Sorcerous Heat

by Lana Ames

  Pro: Oh god, I really wanted to.

  Con: What if the next two men were as hot as the first two?

  Pro: What if the next two men were as hot as the first two?

  I pushed back from my computer desk and just sat there, staring at the screen. Okay, there it was, in black and white.

  I sent Kelly a text saying I might be out late again and that I’d tell her everything tomorrow. Then I packed an overnight bag, put food in Trixie’s bowl, and left.

  Chapter Six

  Finley himself met me at the front door of the mansion; no Lady Periwinkle or liveried butler this time. “You came back.”

  I stood at the doorstep, trying to keep the stupid grin off my face. “I…still have lots of questions.”

  “Of course you do.” He smiled, a ray of bright sunshine rivaling the sky itself. And he looked amazing. He’d changed out of his Dracula-without-the-cape costume remnants into olive-drab cargo pants and a form-fitting black T-shirt. He must have just stepped out of the shower a few minutes ago; his black hair was still damp, and his scent was a very distracting blend of aftershave and clean healthy man. Oh, mercy. “Please, come in.”

  As I stepped inside, he offered to take my bag; I handed it to him. “I’m not agreeing to anything more than just talking to you, right now. Okay?”

  Finley gave a slight bow, barely more than a nod. “Of course. Everything is in your hands. As the center of our proposed bonded cohort, you are in charge.”

  Well, that wasn’t exactly what I meant, but, it would do.

  “Thank you.” We walked together into the grand gallery room, Finley holding my bag in one hand and taking my arm with the other. I once again let him hold me close to his side as I tried to figure out what brand of aftershave he used…or was that just his shampoo?

  The furniture in the gallery had been rearranged once more, as if a smaller event was being prepared for. It made the room look different all over again. A few servants milled around, laying tablecloths and setting out flower arrangements. Finley paused and turned to me. “We could find an unoccupied corner in here if you like, or…” he watched me carefully, “I could show you my quarters.”

  Oh dear, the moment of truth, so soon. Well, why had I come back? It was time to be honest—to myself, to these men. As if he couldn’t already read it in my face. And in my body language. “I would love to see your quarters.”

  His touch on my arm tightened momentarily, like a little hug, and his face broke out into an even greater smile than before. “I am very happy to hear that.”

  My heart began pounding. I was really doing this. Was I? I was. Finley led me across the room to the hallway I’d been down before, but stopped at a staircase I’d hardly noticed last night—distracted as I had been. “This way.”

  We climbed to the second floor; I paused briefly to admire the grand landing halfway up, bigger than my bedroom, where a tiny table sat under a stained-glass window. A beautiful Chinese vase, probably priceless, sat on it. Ceramics are not my specialty, but I recognized its quality, and age. It was in amazing condition.

  I wondered if Lady Periwinkle had bought it new.

  And then I wondered if I was beginning to believe all this magic business after all.

  When we emerged on the second floor, Finley led me to the far end of a smaller hallway and opened a set of French doors. I was both relieved and disappointed to see that they led not directly to a bedroom but into a small sitting room, cozily furnished with a plush couch, several overstuffed chairs, and a little dining table. A crackling fire burned in a fireplace in front of the couch. Two large stringed instruments in their cases—obviously his cello from last night, and another slightly smaller one—sat near the fireplace, along with a music stand and a few leather cases, like for sheet music.

  Finley set my bag down on a side table and indicated the room. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Suddenly shy once more, I chose one of the overstuffed chairs. Finley walked over to a wet bar. “Can I get you anything?”

  Last night, everything had unfolded so naturally. Today ran the risk of feeling awkward and contrived, unless I could stop my overthinking before it could take hold of me. “There was this amazing champagne served at the party last night. You wouldn’t happen to have any here?”

  “Ah.” He was already looking through the small bar refrigerator. “Yes, I have a bottle right here. Excellent idea.”

  In a moment, he had it opened and was pouring two glasses. I watched him, his every motion smooth and efficient. He had a slighter build than Justin, yet I could still see the muscles under his dark shirt. Was I really comparing him to Justin? I probed at my memory, at my thought process; while I definitely wanted another helping of Justin, I was totally enthralled by this man in front of me.

