The Spell of Six

by Casey Morgan

  “Congratulations, Gwendolyn,” he said softly, losing himself in all my gown’s lace and beadwork. “Didn’t think I was going to enjoy watching you get married to five guys at the same time” — here, he glanced at my four grooms, each dressed in immaculate white tuxedos, matching ties, top hats and gloves — “but I did. They are lucky to have you, and I hope they never forget that.”

  Holland wandered up next, his fringy brown hair hanging in his eyes.

  “Overachiever,” he said, “just like always. From zero to five, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “From no boyfriends to a whole gift pack, just in time for Christmas.”

  Though I could tell he was a little bit jealous and afraid for me, there was love there, too. A desire for me to be happy, and well taken care of.

  “One adorable baby and more babies on the way as well. Three little nephews or nieces for all of us to take care of, huh?”

  He gave me a hug, hiccupping a little as he did, and then he pinched Cora’s cheek. The little girl didn’t stir from slumbering in Tina’s arms.

  “We’re going to teach them how to use the tattoo guns when they’re young, so they can come work for us, sis.”

  That was Crispin.

  Seth, his mohawk dyed red and green for the holiday, and sprinkled with glitter for the wedding, punched Crispin’s shoulder.

  “Not before we teach them how to draw, numb nuts. Then to use art books and then sketch paper, and then trace paper.”

  Crispin nodded, running his hands through his boy-band hairdo.

  “Then we teach them how to use the tattoo guns. Whether they’re a boy or a girl.” He swigged down some more champagne. When he finished, he winked at me. “Congratulations, sis. Hope your honeymoon is a good one. Hope they keep you up all night.”

  “Eating their lucky charms,” said Seth, waggling his tongue at me. It was still pierced, even after he had spent years being nagged by various girlfriends to get rid of it. “Or them getting to eat yours.”

  “Seth, don’t be gross,” I said, smiling in spite of myself.

  “What? It is what you guys are going to do. It’s what everybody does on their wedding night, man.”

  Seth imitated men and women getting it on, with sound and gesture.

  Behind this, Crispin and Holland began harmonizing some R&B song. Some Michael Jackson about love and early mornings. They didn’t keep it up long, though, and soon dissolved into a pile of laughter and hiccupping.

  “Love you all so much,” I said, grateful for their presence. If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had anyone from my family to witness my special day.

  “Jasper. Holland. Crispin. Seth,” I said, hugging and kissing them each. “I love you, and I’m so glad I have such good brothers.”

  “We are lucky to have you as a sister. Our one and only,” said Crispin, getting serious for a moment. “You know, you really balance us all out.”

  Jasper threw up his hands in a hallelujah gesture. “You absolutely do. I hate to think of what our family would be without your feminine touch, Gwendolyn. Congratulations again. But you really should get on with your evening. Get on with your celebration, before the roads ice up for good.”

  I nodded, kissed Cora’s head and allowed my husbands to take the place of my brothers. Eric was first, taking me under one of my arms. Travis next, with David and Robert behind him, and Alex up front for once. We all waved to Tina, Cora, my brothers and all our guests.

  “Have fun! Thanks for inviting us!” Shanna called out.

  We had everyone from Luck’s Hollow there at our reception, of course. We wouldn’t even be there if it wasn’t for them, after all.

  I was glad they had all been able to come from Ireland to help us celebrate our big day. They had even brought Kelsey, a single girl that all my brothers seemed to be into. They couldn’t stop fighting over which one of them would get to dance with her during the reception, and had ended up all taking turns.

  “Bye!” I called out to them. “See you soon!”

  We had made plans to go to Luck’s Hollow, Ireland and visit them next. I thought about inviting my brothers— they had never been out of the country and would enjoy vacationing in Ireland. I wanted to show them there was more to life than what was available to us in small Love’s Hollow, New York.

  In formation, my five new husbands and I all exited the church, and headed toward the big, white and shiny limousine that was waiting for us, headlights on. Snowflakes were captured in the beams like thin, magical wishes. Lace that had escaped being made into a wedding gown, and left to flutter in the cold, late-evening breeze.

