Wickedly Good (Hex Appeal)

by Anya Breton

  Absently, he lifted the tumbler of alcohol off the side table. Ice clinked against the glass with a noisy jab. Aston received a face full of the chilly substance instead of the whisky he’d expected. He set the nearly empty glass aside, grunting as he folded his notebook over his pen.

  His head dropped against the cushion. Aston lifted the reading glasses from his nose and placed them with the tumbler. Pain throbbed in his sinuses. Slowly, he massaged the annoyance away with his thumb and forefinger.

  There was too much to do, too many pressing issues and too few witches he trusted to help. Aston stood as he noticed the fullness in his bladder. He set the notebook on the seat and then started for the attached bathroom.

  Bottles of hair and skin products cluttered the counter—on their sides, upside down and occasionally open, oozing contents onto the surface. Three products crowded the sink. One had landed on the floor. Aston’s lips twisted at the sight. It was amazing how messy a room in Drew’s hands could look despite Ellen’s daily cleaning. Perhaps it was time to give her another raise.

  A soft knock outside caught Aston’s attention. He froze in the process of zipping his slacks. Gemma had come.

  “Drew?” The feminine whisper was recognizable even though he’d never heard Gemma speaking at such a soft volume.

  Aston stood motionless with his hand hovering over the toilet’s copper handle. He should call out. He ought to tell her Drew had been gone since this evening.

  Box springs creaked in the outer room. Aston shoved the handle down, drowning out the sound beneath the rushing water. He made himself move to the sink, where he washed his hands with care. Hard-edged eyes reflected back at him in the mirror. He’d frighten her before he could even speak. Aston wiped his hands on a towel for twice as long as needed.

  He relaxed the muscles in his shoulders, and then those in his neck. At the count of ten, he felt a measure better. Still, the words he’d say hovered on the edge of his mind.

  He’d have to wing it. But that had worked so well this evening…

  A flick of the switch plunged him into darkness. He felt along the wall until he found the doorknob. Twisting it and pulling the door inward didn’t change his view.

  What had happened? Had she turned out the lights? He hadn’t suddenly gone blind at the flip of a switch.

  His loafers sank into the plush carpet of Drew’s bedroom as he patted the wall in search of the dimmer switch.

  “Don’t,” she whispered from the general location of Drew’s bed. “I like the darkness. Please.”

  The urgent press of her final word held his attention. Why did she like the darkness?

  It wasn’t a question for him to ask. But it was going to be difficult to explain the situation if she didn’t see him. Aston opened his mouth to greet her. She shushed him into silence. And then a finger set against his lips.

  Her finger.

  A prickling sensation washed over his skin from where the pad of her digit curved over his lip. The intimate motion roused his neglected dick. She’d never have touched him if she knew who he was. Yet he couldn’t make his body understand it.

  The urge to lick her or to nibble her soft flesh roared in his mind. Aston restrained himself, barely. “Ge—”

  She smacked her hand over his mouth. “No talking.”

  Floral-scented skin muffled his groan. Her attempts to dominate him made him want to submit, if only to lull her into a false sense of security.

  No!

  This was little Gemmy Erjon. And Gemmy believed he was Drew.

  Then again, this wasn’t little Gemmy. This was grown-up Gemma. He’d realized that in the servants’ quarters hours earlier.

  Her palm was spread over his mouth and chin. Surely she could feel his moustache. She had to know Drew couldn’t have grown it since this afternoon. Why hadn’t she cried foul? Could she…

  Suddenly Aston knew exactly how to solve the Gemmy problem.

  In the darkness, Gemma’s remaining senses were hyperaware. Her nose worked overtime, drawing in the crisp winter-air scent that floated off his broad frame. It was as if she’d hiked Mount Washington and drawn in a lungful of the clean air.

  Had Drew ever smelled as good as he did tonight?

  The warm puff of his breath hit her palm at regular intervals. Should she have touched him without invitation? But wasn’t the invite to visit his bedroom at two in the morning all the invitation she needed?

