by Anya Breton
There was little point arguing that fact any longer. But she would question her mother about the incident when they returned. However, there was one detail she refused to give up. “I don’t believe he intentionally knocked me into the pond.”
“Why?”
“He’s a good man,” was her unconvincing answer.
“My brother is good at many things. Being an upstanding member of society is not one of them.”
“Why do you hate him so much?” She’d gone too far. Gemma didn’t have to hear the puff of air that burst out of his nose to know it.
“I don’t hate my brother.”
“You don’t like him.”
“No, I don’t. But he’s my brother. I don’t hate him. I can’t hate him.”
“You resent him then,” Gemma persisted, frustration lacing her voice. “Why? You received your inheritance at twenty-one. The property, the businesses and the lion’s share of the Haizea wealth are yours. You’ve taken all of that and increased it threefold since it was entrusted to you. You even earned the position of coven priest. You have everything.”
His stare grew turbulent. “I don’t have everything.”
She barely restrained a snort because his was an enviable life. “What could he possibly have that you couldn’t get?”
“You!”
The single word exploded from Aston’s mouth, shocking them both into silence. Should he alter the meaning—add something that would nullify the admission he’d made? No. It would be a lie to do anything but own up to his actions.
The stupefied part to her lips and the rapid rise and fall of her generous breasts were almost too much for Aston to handle. He needed space between them, otherwise he’d kiss her. And if he kissed Gemma, when she would know it was his lips against the smooth column of her throat, Aston wasn’t certain he could stop the situation from progressing further. She deserved better than being accosted on the sidewalk in downtown Portsmouth.
With a measurable effort, Aston released her arms, drawing back until he no longer violated her personal space. Her breathing deepened, perhaps in an attempt to bring her reaction under control. The slight lift of her chin hinted she’d give him trouble.
Nevertheless, desire roared within him with each press of her breasts against the thin material holding them hostage. Regardless of what she thought she felt following his admission, the distinct shape of Gemma’s taut nipples pushing at the georgette betrayed her. Lust plagued her almost as much as it did him.
He would make her admit it. Soon. When they were alone. And then he’d make her proclaim it in front of Drew. His dick tightened at the thought of stealing her from his brother forever.
Shamefully, he turned away. He hadn’t thought his need for Gemma was related to his envy of Drew. But he couldn’t deny that the idea of shoving their physical relationship in his brother’s face made him harder than a fine stream of compressed air.
He’d taken ten steps toward the parking garage when he realized she hadn’t followed him. Aston swung around to find what the holdup was. Gemma’s wide gaze darted from him to the gallery door and back.
“You didn’t see anything you liked,” he called gruffly across the space. “Let’s go.”
“We didn’t see everything,” she shakily replied.
Aston’s jaw clamped tight in anger, not at her, but at himself. He’d frightened her. Of course she’d not want to get into an enclosed space with him soon after.
He drew in a hard breath, exhaling it over five seconds’ time. And then he started for the gallery.
It was nearly impossible for Gemma to pretend Aston wasn’t feet behind her. He leaned against the glass wall, watching rather than participating in the search for artwork he supposedly needed. After what he’d said, she had an inkling the trip to the coast hadn’t been about art.
Was there a charity art auction at all? She didn’t dare ask him. Not when he glared at anything that moved. And certainly not when the answer might be no.
But what could the elder Haizea male want with her? She was young and inexperienced in both love and coven politics.
Maybe that was it. Maybe Aston was engaging in coven politics.
He didn’t need to go to the trouble of trips to the coast if he intended to demand she do her witchly duty with him. He need only declare it. She’d have two choices—submit and produce a pureblood child by him or find a new coven.
There was no other political use for her apart from procreation. At least not that she saw. Her mother wasn’t a priestess and her father, a man she’d never met, was long dead.
