Sex and the Psychic Witch

by Annette Blair

  Paxton came out, jeans unzipped, toweling his thick, black, wavy hair, and caught her sorting through her free-the-uptight-stud candy.

  “What the hell?” He picked up a pack of Dicklit gum, shook his head, and tossed it back in the box. “I’m about to be sacrificed on the altar of spontaneity, aren’t I?”

  “You said I could give it my best shot.”

  “I said you could try to take the starch out of me. I didn’t know I was signing my own insanity warrant.

  Who knew you’d resort to torture tactics?” He was fishing around in her overnight bag before she could stop him, and he came up with one of her dolphins. “Whoa.”

  “Give me that.”

  He held it away from her and grabbed the straps of her bag with his other hand.

  “Paxton!”

  He dumped the bag on the bed. “What do we have here?”

  Harmony held her cat in front of her face, and Paxton chuckled. But because she wanted to see him laugh, she lowered Gingertigger to her lap.

  “This beats Gussie’s collection of dolphins hands down.” Paxton wiggled his brows. “Battery powered, right? You have hidden depths, Cartwright. Give me the scoop. What have we got here? And don’t say vibrators. I got that by myself.”

  Thinking about it, Harmony figured this turn of events might help with her payback for his badly timed desertion this morning. She sighed. “Okay, this one’s a crystal tickler. Pretty basic. Best when I’m already halfway there. I call him Chuck.” She turned it on to tease Paxton.

  He pulled away from its spell. “Chuck?”

  “Sure, Chuck likes to—”

  “Got it!”

  “Good. This one’s a ten-speed waterproof. Talk about bath-time fun. I usually light scented candles, put

  on soft music, turn on the jets, relax and . . . you know . . . take my time while I take Ryder out for a . . .

  ride.”

  Paxton was getting harder by the minute, while she was enjoying the hell out of herself.

  “Now the tall guy here, he’s Lance, the big guns.” She turned Lance on and watched Paxton’s pupils dilate. “Lance has a textured tip, for a deep , soothing massage. He’s also got five rows of pearls, see?

  For the G-spot. And multiple speeds, for multiple . . . everything, and as if all that magick isn’t enough, this little dolphin up front, Lance Junior, he does a happy dance in a very happy place.”

  Harmony leaned against her pillows as if she’d just enjoyed all three, bent a knee, and selected a large chocolate penis from her goodie box. She held it up, examined it from every angle, licked it slowly up one side and down the other . . . and she bit off its head.

  Paxton shouted and clenched his thighs. “Son of a . . . witch . . . bitch, I meant bitch—I can’t even watch you chew.” He went to hide out at his dresser and use his hair-brush, but he kept peeking in the mirror to see if she’d finished. “You’re like a . . . a sexual cannibal.”

  Harmony laughed. “This is what spontaneous is all about. Come to think of it, you were spontaneous when you stole my goodie bag. Aren’t you glad you did? Wasn’t that fun?”

  King mumbled something beneath his breath about his self-destructive behavior.

  When he turned back to her, she flaunted a peckermint blow pop, which she licked with great attention to detail, sucking on the head and enjoying it immensely. She took it deep into her mouth and pulled it out slowly, and while she did, Paxton grew taut and separated his zipper bit by bit.

  Like a deer in headlights, he stood watching her, mesmerized, while she made a blatant and luscious meal of her treat.

  Her ploy was backfiring, though. She got hotter as he got harder. Not screwing him screwed her, and not in a good way. She put the blow pop down, opened a bag of mini gummy penises, and bit a few in half to cool down. When she finished, she crumpled the package and threw it across the room. Then she stood, threw back her covers, climbed into her bed, and turned off the lamp.

  Paxton had not moved.

  “Night,” she said, rolling to her side.

  It took a full minute, maybe two, before he walked over to his cot, slipped out of his jeans, and lay down

  . . . naked . . . on top of the covers . . . his man brain pointing heavenward . . . as if pleading for release.

