As they neared the castle, the sounds of her ongoing bash trickled into the late evening. Ginger blinked up at him. “If I go back to the party with my boobs hangin’ out, my mother will kill me.”
“We’re not going to the ballroom. I know a few things about the castle. There’s a secret passage that goes to my room.”
Within minutes, he had traversed the dusty, dark passage and entered a small bedroom. Well, small for Castle Dundrury. The huge four-poster bed dominated the space. She glimpsed the bathroom through the open door on the left side of the room. There were chairs and bookcases, an armoire and a dresser—all cherry wood. She didn’t get a good look because Mystery Man dumped her on the bed, locked the door, and turned off the lights in thirty seconds flat.
What am I doing? For a moment, she thought about dipping into his head, finding out the truth about him. But that would ruin her fun, her fantasy. And her psychic oath forbade her to read anyone’s thoughts without permission. He didn’t emit a single bad vibe and his aura, which she could view without his consent, didn’t have so much as a gray smear anywhere on it.
Ginger heard the snick of match. A flame appeared in the blackness. After a few seconds, Mystery Man had lit several candles in the room. It gave the space a romantic glow.
Her heart warmed. She had picked the right man. This was going to be a glorious night. Hmm-umm. It would be a fabulous, wonderful, fantasy-filled night of passion, of possibilities.
He crossed the room and she heard a heavy curtain swept aside. A large window revealed the big, white circle of the moon. Contentment settled her stomach, though her body buzzed with anticipation. How had he known the moon would comfort her?
The gorgeous blond returned to the bed and began to shed his clothes. Lust beat an ancient tempo in her pulse. Her body thickened with heat, desire…yes, oh yes. Perfect night for a witch’s birthday.
Nigel Brubre’s heart thudded as he crawled onto the bed and gathered the beautiful, champagne-giddy Ginger into his arms. He wanted to make love to her slowly, thoroughly. He wanted to show her with his touch what he’d never been able to tell her with his words.
How did you admit to the woman who didn’t know you existed that you’d been in love with her since you were ten years old?
He threaded his fingers through the silky strands that had escaped from her upswept hairdo. The enchanted green sparkles had long since faded, but he remembered how they’d looked, how she’d looked entering the ballroom with that hip-wiggling, boob-jiggling sashay and yelling, “Let’s blow these doors off, people! Happy birthday to me!”
“Your hair reminds me of fire,” he said.
“Wow.” Her tone was heavy with sarcasm. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
He blushed, lowering his head to her neck, his lips barely pressing the flesh, to hide his embarrassment. C’mon, Nigel! Be more original. This is your chance. Your only chance!
“I guess that was lame,” he admitted. “Sorry.”
“You know, sweets, you can do a lot more good with your mouth than talking.” She shimmied her breasts against his chest.
He groaned.
She laughed.
Then she pushed on his shoulders until he rolled over onto his back. Flinging a leg over his waist, she straddled him, nestling her pussy against his hard-on. “I’m a virgin.”
“You mentioned that.” So am I, Ginger. I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve wanted to be your first, last and only. No other woman will ever do.
“Oh. All right then.” She snapped her fingers and her thong disappeared in a flare of red magic. Then she rubbed her pussy on his cock. He felt her slickness, her warmth. Nigel’s fingers danced up her thighs, stalling at her hips.
“This feels good,” she said, her eyes closed, her body undulating like a belly dancer while she made him hotter, harder… At this rate, he would come before he even got inside her.
Trembling, he reached for her breasts, cupped those beautiful, big mounds and squeezed. Her nipples hardened against his palms. She had big nipples the color of pink sea coral. He brushed his thumbs against the taut peaks, his pulse stumbling when she moaned. Her eyes flickered open. “Do that again, lover. Only harder. Like you mean it.”
“Hardly the chaste and embarrassed directions of a virgin,” he said as he complied.