Gemma hazarded a glance back, flushing at the dark gaze firmly fixed on her. He didn’t look like a man interested in a one-night stand to further their species. His handsome features held the look of a man obsessed. She’d seen it on the face of her sophomore roommate’s most disastrous boyfriend. And in movies…many movies ending with broken hearts and suicidal parties.
What did he really know about her? Her lips pressed thinner the longer she thought on the question.
“Dinner?” he asked the moment she stepped away from the last work of art.
He’d been paying more attention during their first trip through than she’d given him credit for. With a silent sigh, she started for the entrance rather than pretend she hadn’t seen the paintings on the front wall.
She focused on her feet to avoid looking at him. “I’m not really hungry.” It was the truth. Since his admission, Gemma hadn’t noticed so much as a twinge of hunger or thirst. “We could just have a cruller on the drive home.”
“I want something more substantial than a donut,” he retorted as they reached the door.
“Then why did you ask me?” Gemma mumbled.
There was no response as she slipped past him onto the sidewalk. She took the lead to the garage in an effort to exert her will on the dinner question. Aston kept pace, still without a word. Gemma hoped he’d forget his wish for food. She silently prayed he’d also remain reserved until she was safely home.
She brought her purse down off her shoulder at the edge of car. Her grip tightened on the leather straps as she waited for him to unlock the door. He stood at the back of the vehicle, blocking her if she decided to run. All he had to do was hit the button on his remote. Why hadn’t he? Gemma stared at the silver stump of the engaged lock beyond the glass, as if her wishes alone would make it pop up.
Without turning, she asked, “Is something wrong with the lock?”
“I haven’t unlocked it.” There was something uncomfortable about his flat answer.
Gemma was almost afraid to look and yet he clearly wanted something before he’d let her in the car. She made herself turn. “Why?”
Aston’s hooded gaze was stormy, bordering on anger. Had her lack of an appetite put him in a bad mood?
He started down the narrow aisle toward her. Her lungs slowed. Gemma maintained eye contact as he neared, even though it took a good deal of courage to do so.
He stopped inches from her. Several dramatic seconds passed in silence.
“We’re no longer in public,” he stated. “We are going to have the discussion you avoided.” She swallowed down unease when he paused. “Because you owe me.”
Gemma’s next exhale stalled in her throat. She recognized that husky whisper. Just as she recognized the crisp winter-air scent filling her nostrils. Her body heated as memories flowed through her mind.
Disbelief jolted Gemma to the core. That hadn’t been Drew awaiting her in his bed last night. Nor the night prior.
A strangled sound escaped her throat. She’d had sex with this man. With Aston Haizea.
“No…” The word stalled on her tongue as she whizzed through everything she could recall from the past two days.
The autobiography and tumbler of nearly drained amber liquor on the side table in Drew’s room when she arrived that first night. Drew drank vodka. And he only read westerns, never nonfiction.
A wrinkle formed above Aston’s nose
. “You had to know. I have a beard for crying out loud!”
The uncomfortable burbling in her stomach had nothing to do with her donut breakfast. It was the horrible realization he was right. He did have a beard. She’d thought it strange the way her lover’s chin scraped her breasts. But it had felt so good. She also recalled wondering why the man in the dark smelled so different from the Drew she knew. Or why he hadn’t used any of the techniques she’d witnessed in her years of observing her crush.
And then Aston made everything worse.
Chapter Ten
She knew. Aston had watched the flicker of emotions pass over her face, each one clearer than the last. Which had been the defining clue? His whisper or the reminder of the favor she owed? Something had made the pieces fall together.
There could be absolutely no question. Aston grabbed hold of her, slipping his hand into the auburn hair he’d imagined touching for hours, and then he brought his mouth to hers. Gemma inhaled a sharp breath, sucking the air from his lungs as she did. A groan rumbled through him at the thought of sharing something as elemental as the energy in his body with her.
