by A. K. Koonce
Fuck, Arlow. How do you not get yourself off with just your dirty mind alone? And why are we in a field in your fantasies? Dry brush seems incredibly uncomfortable for sex.
A small smile presses to my lips at the sound of his overly logical mind, but suddenly I’m thinking of how big he felt in my hand that brief moment in Valencia where we almost found out what all that building tension between us felt like. I breathe out a shaking breath and imagine my hand sliding down his throbbing shaft, hoping he really can see everything in my filthy mind right now.
If I were there, I’d find out just how wet you are. Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to feel your pussy slide down my cock.
Faint images of his fantasies fill my mind. I shiver from the strange sensation of his suggestive touch. His rough hands wrap around my bare hips. Every inch of me is naked for him, his gaze taking in the curve of my breasts, the smooth skin of my stomach, the sight of his cock between my thighs. He focuses there, gliding my slickness over the length of his dick, teasing my clit, teasing us both. In my bedroom, my hand pushes aside my underwear in an instant, and I touch myself just how he is in his dirty thoughts. Something about feeling him in my mind is more sensual. It’s like I can lightly feel his touch along my flesh, feel his cock grinding against my sex in all the right places.
I take control of his own fantasy, rocking my hips as I ride his shaft but never actually fuck him. Building minutes pass. It’s a slow, teasing movement that catches my breath. We both seem to like this teasing, foreplay. The tip of his cock brushes my opening over and over and over again. So close. Almost. Not close enough. I slide my clit against him until he’s so hard I feel him throb.
And then he steals back the control, his fingers tensing into my skin, making my own fingers press harder over my clit just before the image of him changes and he thrusts himself deep into my wetness.
I gasp loudly into the silent room, my eyes clenched closed while his groan tumbles through my thoughts. It’s an amazing interconnected feeling that I’ve never experienced. Every emotion I have is bared to him. I hide nothing, and it causes the energy within me to build faster, feeling wired and pulsing, uncontrollable from the push and pull of his own lust flooding my body.
In his fantasy, I’m above him, straddling him, dominating over this beautiful, strong man. But he is very much in charge. Big hands grip my hips so hard I can physically feel them against my skin. He drives into me deep and fast, and it’s such an intense feeling that makes my fingers slide inside just as hard, my palm rubbing over my clit with every move I make.
I try to cling on to his sensual image he’s showing me from his angle, trying hard to focus on the way he watches his thickness glide into my core faster and rougher and harder, but my release shakes through me, my sex clenching around my fingers as I gasp into the quietness. The crashing sensation fills me completely, and I know he feels my orgasm possibly as much as I do. The growling sound and the intense sensation of his climax soars through my body seconds after mine, making me high all over again from something I’ve never even felt before. My head tips back, foreign, delicious, masculine emotions tingle all through me.
Pounding beats of my heart count the seconds while I breathe through the throbbing pleasure coursing through every single part of me.
A lazy smile presses to my lips. Kain isn’t always all work and no play. And he doesn’t always want…complete control, it seems.
Slowly, my body relaxes, my spine meeting the mattress once again as my eyes open. A lonely coldness settles in despite the sweat along the back of my neck. I find myself wishing I could feel his skin against mine all over again.
Fuck the rain, I’ll be there no matter what tonight.
I smile at the sound of his rasping promise.
It’s amazing how motivating a shared orgasm can be.
And exhausting.
I fall sleep with sweet images of two people rolling around a field of wild flowers. Unrealistic or not, it’s perfect.
Nine
Made of Magic
“Your father really liked the one who left.”
After this morning, I rather liked the one who left too, Mom.
My mother’s small hands never stop kneading the rye bread. It’s one of her favorites, and therefore it’s one of the villager’s favorites because of how much care she puts into making it.
“My dad has a favorite out of my mates?” My eyes narrow, and I trail my index finger through the coat of flour lining the wooden countertop. Her hands round the dough into a perfect smooth mound of a loaf, and when she’s satisfied with the shape and lathered it up just right, she then scores the top with a signature swooping heart that makes me smirk.
She’s adorable when she’s not carefully putting on a show for anyone who might be watching too closely to the suspicious mage hiding in plain sight.
“Oh, he likes them just fine.”
Does he? Does he, Mom?
I arch a brow at her, and she dutifully ignores my look as she works around her shop.
“But the one who left, I can tell he respects that one.”
“Why?”
“Because he protects you.”
“Sinister protects me.” All of them protect me. What makes Kain so damn special in my father’s mind?
“Yes,” she says flatly while sliding the loaf of bread into the stone oven, refilling the pan of water lingering at the bottom. Everything she does is done with ease here. She might hold all the tension in the world in front of everyone else, but in this shop, where she does what she does best, she’s free.
“But?” I tilt my head at her, and the longer I shift the flour back and forth, the more I start to feel comfortable here, too. Before I know it, I’m stirring and mixing and kneading bread myself.
Maybe this bakery is enchanted and I just never knew it.
That’s the only reason I can come up with for why I feel so at ease here.