  It was unreal.

  “Here you are, my dear.” Finley handed me a sparkling glass; I held it up for a toast. “To new beginnings,” he said, touching his glass to mine.

  “To new beginnings,” I echoed. I could drink to that.

  I sipped. Yes, this was the same delicious elixir as last night, and it immediately calmed me down. “Is the champagne magic too?” I joked. “I’ve never had any quite like it.”

  “Just an Armand de Brignac,” he said, matching my light tone. “So yes, you might say so.”

  I took another sip, trying not to calculate how much each mouthful cost. “You’re pulling out all the stops trying to woo me, then?”

  He shrugged. “Did Justin not explain our lady’s financial situation?”

  “Yes, he did. But…she served this to that whole party all last night?”

  “She is very wealthy.”

  I should say. I sipped once more, then set the glass down on the small side table. I didn’t want to guzzle it; I hardly dared to drink it, now that I knew what it was. But then I picked it up again a moment later and took another sip. And then before I knew it, the glass was empty, and Finley was back standing beside me with the bottle in his hand, refilling it.

  My goodness.

  This time, he didn’t sit back down again, but stood behind my chair and put his hands gently on my shoulders. “May I?”

  “A neck rub? Oh, would you?”

  He began rubbing, deftly massaging out the tense knots. Yet more magic: he knew just where to find them. Soon I was sighing with pleasure and leaning into his hands.

  “I might be able to reach more easily if you sat below me,” he said, after a few minutes.

  “Sure,” I managed. “Whatever makes your job easier. You can just go on ahead and do this for the rest of my life if you like.”

  He chuckled. “You can have that, you know.” Before I could react, he went on: “Come on: I’ll sit on the sofa and we’ll put a pillow on the floor for you to sit on. Then I can reach almost your whole back.”

  We readjusted, and indeed, this was much better. His hands, his clever, clever hands; the massage was very straightforward, almost chaste, at first. I can’t even tell you exactly when it became more…personal. More sensual. All I know is that, after a while, I was leaning into his touch, wishing he would go further, would touch more of me, everywhere…

  I reached down, trying to shrug out of my T-shirt. “I have a better idea,” he said, taking my hand and drawing me to my feet.

  I got up eagerly and let him lead me to the open door at the far end of the room…and into his bedroom. It was simply but comfortably furnished, like the sitting room had been. His bed was a tall cherry-wood sleigh bed, with a fluffy white down comforter atop it. He reached out, pulling the comforter down, revealing cozy flannel sheets.

  The champagne had cleared the last of my residual shyness. I peeled off my T-shirt and stripped out of the sports bra as well. Finley stood before me, watching with appreciation. “You are amazing,” he murmured. “May I?”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t even sure what he was asking permission for, specifically. He stepped forward, now wordlessly asking for a kiss. I tilted my face
up, answering also without words.

  His lips gently touched mine, and again I felt the spark of desire almost as a distinct thing that had entered me from without. Like we were both wired for electricity, and our lips together closed the circuit. With a sigh that was almost a gasp, I kissed him back, eager to make more fire together, more heat.

  He reached up to caress my cheek, pulling me deeper into the kiss. I put my hand on his chest, feeling his strong muscles under the soft T-shirt.

  And then he suddenly pulled away. “I believe we have a massage to finish.”

  “What?” My brain was already gone, lost in the kiss, in him. “You don’t have to…”

  “Oh, but I do. I lured you in here with the implicit promise of a backrub, and I do not break my promises.”

  I was torn. I was loving the massage…and I wanted to tear off this man’s clothes and have him, right here, right now.

  He put his hands on my shoulders and gently turned me around. “Face-down, on the bed, please.”

  My knees were week with desire. I sank down onto the bed, with his hands guiding me.

  Finley gave a low, indistinct murmur, then removed his hands from my shoulders. I had barely begun to wonder what he was doing when he returned, rubbing something between his hands. The scent of rose and vanilla hit my nose as he rubbed the massage oil into my back. “Ohhhh,” I moaned. Okay, one more vote for the massage.