  She wished she’d kept her eyes shut, except that she wouldn’t have missed the sight of him like that for the world. Heat, admiration, and something more—caring and concern for this particular man—washed over her. She’d never seen anything or anyone as beautiful in her life. She could adore his body for hours. She could eat him with a spoon. She wouldn’t even need chocolate sauce. Ramrod McHunk looked gourmet yummy au natural.

  Withering witch balls, she couldn’t be falling for the cranky, bossy, brass-assed, loose-limbed panther.

  Could she?

  Harmony flipped to her back, kicked off the covers, and listened to the waves crashing on the shore, while a salty breeze wafted in through the open window to cool her fevered skin, but not enough.

  Only Paxton could cool her enough to satisfy her.

  He moved, and she nearly came, she’d been so focused on the fantasy.

  He rolled to his side, but she didn’t know which, because she refused to look and come face-to-face with him.

  When he placed a gentle palm on her belly, above her pajamas, her stomach jumped as if she’d never been touched by a man before, though to be fair, no one like him had ever come her way.

  She felt the heat of his fingers hot against her skin, branding her, his hand huge, his thumb at her navel, his little finger pressing a bit closer to the center of her need. Dear Goddess, she was ready to come with his palm on her belly. She didn’t say a word, couldn’t speak. Didn’t know what to say, anyway.

  He kept his hand there . . . forever. She wondered if he could sense her rising need, like heat lightning zephering through her body.

  He was driving her crazy. She didn’t want him to take his hand away, but she did want him to move it . . .

  an inch or six south.

  He palmed her northward, instead, up to her waist in long, slow strokes, causing static surges of electricity with the tips of his fingers. He went as far as the crest of her breasts, and with every new slide of his palm, he’d stop and . . . drive her crazy!

  At her breasts, he splayed his fingers so far apart, he managed not to graze her nipples, though they arched and hardened for his touch.

  He must know; her heartbeat must be giving her away.

  Paxton sighed as he caressed her neck, cupped her face, and combed his fingers through the hair behind her ear. He fingered her earlobe and touched her lips.

  She parted them so he could trace each separately. She licked every finger that came her way, which made him pause for a beat each time, as if each tongue touch was a new surprise.

  He made his way to her breasts again, this time finding and gently rolling a budding nipple between his fingers, too gently. A tease of the first order. Any more gently, and she’d come. She moaned and felt the tension in his fingertips. He was feeling the same.

  She should have worn a cami and bikini set so he could slip his hand beneath, but no. She thought she was gonna be smart and toy with him. Hah!

  His palm glided softly across her belly now, slow, slower, approaching her center, so wet with wanting he’d know, just touching her over her capris.

  When he finally touched that spot, he stopped and toyed with her, stroked her with just the one finger, a flutter against her nether lips, barely. She was too constrained by her blooming spandex capris to open to him. More than anything, she craved the silk of Paxton’s flesh against hers.

  She’d never been more frustrated or more aroused in her life. She was gonna die of a slow burn.

  With barely a touch, he was taking her higher than she thought she could go without a climax. A slow rise like none she’d known. A tease to the death, and just when her climax seemed im
minent, when no word had been spoken between them, she turned his way, looked into his eyes, frank and hungry, and saw that he held his cock in his other hand.

  Watching him come made her climax. Never had she been so turned on, brought so high, or reached such satisfaction . . . without touching her partner.

  Harmony lay spent, Paxton cupping her throbbing center, laying claim to her orgasm in the same way he laid claim to his own.

  Embarrassed, titillated, their gazes met and mated, made promises, went drowsy, said good night.

  Sated, exhausted, Harmony closed her eyes.

  “After I rest a minute,” Paxton promised. “I’m gonna do that with my tongue.”

  Chapter Twenty

  KING woke around midnight with a raging boner and a hand between Harmony’s legs. He removed it, and she whimpered, but she stopped when he began working his hand beneath the waistband of her bottoms, and when he reached her, she purred, spread her legs, and doubled the size of his cock.

