Be My Warlock Tonight

by Renee Field

  “When was the last time you tried to say no to Sasha?”

  Lance halfheartedly paid attention to both Mitch’s and Hank’s tales. It sounded as if they were all in deep shit. Being in the human realm was hard enough, but with what had happened to them last night Lance’s senses told him things were about to get worse.

  “I can top you guys. My date of the evening doesn’t even remember me. Thank the universe. She was a bloody witch.”

  “I thought you liked witches,” said Hank, his werecat buddy.

  “I normally do. She, however, obviously hates warlocks. The minute she realized I was magical she cast me back to that theater quicker than you could wink, which pissed me off.”

  “So naturally you went all macho-warlock on her and used a spell to ensure she wouldn’t remember you.” Sarcasm dripped from Mitch’s voice.

  “Of course. By the way did I mention the witch is none other than my coworker Cindy Frost?”

  “No shit,” exclaimed both Hank and Mitch.

  “Yup.”

  “Wait a sec. Isn’t this the same woman you asked out and were turned down cold? And the same person who fired off that email to your sister saying you didn’t deliver?” Mitch gave an evil chuckle. Hank grinned, flashing those pearly whites that could dazzle a woman.

  “Shut up.” Lance desperately wanted to give both his buddies a good zap in the ass but knew that would make things worse.

  “Man, that’s one pissed, angry woman,” teased Hank.

  “She’s not a woman. She’s a witch. Did you miss that part of the sentence, you illiterate feline?” growled Lance. He flicked his finger and a hot cheeseburger appeared in front of him. He made sure his magic blocked the patrons from seeing his parlor tricks and then wolfed down the burger before the waitress noticed.

  Hank snarled. His hair almost stood on end. “Who are you calling illiterate? ’Cause I know it ain’t me. I’ve got a doctor in front of my name and all you’ve got is…nothing. And I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t use magic in public.”

  “So what’s your problem anyway, Lance?” asked Mitch.

  Lance knew it was a diversionary tactic, which was probably for the best.

  “Good thing she doesn’t remember me. I cast a forget-me spell on her and worked my own magic in the sheets, if you get my meaning,” said Lance, grinning.

  “At least the sun had set and you were able to do that,” said Hank, patting down his fly-away hair.

  “How come you didn’t know she was a witch before?” asked Mitch.

  Lance glared at his friend. “Duh, because it was day. Ain’t got no power in the day, man, kind of like you.”

  “Yeah, don’t remind me,” said Mitch, pushing around the food on his plate to make it look as if he’d eaten. “We’re all having problems with our women and tonight we have to strut our stuff again. We can’t let Sasha down, she’s counting on us.”

  “Don’t I know that,” said Lance, grimacing. “However there is no way I’m about to let my cousin on that stage. I worked out things with my sister and she’s agreed that I can have one more chance and trust me, after tonight Cindy had better look out.”

  “Why does my gut tell me you’ve got something dark and sinister planned for that witch?” added Hank, in between bites of his rare cheeseburger.

  Lance took a sip of his coffee and grinned. “Dark and sinister sounds about right. After all, my date didn’t call in to tell your sister that you didn’t deliver in the sheets. Yeah, that’s what I thought. Nope. Well, trust me, after tonight, Cindy will be begging for my touch and my sister won’t be laughing her ass off at me anymore.”

  Mitch and Hank chuckled but Lance knew the only one laughing after tonight would be him. Sweet magical satisfaction, he couldn’t wait to get started.

  Sobering, Mitch added, “Trust me, all our problems are serious. Here’s what I propose. We strut our stuff, let the women bid on us and then fuck them senseless.”

  Lance nodded his agreement. His erection pressed tight to his pants as he envisioned fucking Cindy over and over again until his balls ached and she could say his name fluently and slowly, like a lover’s caress.

  Chapter Four

  Sitting through night two of the charity auction was absolute torture for Cindy. The urge to flee and leave her friends soared through her. She was especially thankful she had left her magical broomstick at home in the Darklander realm.