Surprise slowed him when, rather than fight him, Gemma threw her arms around his neck, clinging with a grip bordering on painful. He quickly rallied and took advantage of the minor gift she’d given him. But when his hands slid down her back, she began withdrawing.
Aston’s lips followed her as she strained toward his car as far as his grip allowed. She turned her head, thwarting his kiss.
“We can’t do this,” she declared as soon as she inhaled a lungful of air.
His brain buzzed with need, need she was ignoring. “Why can’t we?” Frustrating silence met his question. Her continued refusal to look him in the eye didn’t improve his mood. “We already did this,” he reminded her. “Twice.”
Aston caressed her back, trying to satisfy his need to touch her and persuade her that she needed him too. A small shiver shook her spine. However, tension soon replaced the shiver. His plan to kiss her into submission faltered.
“You’re the priest.” Gemma’s voice wavered despite the purely factual words she’d chosen to speak.
“That should mean I get to have whatever I want.” He meant it as a playful tease but the tightening of her features indicated it hadn’t been properly received. He rubbed his knuckles over the bony protrusions just above the small of her back, hoping to soothe away her grave expression.
“R-right… B-but you need some-someone…”
Her stammering was doing his head in. Especially considering it wasn’t the good kind of stammering—the kind that came when his tongue flicked her clitoris and she was gasping in mindless pleasure. This stammering was the kind that ended in “it’s not you, it’s me”. Nevertheless, he let her finish.
“Who will improve your p-position politically.”
He didn’t dare speak his brother’s name, to explain how Drew’s wedding would improve his position. Not when the woman he slowly pulled toward his dick might remind him she’d meant to fuck Drew rather than him. “I’m not running for president,” he said instead.
“Everything about you will be scrutinized.”
“You’re a full-blooded Air witch.”
“I’m your housekeeper’s daughter.”
He grabbed her chin, forcing her to pay close attention to his next words. “You’re also a graduate of a prestigious liberal arts college and a world traveler who has engaged in an impressive amount of charity work. But most importantly, you’re the woman I currently want to fuck up against the car.”
Aston nearly smiled at the bright color flooding her cheeks. It wasn’t often he got the urge to talk dirty to a woman. Now, making her flush from her scalp right on down to what must be a beautiful pussy was the only thing he could think of doing.
“You wouldn’t!” Her high-pitched protest drew his balls tight.
Aston let out a low groan. “Don’t tempt me with a challenge like that.”
“It wasn’t a challenge!”
He let her hastily step away because it suited him. Her eyelids peeled back when he moved forward, closing the distance she’d attempted to take from him. And then he did it again, this time stealing her remaining space.
Aston settled himself between her thighs, loving the way his dick nestled exactly where he wanted to be sans clothing. It was all the suggestion he needed for an erection. And Gemma’s startled gasp put him the rest of the way to fully aroused.
He didn’t mean it, Gemma was sure of it. Aston Haizea was the staunch, dependable brother. He wouldn’t dare engage in anything so scandalous as sex in a parking garage. Especially not when an election for regional high priest was on the line.
But the ravenous way he stared at her mouth was a concern.
He wouldn’t. This was Aston.
And yet… Aston had let her believe he was Drew. He’d let her seduce him. And then he’d come back for more rather than fess up.
Gemma prepared herself to shout at him for his wicked betrayal only to have him flick his tongue past her lips. She coughed in surprise, unintentionally giving him more access. Any illusion that Drew had been her lover these past two nights fled at the kiss.
Aston was the man who thrust his tongue into her mouth with such passion. And it was his scent she’d begun associating with sex.
She immediately regretted her wardrobe choice—the georgette dress she was coming to despise—when his fingers slipped down her back to curl beneath her almost bare ass. Aston gave her little time to protest before lifting her atop strong palms. A squeal of surprise pealed through her throat at the cool metal car pressed against her ass cheeks.
