Dedication
Chapter One
Why do you fight me? Let me inside. Surrender, sweet Dorothy. Surrender to me.
Every night. Every night for the past two weeks.
She lay in bed for a few frustrated minutes, and then flung off the covers to head toward the kitchen. Maybe some hot chocolate with a sprinkle of Valerian would help her get back to sleep.
“Why won’t he leave me alone?” she mumbled grumpily, noticing the clock on the stove showing an unbelievable three o’clock in the morning. She rolled her eyes, answering her own question. “He’s a wizard, that’s why. Aunt Glen always said wizards were deceitful, horny little devils.”
She set a pan on the stove, filled it with milk and turned on the flame, her features softening when a sleek, orange cat leapt onto the counter to mewl conversationally.
“You’re so easy, Suki. A few sardines and you give your heart away.” She blew a stray red curl out of her eyes and sighed. “As if bribing my cat would get me to lower my guard.”
She scratched behind Suki’s ears apologetically. “It isn’t your fault. He is a charmer. And he doesn’t particularly care who it is that he’s charming. In fact, he seems to be working on some kind of record.”
Dorothy had lived in the eccentric Venice Beach community in California for years, and she’d thought she’d seen it all. There was no shortage of characters. It was one of the reasons she loved living here. But she’d never seen anyone with quite as much…stamina…as her new “neighbor”.
It seemed as though every time she looked out her balcony window he had company. Female or male, the gender didn’t seem to matter, and very often he would entertain one of each. And there was no doubt what he was up to. No, the man seemed to have a personal vendetta against curtains and blinds. As if he wanted to be seen.
And heard. The sounds coming out of that townhouse each night kept the neighborhood buzzing with curiosity and not a little envy. Mrs. Goldstein, the eighty-year-old widow across the street, had found one excuse after another to visit Dorothy. Always making sure she had a window seat overlooking the Frayne townhouse.
And her stepsister Emily? She may as well have moved in with the amount of time she spent at Dorothy’s family home. They’d only lived together for one year. Her mother had called her time with Emily’s playboy father her “Year of Living Normally”, but to Dorothy it had been sheer unadulterated hell.
Emily was everything Dorothy wasn’t. The perfect fairytale stepsister. Slim, blonde and cruel. The amount of restraint it had taken the young witch not to use her powers in front of Emily was a feat she could still scarcely believe she’d accomplished.
When their parents had divorced, Dorothy was sure she’d never have to see the snooty little princess again. That she could have friends that wouldn’t be stolen, crushes that wouldn’t be exploited, but to her surprise, Emily refused to lose touch. Absolutely refused.
The adult, compassionate part of Dorothy realized that, other than her useless egomaniac of a father, Emily didn’t actually have any family. And for some strange reason, she’d decided to claim Dorothy as her own.
The petulant kid in her just wanted to tell the self-absorbed hussy to get lost, but luckily that part of her didn’t have the voting majority.
Her friend and old family neighbor Kansas Frayne had helped with that. She really missed him. He’d always been there when she needed to vent, and he was one man that Emily couldn’t woo away from Dorothy. It galled her stepsister no end to think the handsome, young heir to a veritable fortune would rather hang out with Dorothy, rather date men than fall under her spell.
She still wrote to him as often as she could, but in the last few years, since that final nasty break up with Daniel when he’d chucked it all and moved to Iowa, they barely spoke. It broke her heart.
Dorothy couldn’t imagine that the shy, serious Kansas she used to spend so many of her younger summers with actually knew this character. She wouldn’t have believed it if his uncle hadn’t called to let her know one of his friends was coming to stay for a while, and she shouldn’t be surprised to see the house occupied after all this time.
He needn’t have bothered. She’d known the man was coming before she got the call. She’d seen him in her dreams. The golden wizard with the silver tongue. Her Aunt Glen said it was part of the family gift, passed down through the female line for as long as anyone could recall.
Dorothy was a witch.
A witch who refused to give in to any wizard, no matter how sexy the wicked sorcerer was. Or how much she wanted to succumb.