  “You have a beautiful, strong back,” he murmured, working the oil into my shoulders, then following the line of the muscles down either side of my spine.

  “Thank you,” I tried to say, but my words were muffled in the soft pillow. I gave myself over to the indulgence of the massage.

  He crouched on the bed next to me, attacking the muscles he hadn’t been able to give his full attention to when I’d been sitting up and wearing a shirt. He really was very, very good at this.

  After a few minutes, he said, “The angle is all wrong. May I sit on you?”

  “Yes,” I breathed.

  He climbed over me and straddled my butt, keeping most of his weight off me. I was still wearing my jeans, and he was still fully clothed; I had a moment of impatience about this, but then he began rubbing again. The angle was indeed much improved now, and I sighed again and again in pleasure as the knots eased and released. Eventually his hands wandered, first to my sides, brushing the edges of my breasts. I squirmed beneath him, wanting to flip over to give him greater access even while I appreciated the rub…and the teasing.

  It was delicious.

  His hands worked their way lower, now kneading the muscles at the small of my back, and then lower. The tight waistband of the jeans was an obvious problem. I tried to figure out how to maneuver the pants off without stopping the backrub.

  Finley was way ahead of me there. He suddenly leaned forward, reaching in front of me to undo the jeans, and then worked them down over my hips. “Is this all right?” he breathed into my ear as he did so.

  “Yes, oh yes,” I said, rocking to help him. In a minute, I was down to just panties, and about to ask about his own clothes, when he straddled me once more…and I felt his skin on mine.

  Somehow he had managed to slip out of his T-shirt and cargo pants without my even noticing. I felt the strong muscles of his thighs clutching my hips as he leaned over me, working my shoulders with a renewed intensity. And I felt the evidence of his arousal, as his erection pressed against my panties. I rocked up a little, welcoming his touch. All of his touch.

  He worked his hands downward once more, scooting down to rub my lower back, and then the muscles of my ass. He pushed my panties out of the way and somehow made it all about the rub, and yet the most erotic thing anyone had done to me in…I dropped the thought. What was happening here and now was claiming all my attention.

  And that was just what I wanted.

  “Hmm, you have been used a little roughly here, I see,” he purred. “Let me rub it and make it all better.” His smooth, oiled hands kneaded my ass; I felt a slight twinge from Justin’s eager intentions last night.

  Finley leaned over my back once more. I felt his bare chest brush my skin; at the same time, his hands both slipped forward, encircling me. A questing finger found my core and slipped inside. I was drenched, ready, still squirming, now pressing my ass back into him.

  He nibbled at my neck, covering me with kisses and little bites, driving me mad…then, at last, he whispered in my ear, “I’m ready for you to turn over now, Emma.”

  At the sound of my name on his lips, I moaned. I hadn’t believed it was possible to be more aroused, and yet here I was. “Oh yes. But don’t stop touching me.”

  He chuckled, low and hungry. “Don’t worry. I am so going to touch you.”

  But he had to draw his hand out for a moment to grip my hips and flip me up and around. Somehow, he sat himself down onto the bed with me on his lap in one unbroken motion. I giggled, startled and delighted, straddling him just above his eager cock. “You’re stronger than you look.”

  “Just you wait.”

  I reached down to take hold of his cock, wishing I could draw it to my lips and taste it, taste him, but unwilling to delay a moment longer the pleasure of having him inside me. He was long, and achingly hard; I knew just where I wanted to put him. But I stroked him a few times first, enjoying the silken skin, the throbbing length.

  Finley groaned, still clutching my hips. “Oh Emma. Oh god.”

  That was all I needed. I raised up and guided him into me, gasping a little as I sank down onto his length. He filled me, and then some; I had to shift forward to take him all the way. “Ohhh,” I sighed, nearly peaking right then and there.

  But I could not, I would not. I wanted this to last as long as possible. I began moving gently, long slow strokes in and out, sliding up and down the length of him. He clutched my hips hard, helping lift and lower me. We moved as one, as if we had been doing this for years…as if we were destined to do this forever.

