A Witch's Dark Craving (A Distant Edge Romance Book 2)

by Chloe Adler

  "I-I-I . . ." I shook my head, trying to clear it, and shrugged past him, hurrying down the steps to my car.

  Just as I reached the driver's side door, he was there, opening it for me. What the--? I jumped back but he motioned for me to get inside. I did, not sure what else to do. Carter leaned in and pulled the seatbelt around me, leaning his obscenely gorgeous body over mine and clicking the buckle into place. His effortless vampiric grace made the awkward gesture seamless. My nose crinkled. He must have practiced the move before.

  As he pulled himself back, he stopped inches from my face, our noses almost touching. Instinctively I pulled back, but there was nowhere for me to go as the back of my skull thumped the seat behind me. Carter paused, closed his eyes and then took a long, slow inhale. My eyes widened. I sat as still as I could, not breathing.

  He leaned forward into my neck, bringing his lips a hairsbreadth from my ear, breathing me in long and deep.

  "You smell like butterscotch and springtime," he whispered and before I could react, he straightened up and closed the car door. Aside from the errant hair he'd swept from my face, Carter hadn't touched me once.

  We looked at each other through the window. He didn't make a move to leave. I don't think I blinked or breathed. Finally, Carter leaned forward and placed a kiss on the glass. I watched his lips pucker. A tickle of something responded in between my thighs, an unfamiliar pulsing. I was mesmerized. I couldn't look away. He pulled back, smiled once more and offered a slight bow. And then, he was gone.

  I locked my car doors, anger rising. Usually I kept my anger in check. It wasn't like I regularly flew off the broomstick. Who was that vampire? How dare he tease me and make me feel this way? A fine sweat broke out on my upper lip and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. My shirt rode up my back and the nylon fabric scratched my sensitive skin. A deep rumbling reverberated, and then a large branch broke off the raywood ash tree above me and crashed down directly in front of my car. I was startled, yes, but not surprised. Whenever I got angry, my powers tended to manifest without my control.

  Carter reappeared quite suddenly next to my car. He tried the door but I refused to open it.

  "Roll down your window," he mouthed through the pane.

  I shook my head no. My nostrils flared. My nose twitched. A look of confusion crowded his near-perfect features.

  Cracking my window, I said, "You'd better vacate quickly. When I'm angry I can't control my magic."

  His mouth pushed up to the crack. "Why are you angry?" He wore a half smirk. To signal his playful tone?

  He didn't ask about my magic. Did he already know I was a witch, or was he feigning ignorance? I filed his non-reaction away.

  "Never you mind. Make yourself useful and move the branch, will you?"

  His dark eyes were full of mischief as he bent in front of my car and, with one hand, lifted the large and heavy branch above his head. Like a strong man at the circus. Show off. His muscles bulged beneath his T-shirt.

  "See you soon, beautiful," he said and offered me another one of his dazzling smiles.

  This vampire was either completely dense or confused.

  "Doubt it, I don't mingle with suck-mouths." My voice held just the right amount of contempt.

  "Better tell that to Burgundy," he called out as I drove away.

  Chapter Two

  I lay in my bed that night with the covers pulled up to my chin. What had happened back there at Sadie's house?

  Why couldn't I stop thinking about that man? No, not a man, a vampire. A filthy creature of the night. Why was I wound up so tightly tonight? As if all my muscles were spasming, putting my body on edge.

  The sheets were too stiff and too bleached, much like my life here. My mother, born at the end of the Georgian Era, still starched our sheets.

  At least my room was my own, as much as it could be. My own original artwork lined the walls, and as my head swiveled in my habitual survey of the pieces, I was suddenly irked. The eyes and faces of my siblings, my own intense mother and even a few classmates stared back at me. I was under scrutiny, even here. Why hadn't I lined the walls with abstracts, still lifes or even figure drawings instead of just portraits?