  Gemma called on a little magic to sketch his figure in the darkness. She’d never realized exactly how tall he was until now. He must surely be a few inches over six feet.

  Leather tapped against the carpet. The pressure increased against her hand. He was closer now. His scent overwhelmed her, lightening her head.

  His rough tongue slid delicately over her love line, overwhelming yet another sense. Gemma shivered.

  He curled his fingers around her wrist. Gemma waited for him to tear the hand away. But rather than peel it back so he could speak, he brought it flush and then gave a mighty pull, with his mouth, against the sensitive skin.

  She’d nearly forgotten he possessed two hands when the second grazed her other elbow. He moved his lips to the pulse point in her wrist. Gemma let out a small, surprised noise.

  Gemma had expected Drew to be fast. She’d seen him with other women on the grounds countless time. Just as he’d done on the lawn today, Drew always went straight for breasts.

  Maybe he was different behind closed doors. The tongue circling her pulse point in between those strange and surprising sucks proved it. Drew had game she’d never seen.

  Gemma liked the idea of not knowing what he’d do. She remained quiet as he placed her wrist at her side. No sound came out of her even as he grazed his nails along her bare arm.

  He brushed along the georgette of yesterday’s polka-dot dress, pausing at her collarbone. The sweep of his knuckles beneath Gemma’s chin teased her nipples to life. They were so close and yet he avoided where he would have ordinarily gone. It was a whole new side of him she was glad she was able to finally experience.

  Gemma let her head fall back. A small sigh flowed from her mouth. His lips settled against the column of her neck, cutting the noise short. Soft hair tickled her chin as he bent close. And then he began a deliberately unhurried trip down her neck, kissing as he went.

  It was going to take him all eternity to give her what she wanted if she let him set the pace. She’d have to change his mind because she couldn’t handle being loved slowly by him if she couldn’t have him forever.

  With a whisper she hoped none of the others in the house would hear, Gemma said, “We can go slow next time. This time, I want it fast like you always do.”

  He emitted a quiet growl before hauling her off her feet. And then she was airborne. Seconds later, she landed with a bounce atop her lifelong crush’s bed.

  Now they were getting somewhere.

  She wanted it fast like he always did. Aston was uncommonly jealous of his brother. He stood over the bed, sensing her body heat below. Now was the time to give in to his conscience.

  But she’d had plenty of hints of his identity.

  Aston was four inches taller than Drew. He had facial hair while his brother was clean-shaven. Their scents were vastly different—his wilder like the mountains while Drew’s was domestic, closer to a breeze through clean cotton sheets. And Aston’s voice was far lower. Granted, he’d spoken a mere syllable before she hushed him, but it should have been enough.

  These were excuses to take what he now knew he wanted. His conscience urged him to explain the situation—to give her the option he was about to steal away. But he recalled the terrified look on her face when she fled his office yesterday and the wintry expression earlier in her living room.

  And so he pressed his right knee beside her body, his left palm above her head and then lowered his torso until it hovered above her warmth. Her startled exhale, the exhilarating scent that was a combination of chocolate and lilacs, sent his heart in
to a gallop.

  Aston hesitated inches above her as his conscience howled for him to retreat. Gemma drew in a ragged breath. It was a sexy sound, but one not meant for him.

  “I’ve imagined this moment for years,” she whispered.

  She’d imagined Drew, not his monstrous brother—a brother who was even now trying to steal Drew’s paramour.

  “Please.” She emphasized her urging by curling her fingers along the nape of his neck. “I know your conscience must be smarting. But I want this even if it’s just one time. I’m a big girl now. I can handle whatever happens.”

  Aston wanted to throttle his brother. For what, he wasn’t entirely certain. But the frustration coiling in his every muscle was because of Drew. Exactly like her soft words were…for Drew.

  His brother had been given everything when everyone else had to work for what they got. Drew wouldn’t have experienced a twinge of remorse for cheating on his fiancée if Aston hadn’t sent him away first.

  Drew didn’t deserve her.