  She had watched her blind date from the previous night perform onstage. Slowly he had shed his clothing for the crowd of encouraging women. Not being able to take it any longer, Cindy had bolted out of the theater’s hall into the side alley, not caring she left her friends in the lurch. She couldn’t take another minute of watching her mystery date strip for other women.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Cindy didn’t need magic to know that voice belonged to none other than her mystery man. In an instant she wished she had brought her broomstick with her. Finally in the human realm she’d be able to put her stick to good use, all without using magic because her plan was simple—she’d use the blunt end to smash him senseless.

  She couldn’t believe she’d willingly sat through his performance. The urge to cast a spell and whisk him away from the crowd had throbbed through her. Cindy shivered. She felt his magnetic pull as it stimulated every part of her, especially her pussy which felt drenched with want. She hated him. When Sasha had politely informed Cindy that the man on stage had placed a forget-me spell on her and worse, he was Sasha’s brother, Cindy couldn’t believe her luck. All this time in the human realm and her senses had been tricked by a simple casting spell.

  “You put a forget-me spell on me. You’re a bastard!” shouted Cindy, not caring if anyone heard her.

  “Actually, I’m not.”

  “Not what?” Cindy shivered, wishing she’d worn sensible nylons or a plain business suit instead of a short red dress with bare legs. She attempted to ignore him and then glanced to the side, cursing herself immediately. Gone was the swimsuit. Now he wore faded blue jeans, a white shirt that clung to his muscled torso and a black leather jacket, and of course the requisite Zorro mask. He looked so magically sexy a hum of energy vibrated around him, causing her nipples to pucker with need and a slow, steady pulse to burn in her pussy.

  “I’m not a bastard. I’m your coworker.”

  He grabbed her arm when she would have stumbled with his truthful declaration.

  “Coworker? No you’re not.” She gasped the words in complete shock and disbelief.

  Mesmerized, she watched him take off the mask. “Oh my god. Lance. Is it really you?”

  He nodded, watching her face intently for her reaction.

  “But…but…”

  “But what, Cindy?”

  His Darklander Graco-Roman blue eyes took in her shivering form. She knew her nipples were poking hard through the dress fabric but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing his caressing gaze affected her.

  “You never before smelled like a magical being.”

  He grinned. The smile, hard around the edges and secretive, didn’t reach his eyes. “But I do now, right?”

  Cindy instantly inhaled. His scent, that heady melting candy apple smell, wormed its way through her body. It was the most decadent thing she had smelled since leaving her world.

  She nodded. Still gripping her arm, he pulled her body to his. Without thought Cindy closed her eyes, hating how much she liked the hot candy smell of him that was mixed with pure testosterone.

  “Do I smell magical, Cindy?” He breathed the words into her neck. Shock rooted her to the spot. Caged nicely in his muscular arms, Cindy was seeing a side of Lance that was seductive, potent and dangerous. Gone was the mild-mannered, polite business man. The man standing before her was a true Darklander warlock, a warrior with magic coursing through his veins. The transformation was as dramatic as day and night. It left her breathless.

  Wetting her lips, she boldly assessed him.
>
  Still tempting her exposed neck with his warm breath, he said, “I love the way you smell like hot sweet cotton candy I could eat all day. That’s exactly what I did to you last night, Cindy. I ate you. All of you. Fucked you. And you enjoyed it so much you begged me again and again for more, and I was only too happy to oblige.”

  Cindy pushed against his chest, hating the effect of his words on her body. Her panties were wet with desire and her nipples achy for the rough feel of his tongue and mouth.

  “Stop that,” she demanded.

  He chuckled, hauling her ass with both of his large hands more intimately to his body. She felt the tight bulge in his jeans and hated how pleased she was, knowing that he too was affected by his words.

  With one snap of his fingers the world tilted in on itself. Magic pulsed around her, brushing her mind with light. She squeezed her eyes shut. Groaning, she opened them only to discover it was worse than she’d imagined.

  “I’m not letting you get away. It’s time the real Cindy came out to play.”

  She wished he hadn’t spoken because his magical voice stole through her body, caressing her with breezy warmth. She turned, prepared to demand he send her back but for the life of her she couldn’t speak.