She practically purred. “Yeah, like that.” She looked at him, her eyes glazed with lust. “Virgin body, baby, not a virgin mind. My sisters and I read every sex book and watched every dirty movie we could get our hands on. You think I’m bold? You should’ve seen what Rosemary marked in The Witch’s Guide to Pleasuring Your Warlock. A little old-fashioned but very detailed.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he breathed. She was moving again, sliding her wet cunt across his aching cock. He tweaked her nipples again, tugging hard. A low moan escaped and she bit her lower lip.
“I sooooo like that,” she said.
His whole life, Nigel never had control. He plodded along on the life course set by his parents, his instructors, and his so-called destiny. But this night with Ginger belonged to him. For once in his twenty years on this planet, he was making a decision for his own happiness. Screw the consequences.
“Should we try penetration?” she asked.
“Not yet. Let me taste you.”
His plan had been to flip her onto her back and sample her flesh, inch by luscious inch. He wanted to tongue-lash her all way to her succulent pussy. But Ginger thwarted his idea. She crawled up to his face and, planting a knee on either side of his head, lowered herself to his mouth. She used her fingers to open her pussy…a very erotic blooming flower.
Lust rippled through him as he breathed in her feminine scent. Beautiful…so beautiful.
He kissed the spot just above her slit then dragged his tongue down the slender line. Ecstasy trembled through him as he licked the plump flesh.
His thorough exploration continued until her thighs quivered and her pussy dripped.
Then, and only then, did he slide his tongue into her wet heat and begin a slow rhythm.
“Oh Goddess!” she said, moaning. “That feels so good!”
He reached one hand between her legs and pinched her clit. Nigel looked up, wanting to see her expression, and found an even more erotic sight—she cupped her own breasts, playing with the nipples. Lust poured through him, a quaking need that rocked him to the core.
Her long red hair brushed his stomach as she moved in rhythm with his tongue. He wanted nothing more than for her to come on his face, to taste her essence, to know that he had brought her pleasure.
“Oh! Oh yes!” Her pussy clenched, sucking at his tongue, then she cried out. Her juices flowed into his mouth, onto his face, and he drank as if he’d been a mortal granted sacred ambrosia.
“I want more,” she said. “More of you, my cute birthday present.”
Scooting down, she squatted above his cock. He looked at her position, which so clearly showed her swollen, wet cunt, and felt the breath whoosh out of his lungs. “Ginger…”
She fitted her pussy onto his hard length. Ever so slowly, she lowered herself until he was half embedded.
“I-I need help,” she said.
If his heart hadn’t already belonged to her, he would’ve given it to her at that very moment. He couldn’t remember a time that Ginger Thorne had displayed vulnerability. And yet here she was, eager but hesitant.
He stretched out his hands. “Hold on to my hands. Then push down and I’ll thrust up.”
“Okay.” Her eyes, green as jade, were still glazed from her orgasm. But he saw the lingering uncertainty, the ghost of fear.
“Do you want to stop?” he asked.
She blinked at him. “What? You mean you would actually stop?”
“Yes. I want to you to be happy. To find pleasure in what we’re doing. If you’re not…then we’ll do something else.”
She grinned. “You mean like play Parcheesi or talk about politics?” She shook her head
. “Forget it, babycakes. I want to play with you.”
Grabbing onto his hands, she pushed down and he thrust up. Nigel found himself completely sheathed by her tight, warm pussy.
“Feels weird,” said Ginger. “But I like it.”
“Move when you’re ready,” he said, panting. He was a virgin too, and though he’d often stroked himself to orgasm, he knew plunging into Ginger’s tight cunt would bring him to the edge in a matter of moments. Then again, they had all night to experiment, to play, to learn—together.
It took a few moments for her to adjust. Then she experimented, pumping her hips up and down, clenching and unclenching his cock with her inner muscles. It was torture of the worst—and of the best—kind.
Repositioning herself so that her knees were on either side of his hips, she once again drew his cock into her pussy. She leaned forward and brushed her breasts across his chest. As her nipples scraped his sensitized flesh, he drew in a harsh breath and grappled with his thin control.
Ginger smiled and those cherry lips covered his in a long, sweet kiss. As her tongue thrust into his mouth, he wrapped his hands around her hips to steady himself and to give her gentle encouragement. At first, her movements were unsure, but soon, she gained momentum, grinding her pussy against him as she took his cock again and again.