  I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths, settling in to sleep. My normal white nightgown, which covered me from chin to toes, was made of soft cotton. Tonight it contrasted with the scratch of the sheets, something I'd never noticed before. The vying sensations brought to mind the vast differences between acrylic paint and oil paint, almost opposite in texture. Acrylic was plastic and rough, while oil was smooth and fluid.

  A little spark raced through me as the fabric shifted against my body, growing impossibly tighter, as if someone were pulling it. I lifted the covers and looked down at myself. Sure enough, the nightgown was taut over my form, accentuating my breasts, stomach and hips. I gasped when my nipples sprang to life under the pressure and weight of the material. Was that something sawing over them? The gown was shifting, just a hair, igniting my skin. A sigh escaped as the material wrapped itself even tighter around me, pulling and pushing between my legs. It must be caught--I struggled a little, tugging at the hem to release it. When my hand brushed against my covered flesh, I let out a tiny yelp. Had my body ever reacted like this before? I barely shifted my torso, and the weight of the sheets above combined with the weight of the mattress below was electrifying. I licked my lips, realizing they were dry, immediately calling to mind the vampire's warm breath on my face. Tingles.

  My hand wandered over my nightgown like it had a mind of its own. My breath caught in my throat as I reached down between my legs. Why go there? I'd never touched myself before. It was disgusting. It's what my slutty nymphomaniac sister did.

  Maybe if I pressed on it, between my legs, through my nightgown and panties, I could smother the feeling.

  I found myself rubbing instead as my other hand, also possessed, reached up to grasp my nipple through the thin fabric. My back arched at the contact. I had no idea this could feel so good.

  If I didn't let myself touch my actual flesh, it had to be okay. I wasn't really a slut if I was still fully clothed, the thin material acting as a barrier against my hands.

  I closed my eyes again and there was a bright flash of light. And then the face of Carter, that magnificent vampire, wavered behind my lids.

  "Yes," he whispered, "touch yourself like that. Pretend that's my hand between your legs."

  My imagination surprised me but it couldn't hurt, this wasn't real. I rubbed harder, the sensations caressing and exhilarating at the same time. My body grew impossibly sensitive, the area between my legs catching fire.

  "Chrysothemis," he whispered into my ear. On his tongue, in my fantasy, my name rustled like silk, full of seduction. I could paint that voice over me with a delicately fanned sable brush.

  "That's it, keep rubbing your clit."

  Whoa, too dirty. My eyes flew open.

  "Close your eyes, beautiful, so you can see me."

  Wow, my imagination was bossy. I complied.

  "Put your hand underneath your panties, I want to feel how wet you are."

  "No," I argued with myself, "I've never even done this much."

  "You've never touched yourself?" The vision wavered, then flickered out.

  "No, wait," I called. "Don't go."

  His face re-solidified and a smile played on those thick crimson-red lips. The top lip was larger than the bottom. I hadn't noticed that in the car.

  "I'm here, Chrysothemis." His breath tickled my ear. "Just keep touching yourself, through the fabric if that's what you want. I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

  I let out a breathy sigh that didn't sound like me. I pushed harder between my legs as my back arched.

  "Yes, keep going." His voice poured over me like hot fudge dripping down a mound of cold vanilla ice cream.

  I wanted to lick that ice cream and chocolate off of his stomach.

  "I want you to lick me," he said becaus
e he was me and in my head, "but first I want to lick you."

  Those words sent me writhing, my fingers pulsing harder and harder against my sex. My groin flew up to meet my hand.

  The vision of Carter leaned toward my mouth, where it hovered for a moment, waiting. Waiting? Oh, for me. I closed the distance.

  I'd only been kissed once before, sloppily, like a limp, wet invasion of my mouth. This was different. How had my imagination known that it could feel so amazing? His soft lips met mine, so gentle and light. Like a feather caressing the side of my cheek, a touch that seemed not to touch.

  The kiss stayed that way, light and sweet, no tongue or fangs.

  Fangs.

  I froze. He was a vampire. What was I thinking?

  Wait. Who cared? Don't get thrown off by the details. It was my fantasy, I could forget he was a suck-mouth. Delete.