Pouring her cocoa into a large mug, she wandered around her dark upstairs living room. She was at the window before she knew it, and she couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t to look over the faded wood fence at the matching townhouse on the other side. The light turned on instantly, as if he’d just been waiting for her to arrive. Bastard.
Three beautiful, naked bodies walked toward the kitchen, a journey Dorothy followed with unblinking eyes, aided by the wide bay windows that lined the living room. The woman had silky, short brown curls and an athlete’s body. A young giant of a man followed close behind. The girl laughed coyly and jumped out of reach when his hands reached out to caress the tempting skin in front of him.
And then there was Z.
Mrs. Goldstein had mentioned his name the other day in a fascinated whisper, visions of James Bond and secret agents obviously getting the best of her. Dorothy thought it was pretentious. Like one of those starlets known only by their first name, he could only be bothered to hand out his initial. Did he think it made him more mysterious? Did he do it knowing people would stay up at night wondering what it stood for? Zeke? Zachary? Zapata?
Of course, names were the last thing on Dorothy’s mind as he paused by the window, offering her a long, drool-worthy glimpse of his golden body. Good Goddess he was delicious.
By now she’d seen his body in all its impossibly perfect detail so many times that it should be old hat. But just the opposite. She grew more and more aroused with each fresh vision of those smooth, lickable pecs, the rippling abs, that…well, it had to be around ten inches of thick, hard heaven. And she wanted it and him more with every passing day.
She wanted to be the one pressing up against him, tugging on his long, ebony braid as she pulled his head down for a deep, wet, open-mouthed kiss. To spread her legs invitingly, offering herself like some pagan sacrifice to whatever he wanted, however he wanted it.
Pathetic.
If Aunt Glen could hear her thoughts, she’d be ashamed. Where was her pride? The man was taking a break from no doubt hours of sex play with multiple partners. Partners who were different than the ones he’d had the night before, and the night before that. Did she want to be just one new notch in his bedpost? Did she really want to degrade herself with a man who probably wouldn’t even remember her name the next morning just to experience one night of wild, untamed kink?
Yes.
Yes she did. In the worst way imaginable. And that’s why she had to make sure their paths never crossed. It was why she left in the morning before he arose, and didn’t return until he’d left for his nightly prowl, information procured by the ever-helpful Mrs. Goldstein.
Thank God for the family house. Aunt Glen had long ago used her powers to guard the house from trespassers, especially those with magical abilities. No one could enter unless he or she had been expressly invited by the occupant. Dorothy felt like a coward, but, on the other hand, a witch had to do what a witch had to do.
He was watching the couple as they rooted through his fridge, giggling and feeding each other grapes and pieces of cold pizza. Her hands tightened around the cooling mug when he wrapped his slender fingers around his cock, his bod
y tilted toward Dorothy, giving her a clear view of each slow stroke. He spoke to them, and the two immediately came to attention, gazes locked on his movements, bodies drawn toward him as if by magic.
What would he make them do this time? Dorothy had learned in these nightly peeping sessions that Z enjoyed directing the show. In fact, since that first night, where she’d watched him fuck that young couple every way from Sunday, he hadn’t actually had sex with any of them.
He guided them, he allowed them to stroke and suck him until he reached completion, but he never joined them in the final act. Dorothy got the distinct impression, strange as it sounded, that he was saving himself for her.
Z pointed to the kitchen counter, and the young linebacker lifted the tiny female up onto the cold surface. She lay back and spread her legs, planting her feet firmly on the far side of the counter, the entire outline of her trembling body visible to Dorothy. It was obvious the young stud wanted to get to the main event right away, immediately positioning himself between her thighs, hands on his cock. Dorothy smiled. He didn’t know his host as well as he thought.
The wizard didn’t disappoint. The linebacker jerked as Z held him frozen in place with a word. Good for him. Dorothy felt a kind of kinship with the woman. She deserved more than a “wham, bam, thank you ma’am”. Every woman did.
