by T. S. Ryder
After Percy's attack, Rose had had nightmares, and they'd started dozing together on the couch. Rose told him that when they slept together she didn't get nightmares, and so they moved to the bed. Devon thought that maybe there should be a little more production about it, but it just felt so right and natural that sort of thing wasn't necessary.
It had been like this for a few months now.
There had been some legal entanglements with Percy's death, given the arrest that had happened, but once the cops actually listened to him and Rose–helped along by the lawyer that he hired–it was determined that this was one of those cases where the law had failed to protect its citizens. Those cops who had refused to listen to Rose's complaints about Percy before he got violent were an internal investigation.
It turned out that what Percy had told Rose was the truth. He did have a brain tumor. A psychologist that they talked to about it theorized that the tumor was the cause for all of Percy's behavior before his death. The threat of imminent death made him cling to the thought of what he had when he was healthy–Rose. It also exerted enough pressure on his brain that it changed his personality enough to make him buy that gun. The psychologist was convinced that if Rose had gone with him to the hotel room, Percy would have killed the both of them. He wanted her to suffer; that was why he turned the gun on others instead of her in the lobby. He would have shot her before he shot himself if Devon hadn't been right there. The thought still made Devon's blood run cold.
But that was in the past, and Devon, Rose and Jamie were happy being together as a family. Devon grinned as he slid his hands up under Rose's shirt. Her skin was warm and soft and he leaned in to nibble at the back of her neck. As odd as it was, though they had been sleeping in the same bed for months now, they'd never actually gone further than some heavy petting… Rose always drew back, and while she didn't say why, the fact that she wasn't comfortable going all the way was something that Devon accepted.
That didn't mean he didn't want more, though. Just that he was willing to wait to get it.
Rose moaned as he traced his hand down her curves to slip between her legs, probing against her clothing. She pressed herself against him, making a pleasant buzzing start in his center. "Don't you think we should go back to sleep? You have to work early tomorrow morning."
Devon glanced at the clock. "I'd have to be up in two hours anyway. If I try to sleep now I'll just end up in the wrong part of the sleep cycle when I get up… unless you want to sleep."
"I'll let you know," she moaned.
"Remember we're going out for dinner tonight. Maybe you can go out today and buy yourself a new dress."
"A new dress? But I already have a lot of pretty clothes."
"I know. I just want tonight to be special."
Rose wiggled her rump against him, making everything tighten inside of him. Devon gasped in delight, searching for her waistband. She slid her leg up his thigh to give him better access. His heart pounded with excitement. Maybe this time… He buried his face into her neck, eagerly nibbling at her. Rose jerked and gasped under his ministrations.
"Tonight should be special, then?" she asked. "I mean, you want tonight to be special?"
"Yeah. You realize it's our five-month anniversary since we moved out here?"
Rose responded with a moan, and Devon started moving her pajama pants down off her hips. Her hands found him. He let out a mighty moan and jerked hard against her, causing the whole bed to tremble beneath them. Rose giggled.
"If you want tonight to be so special, then maybe we should save this for then, instead of doing it right now."
Devon groaned in disappointment. He stroked her a couple more times before he withdrew. "If that's what you want."
Rose rolled over, putting his arms around his neck. She kissed him gently. "You really do want tonight to be special. Why, are you going to propose?"
"Uh…" Devon realized too late that she was joking. In the moonlight, he saw her eyes widen.
"You are?"
Devon winced and nodded. "Yeah. That was the plan… Actually, that's still the plan. You're not allowed to say yes or no or see the ring until—"
Rose threw herself at him, rolling him over onto his back. Her mouth caught his hard. He chuckled at her passion, grinning. She straddled his hips, grinding herself hard against him. Already semi-aroused, everything was kicked up another notch. He wrapped his arms around her waist, crushing her against him, and Rose moved to his neck, eagerly kissing and sucking at his skin.
Well, I think I know what her answer is going to be.
The shifter rolled her over, the bed wobbling dangerously under their movements, and pinned his mate beneath him. Rose's eyes sparkled as she gazed up at him, her hands twisting into his hair. He returned to her mouth as he explored her body with his hands. When he found her breasts, he moaned and ripped open her pajama tops. The buttons hit him on the chest, but he ignored them, moving down to feast on her beautiful body. Rose shivered beneath him, moaning.
"You're fixing that," she said, pulling him closer. "Later."
"Of course."
Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he moved his hand down between her legs again. He loved the way she shivered at his touch, the way her hips rolled up towards him, begging for more. He loved the way she gasped out his name, and the sweet taste of his skin while he kissed between her breasts. But most of all he loved the smile on her face, the pure love radiating from her eyes as she gazed down at him.
"How did I ever get so lucky?" he whispered, removing her pants to have better access to pleasure her properly. "You are the most amazing, wonderful, compassionate, sexy, beautiful, kind-hearted—"
"Don't lay it on too thick. I'm already taking off my clothes."
