She lifted her hips, impatient for more, but his palm landed on her hip and pushed her back. So he thought to be in control? She’d fight him for that.
But for the moment, she didn’t want to. He had shifted the fabric aside, and his mouth was so close to her. His hot breath fanned over her nipple until she couldn’t stand it.
“Liam,” she moaned. “For god’s sake.”
“God?” he chuckled. “I thought witches weren’t a fan of the guy.”
He sucked her nipple into his mouth and then all she could focus on was the warm, wet heat of his tongue flicking back and forth. She arched again, and this time he let her.
His hands trailed down her sides, easing the fabric of her dress up her thighs. Each handful of fabric let cool air tangle around her legs. But it felt good. She was burning, aching, and she needed the chill to contain the desire.
Morgan shook her head from side to side. She desperately needed him to touch more of her. Not just the incredible talent of his mouth and the grazing fingertips on the outside of her legs.
His mouth shifted to the other side, sucking, flicking, warm again but not enough. Not nearly enough.
With a rough groan, she took matters into her own hands. Morgan locked her legs around his waist and twisted. She thought perhaps he hadn’t expected the sudden movement because he rolled with surprising ease. Liam’s head cracked hard against the ground as they rolled off the mossy bed and onto the hard, knotted roots of the floor.
She straddled his waist and pressed down against the hard, feverish heat of him. Reaching up, she grabbed a handful of his long hair. She wrapped the length of it around her wrist and forced his head to the side.
Morgan grinned down at him. “You’re fucking a witch, not a faerie. I don’t do gentle.”
She dove for his mouth, nipping at biting at his plush lips. Too soft, too full. Faeries were always made of soft things and gossamer threads, so beautiful and yet so delicate.
He groaned, dark and masculine. Morgan reached between them and palmed his length. He was scorching and hard, almost too thick when she’d only experienced human men. Not a single one could measure up to him.
Rotating her hips over him, she let out a breathy sigh. She’d been right. He would ruin her for all everyone else, in more ways than one.
She dipped her fingers underneath the waistband of his pants. Her fingertips grazed his velvety head, only to be ripped away as he lurched upright.
Liam caught her around the waist, tugging her hard against his chest and pinning her hands between them. “That’s fine then, witch. Rough it is.”
His other hand caught her wrists. There was no fighting his grip as he lifted her arms high above her head. Green magic flowed from his body, pulsing through hers and shooting up into the ceiling.
Vines stretched down above her head and tangled around her wrists. They held her in place and no matter how hard she tried to free herself, they remained locked.
She tilted her head back to survey them, then looked back at him. “Shackles?”
He leaned down and licked one of her nipples. “For now.”
Liam eased back down until he laid flat on the floor. Then the roots rolled. They moved him down between her legs until his face was right where she wanted him most. His fingers stroked feather-light up her thighs until he tongued her core.
She threw her head back again as stars burst behind her eyes. He didn’t just kiss, he ravaged. No inch of her was left untouched. His tongue swirled through her slick wetness. His lips closed around her clit, and he sucked.
At the same time, he fed her a burst of power so strong it overflowed her magic. Green light danced behind her eyelids and she shattered. Burst into a thousand pieces only to be brought back by the soothing lap of his tongue as he eased her down to earth.
He trailed kisses up her legs to her hip. The roots shifted again, bringing him up her body so he could lay a kiss against her cheek. “Ready, witch?”
Ready for what? She was liquid in his arms.
Morgan still nodded. She held her breath as he lifted his hips and pushed down his pants. Just enough to free himself.
His blunt head pressed against her core, nudging but not enough. Not a thrust, not anything more than just the barest of touches. She tried to ease down on him, but the vines still held her in place.
She let out the tiniest moans, a sound of frustration and need. “Liam,” she gasped.
“Do you need something, witch?” He taunted her. Pressing into her just a bit and then retreating.
Morgan’s eyes snapped open. She glared at him and snarled, “I’ll do it myself then.”
The overwhelming amount of power he’d fed her made it so easy to order the roots to move. They jolted him up toward her and he sank root deep into her soft folds.
Every thick inch filled her to the brim. Her eyes rolled back in her head. He was perfect, every throbbing inch.