  Last night he’d set out to make her pant after him like a mare in heat. And now they were both hooked.

  He grazed the very edges of her nether lips with a finger, and he felt her welcoming heat, slick and ready, open and willing. He found her swollen nubbin, flicked it, and she gasped, then he all-out invaded her.

  One finger, two; slow at first, then faster, in and out, his thumb working her clit, her moans making him ready to come as she climaxed—in her sleep, the brat—without waking to give as good as she got.

  He wanted to make her come again, until she woke and understood what he was doing, until she jumped his bones and put him out of his misery.

  She was a ready one, and he was a randy one, getting thicker and harder in the palm of his own hand.

  He worked her and raised her again, until her wailing climax woke her to her surroundings, to his busy hand, and she sat up, pulled off her top, slicked off her bottoms, and spread her legs for him, and he mastered the queen of the multiple orgasm.

  She might set a new record. He lost count. His hand began to cramp, but he didn’t complain, didn’t give up, and kept her coming. When her legs collapsed and he thought she would fall asleep, she pushed at his

  chest so he fell back, and she rolled on her belly. Still in her own bed, she reached for him and palmed her way down his chest, torturing him the same way he’d tortured her.

  King tried to relax and let her take her sweet, sultry time, as he’d taken his at first with her, but he was so primed, he half expected to embarrass himself before she got to the point of the matter.

  At his waist, she stopped and skipped the important part. Damn her for copying his torture tactics. She grazed him from his knees to his thighs, and he thought he’d die of need.

  She slid a finger over his balls to the base of his cock, slid two up his shaft, and when she rubbed the droplet at the tip of his dick over the head, she raised him off the cot; then she finally, finally, closed her hand around him.

  “This,” she said, “is gorgeous. I’ll never forget the sight of you making yourself come.” She put everything into working him and making it happen again, in her own sweet time, and he bent to her will.

  He floated daringly close to heaven while trying to stay beneath the clouds to ride the wind of perfect pleasure. Her skin against his, the pressure and perfection in her movement, her tenderness and attention to what raised him up and lowered him to rest, were incredible.

  King struggled to ride her hurricane-strength winds, but bliss caught him unaware and shattered him into more pieces than he could reclaim. He was afraid that like Humpty Dumpty, he’d never be put together again. Not in the same way, at least. Not so the attention of other women would satisfy.

  “Sleep,” Harmony said, holding his soft, happy cock. “And thank you.”

  King woke to construction sounds, and by the slant of the sun, he knew they’d overslept, but who cared?

  “Did you lock that door?” Harmony asked, sliding her hand around his morning boner and leading him toward another roaring climax.

  “I locked it.”

  “No banker’s gonna come in and—”

  “The bankers!” King jumped from his cot. “I have a meeting in six minutes.”

  Harmony flopped back on the bed, but she had him so primed, washing his cock finished the job. More than anything, he wanted to finish inside her. But he needed this meeting. “Damn it.”

  Before he left, he checked his briefcase for paper clip imposters and took a last look at Harmony, sleeping naked in his bed, exhausted from all the orgasms he’d given her during the night.

  He did not want to leave this room, but he had no choice.

  Lucky for him, the water taxi was running late, so he stood on the dock waiting to greet the bankers.

  Everything was set to go smoothly. But they found the crew tearing the dining room apart. Now , they had to get efficient? With the bankers waiting and watching, King clumsily moved them, his paperwork, and architectural drawings to the formal parlor.

  He didn’t get far into his smooth-talking, never-fail, rah-rah, big success speech before the bankers shook their heads. “I’m sorry, Paxton,” the older of the two said. “Though you might see this place as an asset, we see it as a liability. It is worth millions, but only to the buyer who’ll pay that much for a pile of frozen rocks come winter. Anybody with castle cash buys in Mexico or on the islands these days.”

  “I have a buyer—”

  “You’re not likely to meet his deadline, and you’ve got your own slowdowns to blame.”

  Damn you, Gussie, King thought. Since his money was tied up in long-term investments, King needed a break, the right words to change their minds, a diversion, something . . .