  Those lips. They stayed on mine as I melted into them again. His eyes were open as he kissed me, the pupil a golden brown with flecks of bronze and green and an outline of indigo. Our gazes locked as he moved with me, and suddenly it was as if my hand were no longer my own.

  My fingers touched me, pulsing lightly, intimately. Even through the thin fabric of my nightie and panties, it was like I wasn't in control. Like I was a puppet, and someone else was pulling my strings. There was a roughness to my hand I hadn't been conscious of, though now it was obvious even through the gown. Did I have callouses? Maybe from my paintbrushes. I hadn't touched such tender flesh before, maybe it was a normal roughness that startled me. My hand also felt larger than ever before, but before my mind could settle on any of these thoughts, I was pinching my swollen bud and crying out in pleasure.

  I wanted to throw my hand over my mouth to quiet myself but found I couldn't move it. The ministrations continued at an almost unbearable pace. Pressing. Squeezing. Flicking. Flicking? I'd never even thought of such things, let alone known I could do them to myself. Such pleasure. Waves of it. Almost unbearable. Almost too much.

  I fought to stay in control but sensation carried me away. Images of the gyrating bodies in the corners of Promise, our local dance club, flooded in. The sway of the men's hips and the women's chests as they pressed against each other. The way those half-naked bodies stroked each other so intimately. How some of them ended up heaped together in piles on the floor, kissing and fondling one another. I could see Carter there too, dancing in a corner with a spotlight on him. The way his shirtless body shifted and swayed, the lights playing off his muscular chest, which was wet with sweat and deliciously inviting. I could even smell him, the dark pungent odor of vetiver mixed with freshly brewed coffee.

  And then I was back in my room, the press of his lips still against mine, his tongue buried deep within the cavity of my mouth, exploring me with gentle flicks and swirls. This was my fantasy, I reminded myself. I could do whatever I wanted, so I returned the kiss more passionately than before, pushing my face against his, opening my mouth wider to accommodate him.

  And still the heat rose and grew between my legs, spreading like wildfire throughout my core.

  Carter's lips left mine and I longed for them to kiss me again.

  "Wait," I said, not wanting the kiss to end.

  "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered. "I want to watch you come."

  I was embarrassed by my own thought processes, but my fingers wouldn't stop. I squeezed my hand shut. It sprang open. I pushed my hand under my buttocks to try and hold it still. Again it sprang free.

  My own fingers were rubbing my swollen clit with alternating pressure. First light and then hard, then light again. They pinched my bud delicately and then rolled it between thumb and forefinger. Fondling I'd never even thought of, let alone practiced.

  Carter leaned down and dropped tiny kisses along my jawline. As he blew in my ear, chills raced along my extremities.

  The sensations built as he sucked in my earlobe, and my other hand returned to my nipple, pinching.

  It was too much, the sensations were too much. I didn't know what to do, it was like my entire body was going to explode or implode or something-plode. I didn't have words for this.

  "Come for me, Chrys," Carter whispered into my ear. He pulled back and looked into my eyes as his fingers, my fingers, strummed my body like a cello.

  Who was moaning? It sounded like an animal, low and gruff. And then it was happening, the release I'd only read about. An orgasm. My orgasm?

  I shuddered, remembering the day I'd stood in a retrospective Rothko exhibit, the way those lines of color, the deliciousness of the layered textures of paint, had ignited my very soul. As if the artist himself had reached inside of me and brushed every nerve-ending to life. I realized with an almost crystal clarity that so many of those moments had painted my own orgasmic expression.

  The soft fabric whipped me back to the present as it lightly cascaded over my extraordinarily sensitive skin. The vampire held my eyes in his as the cacophony of artistic colors and textures devolved, intermingling with my own divine flesh.

  "Yes, baby, yes, let yourself go, let yourself feel the pleasure."

  I couldn't stop it. The enchantment shot straight up my body and out the top of my head.

  Heat radiated throughout my being. I was without words, without thought, without purpose, panting in an utter ecstasy previously hidden from my consciousness.