Or maybe it’s just because of her.
“But Sinister is different, that’s all.” She shrugs her small shoulders, a smudge of white flour accenting her shirt around the collar at eight a.m. already.
“So am I.” So are you. I bite that thought back.
“Shhh.” She doesn’t look at me as she works, moving fluidly through the tasks of her morning.
“He doesn’t like Sinister because he’s a demon?”
“He doesn’t like Sinister because he brings you unwanted attention, Arlow.”
I blink at her, my palms sinking deep into the pale, dense dough. This is my life. A nonstop circle of fearing fucking attention.
“He’s a good man.”
“I’m sure he is—”
“What happened to the third mage you grew up with?” My abrupt question has her choking on what I can only assume is air itself. The tension in her shoulders is barely seen before she busies herself with throwing sugar into a shining teal mixing bowl. The words The Sweet Life are scrawled across the front of the bowl in white script, and the simplicity of it all makes her look like the most normal, unremarkable woman you’d ever meet.
Unless you knew her one secret.
“Shh, Arlow.” More ingredients are sifted into the pretty bowl.
“You once told me there were three of you. One was murdered, one faked a boring, normal life—which was you—what happened to the other?”
“Can you pass me the butter?” The unfazed way she looks up at me makes me remember why it was so damn easy for me to run away from this place.
To run away from her.
Her avoidance of everything that has to do with my magic all my life is like telling your mother you’ve just discovered the cure for all the terrible diseases in the world while finding a solution for world peace in the middle of sending out the exact amount of food needed to end the fight on world hunger.
And instead of congratulating you, she asks you to pass the butter.
Stinging pain bites into my nails as I sink my fingertips into the wo
oden countertop, my knuckles turning white, hands shaking just slightly.
“Just tell me what happened to her.” I stare at her, unblinking, and a shadow of emotions passes across her bright gaze.
A shaking exhale slips across her lips.
“She refused to give up her magic or her life.” Her attention lifts, and she looks out the big store window at the white crashing waves across the street. “The last I knew, she’s living on Isolde Island just off the coast.”
My gaze narrows on the lost look in her eyes as I recall the eerie myths about the mysterious island not far from here. Boys used to dare each other to sail out to the island a couple times a year when I was younger.
One died.
Only one.
“That’s less than ten miles from here by boat.”
My mother nods, stirring intently, avoiding my gaze and slowly distancing herself from the conversation.
The mage was her friend, and now I find out the woman has lived ten miles from my mother all their lives, and she never tried to visit her.
She cut ties with the mage entirely. Out of fear of the changing laws.
“Why—” My question is nearly out when it’s cut off by a tense voice.
“Bella, is that order ready this morning?” Bells chime above the door, and in walks Molly.
Perfect.
The woman’s brow pulls low the moment she spots me behind the bright teal counter of my mother’s bakery. To my surprise, a sweet dragon shifter slinks in just behind her before the door can click closed. Chaos barely looks my way as he keeps his attention held on the woman in front of him. It’s like he knows all the ins and outs of my life, and I have no idea how he does that.
“Of course, let me just box it up, Mols.” The pleasant customer-service smile is the same one my mother has shoved across her face for two decades. And the downturn frown of that customer is the same as it always is. Bellamix’s Bakery is a coveted little shop. They love it and loathe it. Delicious treats that must be made of magic they always whisper.
Really, I think they just want something to gossip about.
“Arrie, can you ring her up? It’s just nine parchels,” my mother’s voice hollers from the side room where she’s roaming around.
Paper and shuffling noises come from that room, but I don’t look toward the sound of her voice.
I consider making a run for it and slipping out the back door before my mother returns. But I’m an adult. And we don’t run from our problems…okay, we do, but not this time.
I glare at Molly. She glares right back.
The slowness that I manage to drag out of me by simply wiping my hands on a clean rag and walking the few steps to the counter is enough to make her eyes narrow into small puffy slits.
“It’s just nine parchels,” I parrot, like the good little worker I am.
“How do I know I won’t get food poisoning if I eat what you made?”
The smallest moment passes with my lips parted in surprise.
“How do you know you won’t die of basic poisoning from eating what I made? Arsenic moves in mysterious ways, Molly.”
Then it’s her turn to stare outraged at me.
“Oh my fuck. She’s kidding. Kidding is all.” Chaos cuts into the furious woman’s line of sight, giving her the biggest, most charming smile I’ve ever seen from him.
She doesn’t even acknowledge him. Her cutting stare holds on me, her fat bottom lip firming the more she scowls at me.
“It would be a real shame for Bella if someone reported her only daughter to the King of Minden.” Her low words are so quiet I barely hear her, but it rips tension into every inch of the shifter standing before her. “You think I’m an idiot. You think I don’t know? I knew when you were a freak little girl and I know now, Arlow Winters.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grind out on an even breath.
“Oh, I do. And I’m not the only one talking.” She nods continuously. She looks like there’s so much more she wants to say to me but she wires her jaw shut with a hard snap of her teeth.