  Carefully we all descended the steps, and made work of the sidewalk. While it was an icy anymore, there was plenty of salt still present. Enough to make slipping an actual hazard for me. An activity I wanted to avoid, now that I was beginning to show my pregnancy. I felt the weight and size of three babies growing within me.

  With this in mind, Alex got in the car first, to help me inside. David and Robert stayed close behind me, ready and willing to catch me should I fall. Travis and Eric stayed at my sides, stabilizing me like tripod legs all the way through. All the way up and into the cab. Even when I sat down, they didn’t leave their posts. Their places at my side.

  Tonight I became a wife. Soon I would become a mother, again. My restaurant and pub were flourishing. And it was all because the Seeding Spell— which apparently needed all six of us to work— had saved us.

  I was the happiest witch in the world, and I couldn’t wait to spend the rest of my life with my five handsome husbands.

  THE END

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  Other Books in the Luck’s Hollow Series

  Click here to read all the book in the Luck’s Hollow series!

  (Spell of Three, Spell of Four, Spell of Five and Spell of Six)

  Sneak Peek of Alpha’s Halloween Virgin

  Here's a preview of my wolf shifter romance Alpha's Halloween Virgin .

  Chapter 1

  Tabitha

  Friday, October 29, 2018.

  Friday nights are usually my escape from a life that is overrun by expectations, strictness in thought and belief, and a regimented use of time that would make even prisoners feel freer than I do. On Friday nights I’m allowed a few hours alone in my room and an one hour phone call with my best friend Cami. Even the college I attend and the job I work had to be approved, and both are strictly “wholesome” and religious.

  I had desperately wanted to get far, far away for college, but I couldn’t afford it, so I’m stuck at home and saving every penny to try and escape as soon as I can.

  I look at the book next to me. Trace my fingers over it. It’s called Fang Bang. One in a series, and definitely not something Dad would want me reading anytime. But especially not on Halloween weekend, which he has already labeled the Devil’s Holiday. I always keep it under my pillow or under my bed. That’s where I keep this particular monster safe. My love for sexy, paranormal smut. Something that would be crucified instantly in this house.

  Spreading open the book to my placeholder (a small colorful crucifix bookmark), I begin to immerse myself in the story again. Where I’m at right now, the male main character, Charles Bayne, a werewolf from antiquity, has just been given what he needs to reunite with his Love. Starlet Faun. She has been a werewolf for as long as her mate. They were separated when the continents split into several from one mega continent. Way, way in the past. They’ve been searching for each other ever since.

  I turn pages quickly, absently beginning to touch my hips. My lips. My inner thighs.

  Now that he’s found what he
needs to reunite with her, he’s hurrying with all speed. He’s touching and feeling her through his soul. Through his supernatural senses, and already he can begin to feel her love for him. How anxious she is to tie, to lie with him.

  The stroking I’m doing on my lips and inner thighs, becomes a bit less listless, and more determined. Soft, but more urgent and more regular. Already, I can feel my body temperature beginning to spike. Warm, even though the house gets a little cold at this time of night, during this time of year.

  I continue to read, creeping my hands closer to my crotch. My lips, and my clit are shielded within my skirt and panties. They are that oh-so-precious spot that I’m not supposed to know about, let alone be touching, but that makes it all the more exciting to me. And it makes me bring my fingers in closer, hovering just over my panties, before turning the page. After that, I’m right back down to my panties. Touching my little bead through the fabric. The very tip of which I can just make out through my layers.

  At the moment, the touch I’m giving myself is more soothing than anything. It gets me into a bit of a trance as I read, rather than twisted up into a tizzy. But that’s okay, it helps me focus, begin to paint to the details in my mind.

  Charles is racing across landscapes, over bits of a land bridge. As he does, he begins to shift out of werewolf form and to human. As he does, he is a dark-haired, golden-skinned beauty. His hair is long and black. Curly, a wild mass around his dark, keen eyes. His nose is thin, but his mouth is full. Sensual. Carved onto his face with extra beauty and care.