Her back arched and her shoulders shimmied from side to side as he adjusted his strokes against her. Her jaw hung open a little, her eyes sliding closed. Devon's own body ached with need as he watched her, filling to the brim with a desire to be as close to her as possible. He checked to see how ready she was and grinned when he found her perfect. He kissed her once more as he removed his pants. Her hands found him, and he let her work her to readiness before he laid over her again.
Both of them cried out, clutching at one another, as he entered. Devon kissed her gently, giving her a moment to adjust to him–but apparently, she didn't want to wait. She planted her feet onto the bed and brought her hips up hard. Devon gasped, then laughed and joined her rhythm. The pace was impossible to keep up, but he ground his teeth and tried, their bodies slick with sweat, writhing together as the heat built between them.
Soon it was too much to hold back; as Rose bucked and screamed beneath him, Devon was drawn with her to climax. His body jerked and writhed from side to side before he collapsed. He heard Rose's labored breathing and was just able to make himself to roll off her.
They lay there, hands twined, for quite some time before Rose stirred. She pushed herself to her elbow and smiled at him. "Well. That was an experience."
"A good one, I hope," Devon said, suddenly worried. "Did you—"
"I loved it." She kissed him. "I love you. I don't know why I waited for so long… I can't wait until tonight when I can tell you yes."
Devon chuckled. He pulled her against him and kissed her again. He glanced at the clock. "Look at that… we still have an hour left… want to go again?"
Rose gave him a wicked grin and straddled him. "My turn."
Devon was all too happy to let her give him what she wanted. He smiled as the heat began building again. He had a lifetime of this to look forward to… and it could only get better from here.
*****
THE END
Bonus Book 5: The Dragon Shifter's Babies
Description
A voluptuous model with a knack for love potions PLUS a hot Dragon Shifter looking for a mate PLUS a head witch who gets in the way!
Cyrene Redwood is a witch, but unlike any other witch, she doesn’t like being a witch. She has
no idea where her wand is, her cauldron is stowed away under the kitchen sink and she uses her broom to sweep her apartment. She is also an aspiring model landing a gig at a modeling agency. But she is wayward, unruly and has a short temper, which jeopardizes not only her relationship with the head witch and her new employer, but might also put off that hot new guy she has met.
Dell is a Dragon Shifter, who looks like a model straight out of a Calvin Klein poster. He radiates “macho.” He is stable, well settled and established and has seen enough in his time that hardly anything catches his fancy - like a girl who mixes something in his drink or a witch who doesn’t fall for his charms.
When Cyrene is on a night out with her so-called friends, a daring bet lands her in Dell’s lap. Things turn steamy quick. But Dell knows more than he lets on and Cyrene has ulterior motives. As Cyrene shakes his foundations, Dell has to ask himself if he can really handle her. Will they reveal who they really are? And can Dell break down the wall that Cyrene has built around herself?
Chapter One - The 13th of the Moon
Cyrene
I stop for a second while crossing the road to light my cigarette, when a blue Fiat Punto screeches to a halt and starts honking. I get it, the signal was red and I should have waited, but there is no need to honk like your life depends on it—such behavior pisses me off. “Learn to be patient,” I shout at the woman inside, louder than I intended. I flip her the bird and then walk away. Just so you know, I never walk away, I only walked away because that’s what I was already doing. With three kids in the car, you’d expect a woman like her to have more patience. She honks again as she passes me by.
“Fuck you,” I shout back in return. What a bitch!
I am cranky, I know, it’s that time of the month. No, it’s not what you think. It is the night before the full moon, the night of the coven meeting. I absolutely despise coven meetings. I loathe all the other witches—more like bitches, especially Minerva, the head witch. I don’t see the point of these meetings, what they accomplish and why the fuck are they always held on the night before the full moon. At this point in time, in this century, all witches know that the phase of the moon has no impact on the meeting, none whatsoever. Yet I’m the only one who has the balls to say it. And, obviously, all witches are required to attend.
As I wait for the bus at the station, another bus waddles away and my eyes land on the ad on it: ‘Models Wanted - Apply Now.’ I save the address from the ad on my phone and wonder whether or not I should apply. I know I am beautiful, I have always known that, but I am not sure if I am “model beautiful.” For starters, I am not stick-thin, or thin, at all. I workout and I am fit, have a stunning bosom that makes people gawk, a flat stomach, and long red hair that make me stand out. I also have light freckles on my face, nothing that I can’t cover with some powder. When my bus arrives, I shoulder my way in and head home.
After I am done with my household chores, I get to my computer and type in the address I saved earlier. It turns out that the ad was from Glance, a prominent modeling agency. And I meet the minimum height requirement: I am 5’11! All they ask for is a photo, so I pull out my phone and take some photos. None of them satisfy me and I take some more. I finally settle for a very neutral one because I think that’s what they will really want to see: not pouts, not me flipping birds, just a neutral expression. I email the photo and head to bed, tired down to the bone. Working two jobs isn’t easy. Try it sometime if you don’t believe me.
At about three in the morning, there’s some fierce knocking on my window. I lazily open my eyes and see Bats in the window.
“I am not going,” I say, pulling the duvet over my head.
“That’s not an option, Cyrene,” Bats says. “Come on, honey, it won’t be long.”