Sweeping and possessive, Aston’s tongue was like an entity all its own. One to be equally wary of if she hoped to survive this with her wits intact. He balanced her between his torso and the car so his hands were free to work at her panties. She didn’t truly believe he meant to go through with the scandalous act until he pulled the silk to her thighs.
Aston reached between them to cup her pussy. Slowly, he worked the heel of his hand over her sex, massaging the cream into her skin. Gemma’s pelvis pumped. Her teeth caught her lip, quieting the moan she might otherwise have made.
He worked a finger inside her without slowing his pace. Sensitized muscles fed heated chills all across her lower body. It felt good, so good. She wished it were otherwise because this wasn’t the Haizea brother she wanted.
A low sound rumbled his chest. Gemma soon hung from only the press of Aston’s chest and the hand steadily tormenting her pussy. Her lover worked at the fastening on his slacks with his now-freed hand. Jeans whispered over his thighs.
And then Gemma was conscious of nothing but the hot, swollen cock sliding through her damp folds. The evidence of her desire lubricated his cock—evidence she wished she could hide. And yet Aston didn’t thrust, he didn’t breach into the heated core of her pussy. Instead, the elder and eviler brother teased her mercilessly.
Gemma moaned as his cock glided over her clit, through her folds and past where she needed it. Throbbing muscles protested his failure to plunge within. Her pelvis jolted forward, seeking what it wanted. Aston withdrew and then settled his cock higher to begin the torture anew. Desire pulsed through her body, drawing a whimper from her lips.
Her eyes rolled back. Groans tore free from her chest and muscles shuddered as Aston increased the pace of his teasing. Gemma could no longer abide it. On the wicked man’s next slide through her slit, Gemma arched her pelvis to take him inside.
Chapter Eleven
Though this wasn’t the first time Aston had fucked her, it was the first time she knew his identity. That made it twice as good as last night. A powerful shudder rolled down his spine at the feel of her inner muscles clamping around his dick. It was the warmest, sweetest of embraces—one he didn’t want to leave.
Gemma shivered beneath him. Aston wanted her again. It didn’t matter that he was inside her that moment, he would want her the instant he
pulled out. Flashes of her straddling him in his car, bent over his desk back home and sprawled nude atop his favorite boulder beside the stream were like promises rather than fantasies. He thrust farther, harder, grunting almost angrily because he had to work her out of his bloodstream before she broke him.
She curled her arms around his neck once again, tightening as she held him to her breasts. Aston withdrew with a swallowed curse. She’d bewitched him with her body. Yet it was the mind within it he feared.
Gemma’s breath caught when his dick pierced her next. Her inner walls tightened over him like a furious fist. Aston growled at the answering sensation his balls gave. He slammed within, giving her the fast fuck she enjoyed so much not because he intended it but because he was unable to control himself. Soon her pussy pulsed violently around him, and she quietly screamed down his throat.
Aston swallowed everything she gave him, still wildly thrusting until he nearly made a disastrous mistake. Almost too late, he spent himself into his palm beside the car while Gemma panted at his shoulder. He inhaled a mighty breath to slow the frenetic jumping of his lungs. And then he looked at her.
Cheeks a beautiful rosy hue, cyan eyes heavily hooded and skin shining from the sheen of their exertion, Gemma looked like a languid siren. Emotion sliced down his chest. Which one, he didn’t know and didn’t want to examine. Instead, he whipped his palm toward the ground in an effort to clean it. Failing that, he fumbled with the pants at his ankles to find the key fob.
As he stood, he couldn’t help but admire her flushed form. Desire coiled around his insides. Again. He swallowed a sound of irritation as he tucked her against his side so he could open the SUV’s door.
Aston didn’t want to need her. He certainly didn’t want to obsess over her as he had been since she turned up, bathed in sunlight in his front hall beside his oblivious brother. But the alternative—of letting her go, or worse, letting her go to his brother—was unthinkable. Gemma Erjon belonged to Aston. And before the night was through, he’d prove it to her.