Z walked over to them and ran his hand gently over the man’s tense shoulders, sifting his short, blond hair through those magical fingers. Applying gentle pressure, the man was guided onto the stool beside the counter, his lips soft and featherlight against the woman’s inner thigh. Z smiled at the squirming female and traced his fingers over her abdomen, up towards her small, perky breasts.
Dorothy set her mug down on the windowsill and followed the path of his fingers beneath her long T-shirt and over her own body. When he cupped the woman’s breast, Dorothy cupped her own, far heavier flesh with a sigh.
She wondered which he preferred. Dorothy had always been overly endowed in the curve department. A fact that Emily never failed to remind her of. But Z seemed to revel in every shape of the human form. Would he enjoy hers as well?
She squeezed her tender nipples, mimicking his every move. Her blood heated and her hands trembled with a desire that had grown so strong over the last few nights that it was driving her insane. She needed relief. She needed an orgasm.
Her free hand slid inside the soaked lace of her panties at the moment the young linebacker lost patience. He stood and lifted the girl by her hips, flipping her onto her stomach. This time Z didn’t stop him, just stepped back, giving Dorothy an unobstructed view of the show.
God she felt so dirty, watching them this way, but she couldn’t stop. She touched herself as they pounded against each other, hard and fast, the young man lifting the girl nearly off the counter as he filled her again and again. Deeper. Harder.
The blond slid his thumbs between the cheeks of the girl’s ass, pressing inside while his hips thrust against hers. And she loved it. Dorothy could hear her screams of pleasure through the walls.
Yes. More.
Dorothy was close. So close. She shut her eyes, the images burned in her brain. Only it was her on the counter. Z was behind her, fucking her as if he’d die if he had to stop, as if his life depended on it. Another finger joined the first, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to be stretched wide, packed full of wild, wicked wizard.
The magic of the wind element, her element, lifted her ponytail, caressing her cheeks with stray curls and whipping around her body. Dorothy bit her lip, the hot wind skimming her bare skin, blowing against her pulsing clit, sending her careening further into fantasy. Z flipped her onto her back, her legs over his shoulders, whiskey eyes glowing, ensnaring her as he pressed in, deep as he could go.
“Yes, sweet Dorothy. That’s it. Feel how good it can be between us. Come for me. Let me see you.”
Her eyes flew open, her gaze clashing with Z’s through the window and across the darkened yard that separated them. He was watching her, fist pumping his thick shaft in time with the thrust of her fingers. It was overwhelming and intimate, and it threw her over the edge.
“Shit!” Her climax swirled around her with the force of a hurricane. She heard a lamp crash behind her, felt the heels of her feet leave the floor but she didn’t care. She was lost in the power of the release, in the intensity of need in his expression. An intensity that matched her own.
The thundering rumble beneath her feet widened her eyes, shock bringing her back to herself. He was coming, his gaze never leaving hers as his body jerked with the strength of his climax. The roar of the wind outside drowned out her beating heart, rattling the windows with its ferocity.
She didn’t know wizards could control the elements. People, yes. But not nature. Aunt Glen had always said that a wizard’s power was decidedly unnatural. Males didn’t possess the compassion and emotional capacity to connect with Mother Earth.
But Z…not only did he seem to have a direct connection to the elements…but the wind element? She’d never known another witch, not even her own mother, who could do that. No one but her. And the mysterious Z.
He was still watching her. His expression tense, knowing. Dorothy took an unconscious step back. He couldn’t read her thoughts or control her actions, not as long as she was safe behind these walls.
She had to get away for a few days, just until her aunt returned from her vacation. Glen would know what to do. She’d know how to combat the temptations of wizards. She left for a few months the same time every year, but Dorothy honestly had no idea where she went. Unfortunately, she never left a number where Dorothy could reach her.
Dorothy wrapped her arms around her body, her head shaking in an unknowingly negative response to the command in his gaze. He wanted more. He wanted her to invite him inside. But she couldn’t give in. She couldn’t let him in. He was far more dangerous than she’d thought.