  Though Aston was certain he was no more worthy of her than his sibling, he was the one here. It was his neck she grasped. And it was his head lowering to give her the first taste of his tongue.

  He’d contend with his conscience in the morning.

  Gemma melted into the mattress when his mouth covered hers. Long fingers danced along her left side on a musical path to her stomach. Though she keenly followed their passage, the caress above her hip brought her back off the bed. Her lips parted in a surprised gasp.

  His tongue flicked within, teasing hers with a delicate glide. He tasted rich and bracing, like merlot and bitter chocolate. Gemma inhaled through her nose, memorizing his scent. She’d forever associate this moment with the smell of mountain air and musky male. The thought made her smile.

  At least she smiled until his free hand plunged into her hair. Her mouth went slack from the wonderful sensation of being held with such care. He lifted her head off the bed, dragging his lips from hers so he could kiss his way to her chin. There he deposited several small, moist presses before dipping below her neck once more. But this time he did go for her breasts.

  So fixed on what was occurring on her front, she barely noted the hand moving from her hair to the zipper at the back of her dress. But she was fully aware of him slipping the straps over her shoulders and lowering her neckline. Her lover soon found she’d left off undergarments.

  He groaned, the only warning she had before he closed his mouth over her right nipple. A second sound of pleasure vibrated her sensitive flesh. It quickly hardened to a stiff peak that his rough tongue slowly laved. Gemma clasped his neck, tugging at him in a silent demand to be closer.

  “Not fast enough?”

  Gemma’s lungs stalled at the husky whisper that puffed against her damp breast. Had Drew ever sounded so sexy? She couldn’t recall it.

  She forced air into her throat so she could respond. “No.”

  He nipped at her with a playful growling noise that sent a zing down her spine.

  And then he stripped her of her dress.

  An image of a magician yanking a tablecloth from beneath a fully set dinner placement flashed in her mind. She couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped her upon imagining herself as a banquet and him a magician.

  He stilled at her feet, where he’d been freeing her toes from the georgette. “Now fast is funny?”

  “No!” she exclaimed. “Not at all. I…I was imagining something silly. I think…I’m nervous.”

  “I don’t want you to be nervous with me.” He made a lazy circle over her ankle. “What can I do to help?”

  She thought a scant second before replying, “Go faster.”

  “But then tonight will be a blur in your memory. I want you to remember, Gemma.”

  Goose bumps formed across her arms at the sound of her name on his lips. Drew had only ever called her Gemmy. And he wanted her to remember. “I will,” she assured him.

  The snick of his zipper sliding down broke through the brief hush. She drew in a long breath to steady her nerves. Next came the rustling of fabric and then a dull thud against the floor. The soft whisper of his shirt landing atop the slacks was like a gunshot, heralding the start of the race.

  “Faster then,” he said a split second prior to pouncing beside her. The bed bounced and Gemma’s insides wobbled with it.

  Warm hands closed over her knees, guiding them as he spread her legs. And then he paused. “Gemma, am I your first?”

  A nervous laugh bubbled out of her throat. “Good grief, no.”

  There was a long pause in which she heard nothing beyond the sound of her own breathing. Finally he broke the silence. “I should be glad to hear it.” His whisper had been huskier, almost roughened. That “should” in his statement, did it mean he hadn’t finished his thought?

  Gemma prompted, “But?”

  “But I’m not.”

  “I’d be far more nervous if you were my first.”

  His fingers made lazy circles over her knees. “And if the lights were on?”

  Having to see him during these intimate moments would make her a wreck. “Yes.”

  Gently he pressed her thighs wider. “Why do you prefer darkness, Gemma?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  He skimmed her tender inner leg as he whispered, “Then make me understand.”

  “I’d rather make you make love to me.”

  A soft laugh skittered up her shoulder as he leaned over her. “You want faster,” he chided, his breath slipping into her ear with a sexy whirl. “What I wanted was to make love to you.”

  “Faster,” Gemma croaked.

  His palm settled at the crop of curls at the junction of her legs. He gently spread her delicate folds, teasing, testing.

