed and sat poised against the obscene amount of pillows scattered against the headboard. She still wore her fire red heels. She’d clearly done that before and I’d bet willing to bet that Clive had been just as turned on as I was from the pageantry of it.

  Without meanin
g to, I joined her on the bed completely bare, without a stitch of clothing. I don’t even remember taking my dress off. Five minutes alone with her and I’d already begun to follow her around like a puppy. What was it about Bette that turned me into Stepford-Me? Whatever it was, I wasn’t sure that I liked it. Not one bit. But I was equally sure that I didn’t care right in that moment either.

  “I’ve missed you more than you can know, Clara.” She stroked the side of my arm, willing me to relax against her. I did, of course, relishing the feel of her flesh and curves abutting my own.

  Deep down, I wanted to make some smart assed comment about her self-imposed distance, but instead I merely said, “I’ve missed you too,” and kissed her bare shoulder. Then her collar bone, then the little spot right behind her ear. My fingers settled on her lean thigh, twitching to stroke and caress her.

  Bette eased me back against the mound of pillows and climbed on top of me, straddling my lap. She leaned down to kiss me again, fisting my hair in her hands. I nipped her lip and she moaned, wiggling her bottom. I grasped her firm ass in my hands and her hips rolled more, grinding on me as the kisses deepened.

  I lowered my mouth to her breasts, suckling one until it pebbled underneath my tongue, before moving on to the other. I held the weight of each in my splayed hands, firm and silky soft. She tasted divine, like milk and honey and sunlight. She arched her back and slipped her hands down over my sides. I nipped her nipple with my teeth, lightly.

  I felt myself quiver under her touch. My body tracking her fingers inch by inch. They came to rest over my hips briefly before pushing back up my abdomen to ultimately end at my breast. She squeezed each deftly, the perfect amount of pressure and tenderness. My nipples ached at the attention, my groin reacting in its own way.

  “Ladies, do you mind?” came a voice from the doorway.

  I pulled my face away from Bette’s breast long enough to see Clive standing just inside the room with a hopefully look on his face. I smiled as my way of giving permission, before glancing up to Bette. She extended one long graceful hand in his direction, an invitation, and Clive somehow managed to strip and walk at the same time, without missing a beat.

  I gulped. He certainly was a magnificent beast, all lean muscle and imposing stature. The swagger only notched things up even further. Holy shit, this night was going better than I’d expected. Way better.

  Clive positioned himself on the bed next to us, surveyed the scene and then took control in his own way. Keeping us in the same position we were in, me seated with Bette straddling me, he lifted us both up and into his lap. I had no idea he was that strong, or that cunning. Once positioned, I realized that he had shifted us just a little bit, so that his hardened cock stood conveniently between where my body joined with Bette’s.

  He’d essentially made himself the meat in our lady-part sandwich.

  Clive kissed the back of my neck and reached around to grab Bette by the ass. She pressed forward, her breast covering half of my face, and increased the contact between the three of us. I could feel Clive, hard against my clit, slick and throbbing. I rolled my hips a bit and Bette moaned. She slid up and down against him, the friction transferring to me as well.

  He stiffened and bit into my shoulder.

  I gasped, but not from pain. In the moment his fangs sank into my shoulder, he lifted me up and sunk his cock into me. Bette touched me then, delicate fingers flicking back and forth. My entire body convulsed for a beat, and then Clive withdrew himself from me, then lifted Bette and sunk into her with one slow stroke. I held her by the hips, not letting her reach the base of him too fast.

  I kissed her on the lips, pressing her breasts above mine. I felt her wet nipples graze my throat. Clive pulled out of Bette and once again slipped between us. His cock was hot and wet and slid easily against my clit. I swiveled my hips, trying for more contact. My prayers were answered as he slipped into me again, held it for a beat, and then pulled out. He dipped his cock alternatively in me, then Bette, and back again. No sooner than my orgasm had begun to build then he was gone. The intrusion and retreat was almost too much for me to bear.

  I bit into Bette’s nipple, her delightful blood filling my mouth. I suckled for only a moment before releasing her breast to watch the blood trickle over her porcelain skin. Waste not, want not, I thought. I leaned forward to catch the errant drops with my tongue and then licked the trail of blood from her tender flesh.

  Bette leaned back, pulling me with her until she was laying on the bed flat, with me on top. Clive got to his knees behind us and slipped himself into me, one delicious inch at a time. Two painfully slow strokes and he withdrew, giving Bette a turn on the stick. I slipped my hand down to her pussy, rolling her clit between my two fingers, and felt Clive’s cock graze the edge of my hand. Feeling him plunging into Bette was almost as good as having him inside of me. Almost, but not quite.