  So this was what I'd been missing for so long. Incomplete until now. Fully a woman.

  "I loved watching you come for me, Chrys," the vampire's silken voice whispered in my ear. "Next time, I hope it will be in person."

  There was a knock at my door. My eyes flew open. "Wait," I called out but it soared open with a loud crash, hitting the wall behind it. My eyes widened. My mouth formed an O. The brief moment of exhilaration was gone in an instant as the flush from my orgasm transferred to my face. My heart beat impossibly fast. My hands moistened with sweat and I reached for the sheet to throw over my face. Because there stood my mother, in my doorway, her hands firmly planted on her hips and her nose crinkled up as if she smelled something rancid.

  "Get out of here!" I managed to yell at her.

  "I will not. This is my house and you're engaging in inappropriate behavior."

  That shut me up. I tried to pull the covers over my head but she stomped over, then yanked them down and off me completely, looking around. Craning her neck. "Who else is here with you? I heard voices."

  "No one," I said less vehemently. She'd heard voices?

  "Obviously your morally loose sibling is rubbing off on you. You will not see her again. You will not engage in sexual conduct in my house. You will not--"

  "Mother," I interrupted, pulling the covers back over me, "I'm not a child."

  "Well, you certainly are acting like one." She turned and stomped out of the room, calling back over her shoulder, "This is not over. We will discuss this in the morning."

  My door slammed shut with as much force as it had opened with.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning I sat in front of my mirror, steeling myself to face my mother. The thought of climbing into a hole and disappearing forever sounded better. I looked around my room, half expecting to see Harold with his purple crayon, drawing a doorway to save me. Running the brush through my shoulder-length hair, I gathered it up to the crown, twisting a brown ponytail band tightly around it. I reached to separate the tail in two and pulled it even tighter before shaking my head to loosen it slightly. Holding my own eyes in the mirror, I took deep, meditative breaths. You've got this, I told myself, even though I didn't believe it.

  Mother was waiting for me in the kitchen, her kitchen. While growing up, this had been my favorite room in the house. It had been Iphi's favorite too, and I suspected that when we were allowed to help with the cooking, which was rare, Sadie loved it as well. When Dad had been around, Mom hadn't let us help with the cooking and he had teased her mercilessly for it. He'd joked that it was because she'd wanted to poison him herself. Either that or to ref
resh the love spell he'd often accused her of casting on him. We'd all laughed, secretly wondering if it was true.

  The kitchen was often flooded with the delicious smells of freshly baked bread and peppermint tea. The herbs she dried hung from rafters above, infusing the kitchen with the scents of old. Usually, this room brought me such comfort. Why then did everything feel different now? Wrong?

  The gorgeous wooden table, hand carved from a single tree trunk, stretched out before me like a foreboding brown canvas. For the first time, its familiar knots struck me as imperfections marring the beautiful old surface. Mother was already seated in one of the hand-built wooden chairs; I couldn't even make eye contact with her. She pointed to the chair across from her. It was already pulled out, and as I sunk my body into it, the high back pressed uncomfortably against me. Hard. Shifting in my seat, I placed my hands on the table, clasping them together, intertwining my fingers. Mother drummed the table in front of her but I couldn't look up.

  I had never been afraid of Mother before, even though I knew she was capable of pretty much anything. If she wanted to make my life miserable, she could. At any time. Luckily for me, she had chosen Sadie as her scapegoat. But now that Sadie was finally settling down, something our mother had always wanted for her, would Aurelia turn her anger on me?

  She folded her arms in front of her, covering the knots made by the old oak. Her strawberry-blond hair brushed her wrists as she began tapping her fingers on the wood. After blinking at me several times in silence, she puckered and un-puckered her plump red lips. Her multicolored eyes were hard as she looked me up and down, her nostrils flaring. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head, the reddish hues of her hair catching the light and shimmering like gold, like the sun. I momentarily closed my eyes, imagining the glint blinding me.

  "What's going on?" Mother asked, bringing me back.

  I respected our family's no-nonsense way of being. Not enough to go there myself all the time though.