She turned wild, all fire and heat and need, kissing him ravenously, her nails scraping down his ribs as she rode him hard.
“Yes, Ginger.” Nigel moaned as pleasure ricocheted through him. “Fuck me!”
“Oh!” she cried. “Say it again, baby.”
“Fuck me,” he begged. “I want to fill up that beautiful pussy with my come.”
“Oh, that’s hot,” she panted. “So fucking hot. Tell me again, please. I’m on the edge, so close. Let’s go over together.”
“Fuck me, Ginger. Fuck me hard. I want you to come. Yes, baby…come on my cock!”
The orgasm burst with a rush of heat and light and joy. As his semen spilled into her pussy, he felt Ginger’s release, the violent pulsations of her cunt wringing him dry.
* * * * *
Nigel awoke with Ginger in his arms. He wished he could stay with her, be the one she turned to always, but Fate had already determined their paths.
As his hands memorized her body, he drank in these last moments of enjoyment with his love. She woke easily, smiling sleepily at him as her hands slid up his chest, her firm body writhing under his touch.
He stroked her clit. She moaned and rubbed her slick flesh against his palm. She would know only ecstasy—not his anguish.
He trailed soft, slow kisses down the curve of her belly. Sweat dewed on her pale skin. He licked the tiny droplets, drawing patterns in her pale flesh with his tongue before parting her trembling thighs so that he could taste her. Her swollen clit felt as succulent as a ripe berry and just as sweet. He tugged the morsel between his lips and suckled. She arched against his mouth, her restless hands plundering his hair.
“Please,” she begged, pushing against his mouth.
He slid his hands under her buttocks and pulled her close, breathing in her woman scent. It was as earthy and intoxicating as the scent of the forest after a long rain.
He stroked her with his tongue, torturing her clit with tiny, brief suckles. She moved against his mouth, taking her pleasure with the same sweet-heat spice that was her name.
“Oh…wait. No, wait. Please. I want…”
He was relentless in his worshipping of her. He wanted her to remember this night. To remember him.
She stilled, arched, and cried out as she came, her juice coating his chin and cheeks. He soothed her with long strokes. Her hands were wrapped in his hair, holding him hostage until she collapsed to the bed. He bent low and reluctantly rubbed his face against the coverlet.
She pulled at his shoulders, her smile one of feminine satisfaction.
She drew him up her body. He positioned himself above her and slowly entered. She was wet and ready and tight.
He moaned. Each stroke sent pleasure rippling through him. She pulled him close, grasping, her body mimicking his. He thrust harder and faster, her breathy moans battering away at his control.
The pulsations of her orgasm tugged at his cock and he went over the edge. Even as the fog cleared from his mind, he lay against her, his face cradled against her neck, and felt every razor edge of regret.
He’d found paradise…and he couldn’t stay.
Chapter Two
One week later…
Victoria and William Brubre were wealthy, class-conscious and vain. Ginger did not want to enter their perfectly white living room or sit on their expensive leather couch or drink herbal tea sweetened with honey.
And yet, here she was…entering, sitting, drinking.
Damn it.
“As you are aware,” she said, “I am required by magical law to use my gift to help any and all who ask. To be honest, I don’t understand why you’ve contacted me. I would think Mage Honorus to be more to your liking.”
“You would be correct,” said Mr. Brubre. His nasal tone held just the right touch of censure. The man was tall and thin with a narrow face and flat, black eyes. She’d always thought of him as the human equivalent of a knife—sharp and deadly. “However, since you are responsible for Nigel abandoning his familial duty, we feel you should be the one to find and return him to us.”
Ginger’s mouth dropped open. “I had nothing to do with your son’s disappearance.”
“Hah!” crowed Mrs. Brubre. She was as tall and thin as her husband. Both wore white robes and the finest gold jewelry money could buy—nearly mirror images of each other. However, Mrs. Brubre’s outfit was livelier than her husband’s. Where he gazed out coldly at the world and everyone in it, she calculated the worth of the people and the objects in her immediate vicinity. Ginger figured she didn’t rate much on Mrs. Brubre’s Scale of Worth.