“Go away! I have to wake up for work in three hours.”
“Then let’s get going. I’ll have you back within the hour.”
“Tell the head bitch I quit being a witch.”
Bats taps on the window full force, rattling the window frame. “Open up or I’ll break the glass.”
I ignore her, curling up in bed. She smashes the window with the back of her broom, shattering the glass to pieces.
“Bathilda, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?” I scream as I jump out of the bed.
“Told you. Get your broom before I break the rest of the stuff here,” she warns in a saccharine way.
I know by now that she means it, so I whistle to my broom and it flies to me.
“God, what did you do with your broom,” Bats asks, “don’t you ever clean it?”
“No, Bathilda, I don’t clean my broom. I clean with my broom. You know, that’s what brooms are for.”
Since I am calling her Bathilda instead of Bats, she knows I’m pissed, so she doesn’t make any more conversation. As I step out the window, she sighs loudly. I know she can’t hold it in, and she finally speaks.
“Are you really going to go in your pajamas?”
“I only dress up for Halloween,” I say, hopping aboard my broom.
We shoot straight for the pitch-black sky and stop a little above the clouds. The rest of the coven is already gathered. There are eleven witches to be precise, standing in rows of three like an assembly at school. Minerva is sitting on the opposite side, facing them.
“So good of you to finally join us, Cyrene,” says Minerva in her calm, therapist-like voice that makes me want to pull my hair out. What’s worse is that she isn’t being sarcastic at all. As Bats and I take our place, there are only two witches standing out: Minerva with her green velvet cloak, her polished broom, her old-hag botox-hungry face and her floral crown with a mix of thirteen ever-fresh flowers; and me, with my straight-out-of-bed hair and pajamas, standing in stark contrast with the other eleven witches who are all dressed up in black cloaks and hats.
Minerva completely ignores me. I know she’s a prude and hates me for not dressing up, but she doesn’t say a thing about it. Although I can see her disdain for me in her violet eyes. She drones on and on about things that I have no interest in so I doze off. Then she clears her throat loudly, waking me up before she finally gets to the important stuff—all witches are given a task during every meeting that they have to complete before the next meeting. Given that my coven is the guardian of nature, our tasks are usually stupid so I won’t bore you with them.
I am the last one in the last row and I hadn’t paid any attention to what the meeting was all about, so Minerva decides to hand me the death sentence.
“Cyrene, as you know that the only remaining and the most important ingredient is—I have no idea what she’s talking about—dragon hairs, it falls upon you to procure them for the potion before the next meeting of the coven.”
“What?” I say, unable to believe what she had just said.
“Dragon hair, my dear, it’s not that hard of a task,” Minerva says.
“You are kidding, right?”
“No,” she says seriously.
“That’s a death sentence. Why not just kill me now?”
“Cyrene, my love, I would never put you in danger. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t know you could—”
“How am I supposed to find a Dragon Shifter? How do I know it won’t kill me?” I begin protesting.
“I am sure you will find a way,” she smiles. I know she’s cackling inside, the evil bitch that she is.
“Why don’t you give me an easier task? Ask Bats to get dragon hair. Ask someone else. Give me an easier task.”
“Have faith in yourself, my dear Cyrene.”
“But I don’t know how to…” I begin to protest again, but the bitch turns her broom around and swooshes away.
“Fuuuucccckkk!”
Chapter Two - Potentially Bright Future
Cyrene
I know a lot of girls would give anything to become a witch and that I sound ungrateful when I say I don’t want to be one. Here’s the thing: Being a witch is hard. There’s no school of magic, no Hogwarts or a special ac
ademy where you can go to learn the art of magic. Witches are witches by birth, skipping a generation, so there’s nothing you can learn from your momma and the generation gap is even wider with grandmas. That is, if I had a grandma. You are supposed to figure things out all on your own or find them in a grimoire. All families of witches have grimoires, but they are HUGE, old, fragile and un-indexed. If you want to find something, there’s no spell for it. You have to manually go through hundreds of pages until you land on the one you are looking for. And, even then, you have to find weird-ass ingredients to make potions. And I respect myself too much to ask Minerva or any other witch for help.
I spend the next three days wracking my brains to figure out a way of getting dragon hair. On the fourth day, I get an email from Glance.
Dear Ms. Redwood,
We are happy to inform you that you have been selected for an audition.
You are requested to visit Glance Modeling Agency (GMA) tomorrow, between 3:00 - 5:00 for a portfolio shoot.
Please do note that this is only the first step. Should your shoot capture our interest, you will be signed by us. If the decision is otherwise, you will be informed via email.
Best wishes,
Erin Vam
I call Bats the second I get the email.
“Batsy! You won’t believe what just happened,” I squeal with delight.
“What, you’re not calling me Bathilda anymore?”
“You broke my window.”
“I am sorry. I had to get you to the meeting.”
“Whatever,” I say, not wanting to talk more about the incident. “I might be becoming a model. I have been selected for the audition. If I make it, we are so going to take Hollywood by storm.”
“Good for you,” she says, not even trying to hide her indifference.