Her brown dress twirls as she pivots, and in only a few angry steps, she’s out the door. Chaos comes closer to me, but the front counter separates the two of us, and I’m still glaring at the door where she left.
The sound of my mother’s pleasant voice is heard before I actually see her. She rounds the corner, holding a small white box with a beautiful teal ribbon tied neatly on top.
“I hope you love them. They took hours to make but they’re my best beignets this month, I know it.” Her smile is so genuine it hurts to look at it when she peers up from her rambling.
The quickness it takes for her happiness to dissolve completely hurts even more.
“Someone strolled by outside saying something about needing some negative energy in their life, and Molly ran right out to help,” I mumble mostly to myself.
Chaos gives an astounded look at my pettiness. It gives a coy little wave right back at him.
“She said she forgot her wallet,” the shifter tells my mother, using the sweetest smile to cover his lie.
“Of course.” She nods, lowering the box on the counter and turning away from us. She throws herself right back into her work like she always does when someone’s unnecessarily cruel to her.
So every day. She does this every day.
Chaos would have to offer up a lot of gentle smiles to make up for the number of customers who forget their wallets where my mother is concerned.
I loved helping her as a child, but my presence definitely hurt her business. It hurt life.
“This place smells delicious.” Chaos is leaning into the counter. His big forearms rest there, all but jumping over the divider separating him from all the tasty treats behind the shining glass display window on the back wall.
There’s a greedy glint to his eyes, like he’s mentally counting each and every item back there.
“Thank you, Chaos.” Her thin features pull up into a wide smile from his kind remark. The humming song my mother sings to herself is a familiar sound, and it’s one I associate with memories of her.
As talented as she is, the people here don’t appreciate her work like they should.
But, Chaos, Chaos appreciates food like it’s the number one priority in life.
“Take the beignets for you and your friends this morning.” She peers up at him with shining sapphire eyes. and Kain might be my father’s favorite, but I can tell Chaos’ is quickly becoming her favorite.
“No, I couldn’t. What if Misses Stick-Up-Her-Ass comes back?” His gaze keeps darting to the pretty box with the delicious treats inside while he keeps his adamant speech in place about not being able to take them.
His palm lifts, and he distractedly touches the smooth top, brushing along the ribbon.
That man will eat the box whole if it sits in front of him long enough.
“Chaos, we both know Misses Stick-Up-Her-Ass isn’t coming back.” The smile that etches her features is still in place, and I like how quietly happy she seems right now.
Before she can say another word, Chaos’ big hand palms the box in one quick swipe.
“If you insist.”
The greedy little creature.
I dust off my hands once more, smirking over at my mother as I join Chaos on the other side of the counter. He’s already opening the box before he even opens the door for me.
“Thanks, Mom.” I wave at her, and her flour-coated fingers give a slow little wave back.
Chaos pauses and slips out first.
“Make sure his friends get some,” she hisses on a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s twelve in there, but I’m afraid they won’t make it the mile hike into the wood.”
The smirk I smother peeks through. I nod to her before pulling the door closed and I can’t honestly say I’ll try, because we’re three feet out the door, and shifter has already shoved a whole one into his mouth.
Damn, how big is his mouth anyway? A
nd why is it making me think dirty thoughts?
I peer up at his smile as he chews happily.
“Your mother is a saint, Arlow.” One hand cradles the box, and the other scoops another fluffy snack out. “We really do have to get the hell out of here, because my dragon isn’t going to be able to take flight again if I eat like this every day,” says the shifter as he shovels more carbs down his throat.
Zero self-restraint, this one.
Which is a good thing. With Chaos, what you see is what you get. He doesn’t censor a single thing in his curious mind. I love that about him.
But seriously, what does it take to pry his attention off that fucking food?
He almost takes another monstrous bite when I push the food right out of his hand. It hits the ground with a weird sort of heavy emphasis for such a small snack. Shock parts my lips as well as his. I meant to just push his hand aside, but apparently, I’ve accidentally broken some sort of food law in Chaos’ mind.
A complaint is on his lips, but I’m faster. I cover his words with my mouth, forcing him to stop in his tracks and nearly drop his precious bakery box to the street. His lips tilt with a smile against mine as his hand presses low on my back. The sensuous way his tongue rolls against mine has me wishing he really would ditch the snacks and just eat me instead. The sweet taste of him fills my senses, and I have to put real thought into pulling back from him.
For a moment he holds me, melding my chest against his while securing his Bellamix’s Bakery box high above my head like they’re in danger from my close proximity.
His head tilts to mine, his beard faintly tickling my skin. When he stares intently into my eyes, I’m sure he’s about to say the most romantic thing.
“I’m not one to hold grudges, but you owe me half a beignet, Low.” His mouth presses to mine with a sweet kiss that I don’t return as I narrow my eyes on his. “I’ll just add it to your tab. I’m sure we can work some form of repayment out.”
And then he releases me. Striding off down the cobbled street, shoving another tasty treat into his obnoxious mouth as he goes.