  She knew she was standing in Lance’s bedroom. His king-sized bed with the bold dark blue duvet covering it looked as inviting as sin. She inhaled, smelling that tantalizing scent of him, all sweet melting candy, which caused her blood to boil with want. There standing before her was Lance, the Darklander warlock, bare to her direct gaze. His sun-kissed body was all hard planes, with muscular arms and thighs that led to a lean torso torpedoed with muscles. He had the perfect amount of black, curly chest hair, which her fingers itched to caress. His thick, hard cock jutted out proudly, and the purple vein of his shaft strained with desire as it bucked on its own under the discernable scrutiny of her gaze. Casually he placed his hands on his hips.

  “I’m going to fuck you, Cindy, and this time you’re going to remember who’s thrusting his cock into that sheath of yours. It’s me. Lance Papadopoulos. That’s Pa-pa-do-pou-los. And I’m not your average human warlock. I’m a Darklander Graco-Roman warlock and proud of it.”

  He enunciated his last name through clenched teeth. It dawned on Cindy that he didn’t know she was from their realm.

  Graco-Roman. A Darklander Papadopoulos. The reality of the situation Cindy found herself in caused her to lean toward the bed, which was directly to her right.

  “I can’t. We can’t.”

  An evil chuckle followed her pitiful declaration. “We did and will.” He sauntered forward, his shaft bouncing along with his confident macho stride.

  The only way Cindy could escape was with the use of magic, which would mean she’d have wielded it three times within the last forty-eight hours. The first time, she remembered was when she’d spelled Lance away from her house the night he’d shown up, causing her to realize he was a magical being. The second time she had inadvertently used magic to shut up Sasha who had been about to blab to her human friends that Cindy was a witch. The consequences of her actions would not go unnoticed, but what choice did she have?

  A Papadopoulos and Stephanopoulos together. The shock of it would reverberate louder than a dozen broomsticks exploding through the Darklander realm. This can’t be. We can’t be.

  “Make haste, Cindy. Take chase, Cindy. Away, away before he says nay.” The power of her sing-song spell cascaded in a mad rush through her cells, flashing her away from Lance’s home. It didn’t bode well that her last glance at Lance had been of him smiling a smug warlock-smile with his hand fisted around the base of his cock for show. Not good at all.

  The minute Cindy materialized in her house she knew she wasn’t alone. The pungent odor of her mother, reminding her of black licorice, made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. For a moment she thought about spelling herself back to Lance, wondering which was the lesser of the two evils.

  Her mother’s casting blue eyes focused in glee upon Cindy and instantly she knew she’d made the wrong choice.

  A chuckle quickly descended upon the room.

  “What is that?” Her mother’s sharp black eyebrows creased with annoyance. Never fear, just annoyance.

  “That’s a warlock.”

  Cindy watched her mother cast a disbelieving eye around her small townhouse, probably taking note she hadn’t brought her familiar and hadn’t placed any protective sugar around the openings to her dwelling. She was for all intents and purposes a sitting witch.

  “Where is your familiar?” barked her mother.

  “I gave it away.” Cindy strolled past her mother and headed into the kitchen. Usually she went for alcohol like humans, but not now. Tonight she went straight to her stash of flavored jellybeans. When in a desperate situation the best thing to soothe her frayed nerves was colorful, tasty sugar. The momentary high she hoped to achieve by cramming a handful of jellybeans into her mouth might give her enough strength to deal with what she knew would come next—her mother meeting Lance, a Papadopoulos warlock.

  “Cindy Stephanopoulos, Darklander witches don’t give their familiars away. Where is she?”

  “Where is who?”

  Lance’s baritone voice jarred her mother. For a moment Cindy almost felt sorry for her mother, but that emotion quickly dissipated the second she noticed her mother using her hands to cast a deadly spell directly at Lance.

  “Stop it!” shouted Cindy, placing herself in the middle of the two powerful beings who were eyeing each other in total disbelief.

  “Why is a Stephanopoulos witch in your house?”

  “What is a Papadopoulos warlock doing coming into your dwelling?”