  His body is a thing of sculpted muscle. Beautiful thick and heavy proportions. In his legs, arms, chest and back. All of them ripple with strength and precision. Glisten with sweat as he continues to run, hunger to reunite with her. Already, even if he runs, his cock is standing tall. Proud, thirsting for her. Searching to meet her as well.

  I turn the page, and then another, quickly moving my hand from the front of my panties to down the front of them. To inside the dark, devilish cocoon created by my skirt and underwear. I’m wearing a thong. Something Dad would never approve of, and would have never agreed to let me purchase. Which is why I purchased it without his knowledge with a bit of my birthday money last year. They have become my “fantasy” panties.

  Panties I wear when I’m reading these kinds of books; spending this kind of time with myself as I finish snaking my hand down my skirt, and onto the thin, silky barrier of my thong and resume stroking. As I do, I give a little gasp. A little lick of my lips, feeling how much more sensation I get now. How much soft and squishy greets me on either end. And my clit, it’s getting nubby. Hard in the best way, and with just some soft, intermittent “scrubbing” motions of my fingers. My nails, because I like a little bit of pain with my pleasure.

  As I’m stroking myself and widening my legs a little bit for a little more surface area, I focus back in on the story. How Charles has just seen Starlet running toward him. Like him, she is naked. Where his cock is standing at attention as he runs, her nipples are out straight. Her breasts are full and perky, giving their own “hello” to him.

  As I read her description—short, reddish-brown hair, blue eyes and a heart-shaped face, I begin to stroke myself a little faster. Quicker, and make the strokes longer and lingering, not so rapid-fire. I feel my heartbeat and temperature increase, along with my breathing. It’s a little fast. A little shallow. Starlet looks like me. She is me, I think, deciding I’m going to do just that: put myself in her place, though I’m not nearly as busty as she’s described. Nor do I share her shapely hips. I’m well proportioned, but I’m not “thick” in that way, and I’m not necessarily well endowed. I’m a bit on the flatter side, but that’s just fine with my parents. They say I’m “not much to look at” that way, which is just fine.

  With them, but so not me. Thinking this, I keep up my stroking. I pause a bit, but only enough to turn a page, and anticipate what happens next. Charles and Starlet finally meeting up. I massage and whisper my fingers around my clit as they run to be reunited, but I hold off from really touching. Really doing anything special, until they actually hug. Begin touching each other the way I’m touching myself.

  Begin fucking, which is actually what I’m here for.

  As I just do this barest bit of stroking and attention, my clit and folds are already growing damp in my thong. Every inch of my body is practically begging to be touched. Sucked. Pinched, much like what’s happening with Starlet’s nipples. Her and Charles have finally reunited, literally run into each other’s arms and started fucking right then and there, on part of the land bridge. Except Starlet is not Starlet; she’s me. I’m the one with her nipples in Charles’ vicious, hungry mouth. Getting harder and harder as his tongue lashes around her tender, sensitive skin.

  I shiver at this, feeling my nipples go hard. Round themselves out in my bra. Pucker under the slightest touch of the pad, but I don’t touch there. I keep touching my clit. Stroking every inch of my folds, my long nails biting into the tender flesh a bit. Giving them a little slap as I move back up to my clit. In and around the tender bit of flesh, I’m beginning to feel myself quake. Shudder, to the point where I have trouble keeping my fingers on me. Add to that, the fact that my thong is practically soaked. So laden with liquid, that it’s not even really staying on me anymore. One little brush, and I would be touching myself directly.

  Which I decide to go ahead and do, just as Charles decides to start licking my navel. My hips and thighs. My innermost heat, remarking on how long he’s been waiting for me. How beautiful and curly my hair is down there. How motherly it makes me, and how much he can’t wait to fill me to the brim. Make babies with me.

  “Tabitha,” I imagine him saying in his sexy, growly whisper as his long, luxurious hair hangs in my face. He’s gotten up to start positioning himself for extra fun. Penetration of my sopping-wet pussy, which he’s promised to lick clean after making a mess of me. “Tabitha, I’ve waited for eternity to be with you, and now that I am, I’m going to make love to you. I’m going to penetrate and fill you so deeply, no distance will ever mean anything anymore. No connection too far.”