“He is engaged to Lorette Rhia of the South Rhia Clan. It is an appropriate alliance. You are beneath him.” Mrs. Brubre ground her teeth. “And it appears that is a literal reference.”
“What are you—” Sudden realization hit her like a lead fist. “He was the one at my birthday party? The one who…oh. Oh my Goddess.”
Nigel Brubre had lovingly taken her virginity? She hadn’t recognized him. Not at all. Then again, his older brothers were the ones who grabbed the spotlight. Her heart thumped in her chest. She’d been trying to find out the identity of her mystery lover to no avail. Goddess above! She couldn’t believe she’d spent the night with a Brubre. The Brubres had caused nothing but strife and hardship for her family.
Ah, but Nigel had given her a night of pleasure and of wonder that she would never forget. And now she knew why he had left her without revealing his name. Had he thought she’d attempt to get a marriage proposal from him? Or ask for bucketfuls of money? Fury whipped through her.
“Oh don’t play coy with us, young lady. You knew exactly who you were taking to your bed,” sneered Mrs. Brubre. Her pale cheeks turned an angry red. “And don’t pretend that you don’t know the boy has some idiotic notion of becoming an Ovate.”
Ginger carefully put the china cup onto its matching plate. And she clamped a lid on her temper. One spell, just one…and neither one of you will talk for a week. Truthfully, Nigel seemed sweet and patient and…he’d liked her. Really liked her. But how could she ever know the truth about his motives? “Your son left to become a monk scholar, all on his own, and you think it’s because he slept with me?”
“Of course! You bespelled him somehow! Why else would he give up such a profitable marriage, take a vow of poverty, and pursue…knowledge?” Mrs. Brubre waved a hand in front of her face as if to hold off a faint. She said the word “knowledge” with the same distaste as she might’ve said “penniless”.
“Maybe that’s what Nigel wanted,” said Ginger as she stood and straightened her simple green skirt. “This may be a stretch for you, but not everyone cares about money. Sendin
g your son into a loveless marriage because it profits you is selfish and wrong.” Ginger picked up her purse and glared at the two people looking at her with snide expressions. “Then again, why would you ever put someone else’s happiness above your own?”
“How dare you!” Mrs. Brubre put a hand against her heaving chest, the very portrayal of indignation.
“I will have Mage Honorus contact you at his earliest convenience. Blessed be.” Ginger inclined her head then turned to go.
“Wait,” said Mr. Brubre. “You must be the one to convince Nigel to return. He has pledged to marry Lorette and it is his duty as our son to wed her.”
Ginger inhaled a calming breath, then she turned to face the Brubres once again. “Your son has the right to live the life he chooses. You’ll just have to deal with the fact that what he wants does not coincide with your wishes.”
“We ask for your help so you must give it,” reminded Mr. Brubre.
“Only if doing so will not incur harm to another. I will not help you create unhappiness for another person. And if I find Nigel and force his return, it will only bring him misery.” Ginger walked until she was scant inches from the Brubres. They looked at her, obviously shocked she would encroach on their personal space. “Now, if you don’t understand what I’m telling you, let me clarify. Fuck. Off.”
Mrs. Brubre sucked in an outraged breath. Her mouth opened and closed like a that of a freshly caught trout. Mr. Brubre’s black gaze looked the same as always, though his lips thinned into a murderous frown.
“You refuse us?” he asked. He considered Ginger, a finger tapping his lips. “Perhaps you only need proper motivation.”
Ginger crossed her arms and glared at him. “Oh please. Don’t even try to bribe me.”
“Don’t we hold the deed to the Thornes’ herbal shop, my dear?”
His harpy wife placed a hand on his arm, her smile white and soulless. “Why yes! And I believe we discussed selling that property.”
“It’s in a prime location,” agreed Mr. Brubre. “We could get quite the pretty penny for the land and the building.”
Sex With Your Hex Page 5