  And then he took her faster.

  Gemma’s moan was loud enough to wake the house. The man had skill. He used it to position himself at her entrance and then surge forward with a single elegant thrust. She drew her lower lip between her teeth to quiet her pleasured noises. It lasted as long as it took him to retreat and renew his thrust. Her lover’s kiss swallowed her airy moan.

  She dug her fingers into hair cropped and soft to the touch as his tongue twisted with hers. Gemma wrapped her legs around his thick thighs, marveling at how muscular he was. He built a frenetic pace, drawing in blustery breaths each time his pelvis slapped against hers. When she thought he’d collapse from the effort, he instead broke into a tempest of thrusts.

  Sweat dripped off his broad chest and down his forehead onto her face from his exertion. Gemma didn’t care that the salty substance stung her eyes. The pain was nothing compared to the flurry of sensation blasting across her nerves. Soon it became too much to bear.

  Tears sprang from her eyes, but rather than release her and douse her weeping, he continued the tumultuous motions. Until she broke, screaming her pleasure directly into his shuddering mouth.

  Aston’s mother must have heard that. Hell, her mother could have heard Gemma’s howl across the lawn. Yet he wouldn’t have done a damn thing differently.

  She’d spoken to him, with him. She had to know he wasn’t Drew.

  And Gemma hadn’t moaned his brother’s name. How would he have reacted if she had?

  Aston extracted himself from her slick heat. With slow, gentle motions, he masked his reluctance to be separated from her.

  What now? Did he slip off the bed, dress and dart into the bathroom in the hope she’d leave on her own? Or did he do what he truly wanted?

  “That was good,” she whispered from his side. “As good as I thought it would be.”

  “It was too fast,” he heard himself retort.

  It had been too fast. But she was right. The sex had been good. Though not as good as it could be.

  Aston wanted her again. Leisurely this time. His dick was already thickening, lengthening merely at the hint of Gemma’s sun-kissed lilac scent flitting into his nose—damn his witch physiology.

&nbs
p; Another round so soon wasn’t in the cards. He had to leave her before she discovered what he’d done. Before she learned he wasn’t the man she’d sought.

  A light snuffle froze him in the act of slipping to the edge of the bed. Was she… He remained still, focusing on the sounds around him. The second snuffle was louder.

  Gemma had fallen asleep in his brother’s bed. After he’d fucked her.

  Her snooze gave Aston the perfect opportunity to escape. And escape he did.

  Right into the corridor where his mother waited.

  Aston shoved his balled-up shirt down to cover his nudity before she got an eyeful. His mother’s mouth froze in a wide-open, about-to-shout pose. Slowly her eyebrows crept up as she took in the scene before her.

  He waved furiously toward the end of the corridor when she drew in a breath to speak. “Downstairs,” he whispered.

  The matriarch of the Haizea brood glanced to the closed door behind him and then at his face before she set off toward the stairs. Aston scrambled into his slacks before following her. He fastened the final button on his shirt as he entered his office.

  Closing the door would give them a soundproof room. He tossed it shut, waiting for the telltale click, prior to speaking. His mother beat him to the punch.

  “Tell me that wasn’t Drew’s fiancée.” She massaged the soft flesh above her nose.

  “It wasn’t his fiancée.” Though perhaps that might have been a better idea.

  If he’d been the man to offer Elizabeth marriage in the first place, they wouldn’t be in the bind they were now. The Haizea brood would be assured the bid for regional high priest, Drew would be free to pursue his hedonistic pleasures and Aston wouldn’t be wondering what he’d say to the housekeeper’s daughter in the morning.

  “Gemmy?” she ventured carefully.

  “Yes,” he replied with a grim nod. “Drew extended an invitation to her this afternoon.”

  “And you thought she wouldn’t mind a change in the starting lineup?”

  He tightened his grip on his shirt at the mocking tone in his mother’s voice. Aston nearly declared that Gemma hadn’t minded. That she’d not noticed the difference. But the words cut, even unvoiced.