  Cindy looked from one to the other, wondering who to answer first. Turning to her mother, she said pointedly, “Mother, you must promise me you will not kill him or spell him into anything else. Lance, the same for you. No killing, no maiming and no casting spells.”

  Placing her hands on her hips in one of her practiced business poses, she held her breath and waited. Her mother gave a curt nod, her eyes never leaving Lance’s while Lance mumbled a yes. Satisfied she’d established some preliminary ground rules, Cindy marched back into the kitchen to grab her stash of candy and then ushered both of them to take a seat. Stuffing her mouth with jellybeans, she chewed fast and then made proper introductions.

  Lance saw red. Cindy was not only a witch, but she was a Darklander Stephanopoulos witch. His night went from bad to cursedly horrible with the realization of what he’d gotten himself into.

  Cindy looked nervous. She had eaten half a jar of jellybeans to help prep her for this encounter, but it didn’t seem to be boosting her confidence. Lance thought that was strange. Cindy was always so sure of herself, utterly confident, bossy and smart. Seeing her act this way was a blow.

  “So he’s a coworker. Isn’t that convenient?”

  Lance did not like Cindy’s mother, Sybil’s, tone of voice. “We’re much more than coworkers, aren’t we, Cindy?” Really, what was coming over him? Why he felt the need to force the issue knowing it would be wiser, and in all probability healthier, for him if he kept his mouth shut, mystified him.

  Sybil raised her hand.

  “Mother, you promised.”

  Lance glanced at Sybil’s well-manicured hands, noting every finger was adorned with expensive jeweled rings. So she casts spells with her hands. That’s a good thing to know.

  “What is this Papadopoulos warlock saying, Cindy?”

  Lance watched Cindy’s face turn bright pink. Her eyes darted to his. He gave a sexy grin and winked at her. She tisked and turned her attention back to her mother.

  Popping two more red jellybeans in her mouth, she said, “Nothing. We’re just coworkers.”

  He didn’t miss her emphasis on the just. “Liar, liar pants on fire.”

  “Stop that.”

  “Daughter of mine, you will tell me the truth. What have you been doing with this warlock?”

&nb
sp; Normally Cindy would tilt her chin up in defiance, square her shoulders and marshal her quick wit with a saucy retort. That’s exactly what she always did when they worked together. Instead she simply shook her head. Pitiful.

  However, the warlock side of Lance was in a foul mood. “We’ve been screwing around.”

  “Screwing around?” Sybil’s voice wavered and squeaked.

  Finally he’d unhinged the mighty straitlaced Stephanopoulos witch. A moment of utter delight, like that which he felt when he cut his opponent first, caused him to preen. Then he took in Cindy’s horrified expression and the dagger-like stare she cast his way. Regret washed away his euphoric champion feeling. That feeling only lasted for a few seconds when he recalled exactly what the Stephanopoulos witches had done to his family for generations.

  “Fucking to be precise.” Might as well go all the way with this…crude warlock that I am.

  Sybil rose in one fluid movement out of her seat. “That’s impossible. A Stephanopoulos witch cannot have sex with a Papadopoulos warlock.”

  Something wasn’t right. Sybil wasn’t offended with the notion of her daughter having sex— it was the concept that they could actually do it.

  “It’s not possible. The curse—”

  Lance stood up, using his height to tower over Sybil. “What about the curse?” He watched her fist her hands together and immediately prepared his body for a zap. Instead she took a breath and relaxed her threatening pose.

  “Yes, Mother, what about the curse?” asked Cindy, who had stood up the exact moment her mother had. Not a lot of trust there.

  “You do know that it was a Stephanopoulos witch who cast a spell on all the Papadopoulos warlocks.”

  Lance and Cindy nodded.

  “He did deserve the punishment.”

  “Mother, really. That’s ancient history. You can’t just go cursing an entire family because one warlock screwed around.”

  “Cindy, you watch your language,” snapped Sybil.

  “Yes, Cindy, do watch that language,” teased Lance. That he could flirt with her when so much was at stake rattled his warlock senses.