  And the heat grew. Despite my best intentions, I felt myself moving faster and faster, rising up and pushing back down onto him with more and more force. It just felt so good. We rocked together, both panting, clutching hard at one another. My hands ran through his soft black hair, over his strong smooth shoulders; I bit the side of his neck, gently. At this, he chuckled. “I thought I was the vampire here.”

  “Maybe I was inspired,” I breathed back to him, and bit him again.

  In response he grabbed my ass again, squeezing hard. I was going to have bruises on top of bruises…but I didn’t care. The electricity between us was a white-hot current now, shooting through my veins, coursing through my core…my climax was building, it would not be long now…I fucked him hard, rising and crashing down on him like I was trying to hammer him into the bed; and he fucked back just as hard, gripping me as if for dear life, slamming his hips up to meet my thrusts. It was breathless, urgent sex, as though I had been starved for months.

  Well, until last night, I supposed I had.

  “Finley!” I cried, as the first wave of my climax hit me. I shuddered, still holding him tight, as my core spasmed around him, throbbing with ecstasy. My eyes rolled back in my head and again, my mind went away as I gasped for breath.

  Suddenly, with a feral growl, he came too, filling me to overflowing. I peaked again, clutching him with all my might, leaning over and biting his shoulder this time. Hard enough to leave teeth marks, I realized a minute or an eternity later. “Oh my god,” I sighed, leaning back as I tried to catch my breath. Finley still held me tight in his arms; I leaned all my weight against his strong hold. I felt transported, flying on air yet solidly grounded…I was safe in his arms. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man would love me forever. He would never hurt me; he would always protect and serve me.

  “Wait, what…?” I muttered.

  Finley was planting little kisses up and down the sides of my neck, not biting at all now. The sensation was exquisite, almost ticklish but not. “Hmm?”
he muttered, setting my skin a-thrill with the vibration.

  “I…nothing. Just a weird thought.”

  “Nothing in bed is weird,” he said, and began kissing my collarbones, first the left, then the right.

  I doubt that, I thought, but kept the opinion to myself. I could think of plenty of weird things in bed…taking more than one lover in less than twenty-four hours being high on that list.

  He paid full attention to my collarbones, then loosened his arms a bit so that I leaned back further. This gave him access to my breasts; he took my right nipple into his mouth, letting his tongue circle it. It stiffened at once; I gasped. I hadn’t even thought about how he hadn’t paid my girls any attention before the lovemaking. They were so much more sensitive now.

  Finley leaned forward still further, releasing me down to lie on my back on the bed, and freeing his hands in the process. He gathered both my breasts in his hands as his mouth roamed back and forth between them, teasing and tantalizing me. “Beautiful, amazing, incredible,” he kept murmuring, between nibbles and licks and tiny bites.

  We were still joined down below…which is how I felt him stiffen again. “That’s some impressive recovery time,” I whispered.

  “It is because you are so irresistible, my darling,” he said, and it didn’t even sound ridiculous, I could swear he meant every word.

  I shifted my hips, letting him move more comfortably atop me, in me. He was nearly fully erect by now, and my core gripped at him once more, greedy, eager.

  His mouth roamed upward again, finding mine, claiming me there and at my core at the same time. His tongue plunged inside my mouth as his cock plunged into me, the rhythms matching exactly. I opened entirely to him, questing, inviting, devouring. And now he was fully hard, nailing me to the bed as I had done to him.

  I grabbed his firm ass and held on tight, encouraging him to come deeper, go faster, fuck me harder, harder. Maybe I was even saying the words aloud, I don’t know. Maybe we didn’t need words. Everything was us, in this bed, joined as deeply as possible.

  I felt something in my soul slip loose and fall away. Something old and frozen and sharp, like a piece of barbed wire wrapped around a precious gem that had been locked in ice all my life. “Finley!” I cried, as warmth and love and light filled me. This was where I was meant to be—this, even more than that moment after my last climax, was me coming home. I didn’t even want to question it; the feeling of rightness, of inevitability, was so clear and clean.