  Clive grabbed my hips again, but instead of pushing into me again, he lifted me up and spun me around. Now his cock was in my face, and Bette’s face was between my legs. She lapped at my folds swiftly while I took hold of Clive in my fist. I licked the head of his cock, trying to focus on it and not the magic that was happening on the tip of Bette’s tongue.

  Too much of that and I’d be done.

  Opening as wide as I could, I took in the length of him, deep into my throat. Not needing to breathe, I swallowed him further than my human self ever could have, to the point where I felt the cartilage of my throat pop. Clive grunted and put his hands on the back of my head, thrusting even deeper, seating himself fully in my mouth.

  Bette took that moment to sink her fangs into my pussy, setting off a chain reaction of mini quakes in my body. I pulled my hips up and away, effectively telling her to give me a minute.

  I pulled Clive’s cock out of my mouth, stroked it once and directed him into Bette. While he pushed into her, I leaned down and rubbed the top of her mound with the palm of my hand.

  She pulled my hips back down and flicked her tongue right up my slit, pressing it harder as she ran over my clit. She slipped a finger inside of me and drew little circles around with her tongue. Clive pulled out of Bette and plunged into my mouth. I could taste Bette on his cock and that was almost enough to send me over the edge. It was too much.

  I pulled him out, then slowly sucked just the head of his cock into my mouth. Pulled it out again and repeated it, careful to keep my lips drawn so the entry was tight. Clive groaned and shoved his cock down my throat. He was getting close, I could tell by the way his cock suddenly seemed fuller and hotter.

  Bette licked and sucked me in earnest now, and I was done holding back. I rode her face, swiveling my hips as the delicious friction was building up in my core. I pulled Clive out of my mouth and bent down to slip my tongue into Bette.

  So wet, so sweet... and quivering. Yes, she was close too.

  I sat up, guided Clive’s cock into Bette’s throbbing folds and pulled him into a hair-grabbing kiss. Her juices in my mouth, my pussy riding Bette’s face. Clive’s cock in Bette and his hand snaking around my rear to press on my puckered opening.

  It was all. It was everything. And then there was nothing.

  My orgasm ripped through me in one violent shudder. I came on Bette’s tongue and she lapped it up eagerly. Bette came on Clive’s cock hard and he held his own release off just long enough to pull out and thrust himself back in my mouth, his come spurting down my throat in warm jets.

  “Holy mother of pearl,” I swallowed and panted, flinging myself back on the bed. Clive and Bette did the same, one on each side of me.

  We laid there, a tangle of limbs for what could have been hours or merely moments. My sense of time was seriously skewed. As was my sense of gravity; I felt boneless and without perceivable mass, threatening to slip away into the ether. But oh, what a way to go.

  At peace, enveloped by the people I loved and perfectly content to stay there forever, I thought. Yes, I said it. Doesn’t mean that I’d say it out loud or a
nything just yet, but at least I was being honest with myself. That was a start.

  Clive’s arm lay around my shoulders, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin on the back of my arm. I turned my head and kissed his chest. Bette lay half-draped over my core, with her face below my rib cage and her hair fanned out over my abdomen. I held her to me with my free arm, squeezed just a little, and felt her shift in the bed.

  She raised up on her forearms and kissed me sweetly, before standing up beside the bed. “There is still business to attend to, unfortunately.” She slipped back into her dress and crossed over to the mirror, where she smoothed her hair and reapplied lipstick.

  “Do you have to go?” I asked, noting how needy I sounded.

  “I do, Clara Bella.” She came back to the bed, lifted my face with her hand and flashed a smile at me. “But I’ll see you again soon. I promise.”

  I nodded and she stepped away. I relaxed back into Clive’s arms. At least he wasn’t loving-and-leaving this time. For someone who could be such a blood-sucking dick, he was turning out to be the most stable of all my people. Either that said a lot about him, or a lot about my other companions.

  I heard Bette open the door and pause. I rolled over in the bed to see what stopped her.

  “What’s this?” She nodded to the writhing body just outside the doorway, on the floor.

  “Jesus, Claire.” Clive chuckled. “That’s one of my security team. He must have been passing by when you went all Oprah.”

  “Not following.” I could barely turn my head at the moment, let alone string a complete thought together.

  “You know...Here’s an Orgasm for you, and one for you. Orgasms for everybody!”

  A smile cracked over my face. “You watch too much television, you know that?”

  “What would you have me do in its place? Take up knitting?” he countered.

  “I am getting the feeling that I have missed something,” Bette muttered to herself before stepping over the body nonchalantly and pulling the door shut behind her.