  In my head, I imagine the way I am under him. The way I squirm. The way I moan and whisper his name. Part of me hears that I’ve done this out into my bedroom, but I’m past caring. I’m more focused on caressing and vibrating my fingers on and through my lips. My clit, and even into my hole. My opening, already reaching out to grab me. My three fingers, as if they are Charles’s cock. A cock I imagine is already stroking the back of my leg. Teasing the ends of my lips, the edges of my moist, glistening hole.

  I imagine he flexes his muscles as he leans over me a bit more. I imagine I feel his cock whisper against my ass, and more of my silky, tense flesh as he positions himself just right. As he takes another testing dip in me. One that drives me wild. One that makes me open my greedy, salacious legs to him.

  “It seems my mate is more than ready for me,” he murmurs, after humming observantly. His eyes fix me in a similar way a second later, their dark color driving into me like intoxicating teeth. Claws. “It seems she is ready to have all of me in her. To let me make some glorious werewolf babies.” I imagine he smiles wickedly at me. “Which shouldn’t be hard, since I’ve got a lot to give you. My cock is nice and big. And ready for that beautiful, magical pussy of yours, my dear.”

  “I am,” I imagine I say, taking my fingers out of my wet, sticky opening and putting them back on my clit. There, I press out a frantic, intermittent rhythm. One that matches my heart, and my tenuous hold on the book. What I’m using to guide some of this fantasy. While also taking some creative license. Like a part where Charles kisses me. Bites my lip, before wiggling his cock inside me. Inserting the tip and then more, more. His length blossoms in me. Blooms outward, gently and intoxicatingly stretching me.

  I imagine him moaning. Groaning with a sexy, barely restrained hunger. It’s a deep animal sound in his throat, and one that makes me spear my fingers into my hole. As
I feel my lips and walls expand to accommodate three of my fingers held closely together, I imagine that it’s his cock doing this. His girth dominating me in this way. As I begin to move in and out of myself, I imagine it’s Charles.

  I imagine I can see and feel him rocking above me. Beginning to pound me like crazy, his balls and hips slapping me like liquid muscle. Sinewy and soft manhood. Manliness personified. His musky, sweaty, earthbound sent fills me. As does the imagine sound of his rough, untamed breathing. The way his hands and fingers dig into me.

  I let out a sighing whimper. I yelped out a soft, “Fill me. Give me all of your big, meaty cock. Ram me full of you, and your fucking cum.” As I say this, I finger myself faster and harder. I stick my fingers in as far as they will go. Pinch and rub as many of my little textured bits as possible, feeling my stomach rolling and clenching. My vagina walls doing the same, and more liquid is beginning to drench me. Try to push me out, as I say these dirty, lusty things. “Give me everything you have.” As I say this, I let out a hot, forceful breath of air. Something that’s between a growl and a sigh. I open my legs up more, though this is unconscious. Much like the way my hips are rising and buckling. “Don’t worry about fucking breaking me. I’m not pure anyway. I’m not weak, either.”

  “I know you’re not, my dear,” I imagine Charles says to me, as he begins to fuck me for all he’s worth. Slam in and out of me until my insides feel delightfully bruised. Delightfully punched and stretched by him, but I don’t want him to stop. If anything, I want to feel him swell inside me. I want to feel him shoot me full of so much cum, I’ll feel it drip out of me for the next day and a half. “You are strong. You are powerful. You are a werewolf just like me, and I will gladly break you. Beautifully. Sweetly. But not of your body and mind, but all of all the sorrows you’ve undergone.” Saying this, imagine Charles kisses me. Puts one of his hands on my breasts, and the other under one of my legs. Doing so, I imagine he presses himself in and out of me fast and hard. On each trip in, he lingers. On each trip out of me, he drags himself along my length. Drags me along his, each texture swapping. Joining. Swirling together.