  And something came along . . .

  Tigerstar and her kamikaze kittens catapulted into the room, chasing each other and stopping to hiss at empty chairs. Harmony came in behind them wearing red spikes and a white strapless sundress with a pattern of cutout flowers, her red bra and panties visible in the cutouts. “I apologize for intruding,” she said. “I didn’t think you were meeting in here.” She turned to go. “Tigerstar, bring the kids.”

  “Harmony, wait,” King said, rising. “Gentlemen, let me introduce you to my right-hand . . . girl, Harmony Cartwright.” He sat when she extended her right hand, because his body knew it too intimately. “Join us,”

  he said.

  As if she read the trouble he was in, Harmony unleashed her sex appeal and dealt it in spades. She oozed

  charm and complimented the bankers on their refined taste in clothes and investments. “Paxton Castle includes Nicodemus Paxton’s extensive nautical library,” she said. “He’s the historical shipbuilder and sea captain for whom the old Paxton Wharf in Salem was named.” She slid a ship’s log across the table for them to peruse.

  “As you can see from his entries, Nicodemus brought art treasures here from all over the world. Our extensive collection of Oriental artifacts is priceless and filled with one-of-a-kind pieces. In addition, we house an original steam engine and a midway funhouse exhibit and toy room. Besides making a unique museum, the castle would make a fine upscale hotel.”

  She chuckled. “Unfortunately, or fortunately, the moat is being turned into a rose garden, but who can resist a stone castle with a drawbridge these days? The garden walks and nature trails are natural.

  There’s even a witch garden out behind the kitchen, if you can believe it. And who doesn’t like to stay in a hotel with a ghost or two, especially the ghost of a witch so near Salem?” Harmony turned to him. “You did tell them about Gussie, didn’t you?”

  “Uh, no,” King said, ready to strangle her.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen,” she said. “Mr. Paxton was saving the best for last, and I spoiled it.”

  The bankers were salivating, and King was in shock.

  Gingertigger landed on his shoulder and licked his ear. The kitten weighed less than her psycho
mother, so her sudden weight hadn’t startled him, and being appreciated right now, even by a kitten, felt good.

  Caramello and Warlock curled up in Harmony’s lap, and Tigerstar stood close by, her back arched, hissing toward the ceiling

  “We also thought sailboat tours would add to the get-away ambiance of the island,” Harmony said. “Plus private suites could be built at the lighthouse and windmill, but of course that would be at the discretion of the buyer. All the big hotel chains—”

  Tigerstar backstepped and hissed louder, dancing cautiously around.

  Harmony’s ideas were brilliant and resourceful, and the bankers thought so, too. “This is not a moldy old castle,” she said. “It has the potential to be a huge, money-making enterprise. After all, it’s a private island close to one of the most famous historic sites in the world.”

  The bankers talked deal, but Harmony laughed at the rate of interest they offered and tried to get it lowered!

  Something started to hum, and as the hum got louder, Tigerstar danced and hissed, and the chandelier began to rattle.

  King panicked and Harmony took the bankers, one on each arm, to escort them from the room, but before she got them out, the chandelier fell and landed at his feet.

  “Abra-candelabra!” Harmony said, making a joke, but the bankers nixed the loan, anyway.

  On the dock a few minutes later—after the bankers agreed to revisit the loan further into castle restoration—he and Harmony waved them off.

  “I’m sorry. I tried to get them out of there faster. I knew Gussie would make you pay for trying to get a loan to finish and sell the place. I didn’t want them to see the roof or walls fall in.”

  “Surprise,” King said. “They saw the chandelier fall, instead.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get your loan. What happens now?”

  He thought about that for a minute. “I apply to another bank, or I try selling without restoring the place.”

  “Or you restore it little by little, with your own money, in your own time.”

  He quirked a brow. “I’m not a man who likes to wait, but I’m sorry I doubted what you said about our resident wailer. I just wish I knew what to do about her. Listen to her howling in there.”