And she wanted him more than ever.
Chapter Two
“Since you’re headed this way anyway, I didn’t think it would be too much of a bother.”
Dorothy sighed and rolled her eyes. Looking for the nearest freeway exit, she dodged several speeding cars and changed lanes. “It’s not, Emily. I just wished you’d called before I left. I’ve already passed the exit for the dessert shop.”
“I just want everything to be perfect. And it’s your fault. I never eat dessert as a rule, have to watch my figure, you know. Maybe your sweet tooth has rubbed off on me.” She laughed, and Dorothy stuck out her tongue at the phone resting on her passenger seat beside the grinning Suki. Emily ate like a small village and never gained a pound. Bitch.
“So, just get the chocolate rum cake…oh, and my dry cleaning on your way home, okay? I want to wear that white silk halter Georgio bought for me. The man was an ass, but he had amazing fashion sense.”
Dorothy’s nose wrinkled. “Do you really need it tonight? I thought you said you were staying in?” Not that she’d mind if Emily went club hopping. Then she’d be alone to wallow in her misery, safely away from the new bane of her existence.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I forgot to tell you, didn’t I? Damn, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on. I invited someone over for dinner. Don’t worry, I ordered more than enough food for an army. And afterwards, well let’s just say that I’m happy I put the surround sound in the guest room. You and Suki can enjoy the late night talk shows, and I can enjoy…my date.”
A date? Shit. “Emily, if you don’t want me to come over tonight I can—”
“What? No! You have to come over.” Her frantic voice softened to that fake, sweet, “I want something from you and you aren’t gonna like it” voice.
“Look, I know I was a witch with a capital B when you first told me you wanted to leave your big house and stay at my condo, especially when you wouldn’t tell me why. But you’re family, and mi casa es su casa, right? Plus, I really think this guy is the one. As my future bridesmai
d, I’d love for you to really get to know him.”
The one? She’d never said that before. Not since high school anyway. Still, Emily always had an angle. But what other choice did she have? Besides, if it got awkward Dorothy would just come back home, maybe brick up her windows so she wouldn’t be tempted to watch Z in yet another sordid sexual encounter. “Okay, Emily. If you’re sure I won’t be in the way.”
“In the way? Of course not, sis. In fact, you could say you’re the real guest of honor. He’s just decoration.”
She arrived with enough time to shower and throw a clean pair of jeans and a decent shirt on before “helping” Emily set the table. The catering service had come and gone. The delectable smell of the three cheese lasagna and garlic bread made Dorothy’s stomach growl. So much for the diet she’d sworn she was starting this week.
Emily was pacing. Unbelievably, she appeared to grow more anxious with each moment that passed. Dorothy was actually beginning to feel sympathy for her stepsister. Perish the thought.
“Is this the way you wanted the table set?”
Emily looked up blankly, following Dorothy’s movements as she lit two white candles, setting them on either side of a bowl of floating roses. “Don’t forget to fold those napkins that special way you do. I want everything to be perfect this first time.” She glanced at the clock on the wall.
“The first time? He hasn’t been over to your apartment yet? How long have you two been dating?”
Emily’s gaze shifted guiltily. “Technically? This will be our first date.”
Dorothy dropped the napkin she’d been folding. “First? What happened to him being ‘the one’?” She shook her head, walking toward the hallway to hide in the guest bedroom. “I definitely don’t want to be the third wheel on a first date, Emily. You really should have told me.”
Emily grabbed her arm just as a knock sounded at the door. “Don’t you dare. The table is already set, and I really want you to eat with us. Please, Dee. Please?”
Shit. Blue eyes lit with triumph when Dorothy’s shoulders slumped, and Emily realized she had won. Straightening her snug white miniskirt, Emily turned toward the door. “You’ll love him, I promise. In fact”—she looked over her shoulder as she turned the doorknob, a genuine smile of glee lighting her face and sending dread coursing through Dorothy’s body—“you already know him. Sort of.”
Surrender Dorothy Page 1