When she could think again, she opened her eyes to stare at him. His beautiful face, blush staining the peaks of his cheekbones. His head tipped back, and those plush lips parted, slightly moving as though he muttered a prayer.
Perhaps he did. The experience felt rather godly to her as well.
He opened his glowing green eyes and met her gaze. “The roots, witch.”
“What of them?”
“Let me move, woman.”
Right. She released her magic.
The instant the roots moved back from them, he palmed her hips. Slowly, he moved against her. Drawing himself out almost entirely before thrusting back inside her and grinding.
She hissed out a long breath, then reached for his hair again. She wrapped it around her wrist and used it to draw him closer. Their lips locked together. Holding onto his mouth like a lifeline as he plunged inside her.
Morgan hadn’t known it could be like this. As if he’d clawed his way inside her with every single twist of his hips.
Magic shed off them in waves of green energy. Falling like leaves and landing in sparks on the ground.
He grunted, moving faster. Rougher. Harder inside her until there was nothing but the two of them. Just him and her until she came. All her muscles locked, squeezing down upon him while her thighs shook.
Liam gave one final thrust, pushing so deep she swore she felt him in her soul. His groan was like music in her ear. He shuddered, pulsing deep inside her body for long moments before he finally relaxed.
The vines released, and she slumped onto his chest, breathing hard while staring at the wreckage of his cabin.
The entire living room was a field of flowers. Tiny veins of green magic danced along their petals in ever moving sparks. She didn’t know what kind of flowers they were, almost as though they’d created something new.
He smoothed a hand down her slick back. “Not bad for a witch.”
Morgan grinned against his shoulder. “Well, you weren’t all that bad for a faerie.”
“All that bad? I was perfect.”
He was, but she wouldn’t feed his ego. “You were just fine.”
“Fine?” He stiffened. “I need to remedy that.”
Her eyes filled with tears. Not because she was overwhelmed, but because she knew what she had to do now. And it wouldn’t be easy.
“Soon,” she whispered. “For now, why don’t we rest?”
“Morgan…” His brows furrowed with worry. He reached for her cheek and caught a tear on his fingertip.
He’d given her so much magic, it was easy to flex her powers. She poured a sleeping spell into him, and he wouldn’t think a thing of it. After all, they had just spent so much energy. People slept, cuddled up in each other’s arms.
“Rest,” he murmured, eyes glazing over and worry forgotten. “Yes, let’s do that.”
She waited ten heartbeats until his breathing was even and deep. Then Morgan reached out and sliced his wrist with her last remaining fingernail. Just enough to pour onto the ground and let a portal shimmer to life.
Mo
rgan untangled herself from his limbs and situated her dress. Once covered, she stared down at the sleeping faerie. Even nude and in repose, he was an artist’s dream.
She pressed a kiss against her fingertips and blew it at him. “I don’t think I’ll forget you. If that’s any consolation.”
Then, she stepped through the portal and back to her lonely life.
16
The portal sent her hurtling home. She focused on the little cabin in the woods where she could finally feel like herself again. The only place where she was completely and utterly safe.
What had she done? Sleeping with a faerie king, Heaven and Hell, she was an idiot.
She knew what faeries did. They sank underneath human skin, poisoning sane minds until they were addicted. She’d need his touch, his scent, even the sound of his voice. And then where would she be?
Nothing more than a faerie slave, and she’d seen them before. Morgan had met so many of them it made her heart ache just to think of those poor women.
She wouldn’t turn into one of them. So she had to leave. Coming back to the real world was the only option. Staying in his faerie built realm would be the end of everything she knew. It would be the end of her, and she wouldn’t suffer through knowing she could have left and didn’t.
Now, she needed to focus on how to get around the strangers who’d blackmailed her. And the coven. Oh, she hadn’t thought of the coven.
Morgan landed on her hands and knees in the middle of her cabin. She needed to hide from so many people now; she didn’t have time to think of any faerie man. Good. It would all keep her mind busy.
She lifted her hands and stared down at the black smudges covering her fingertips and palms. Ash?
Dark, inky ashes covered her hands and knees. They ruined the white dress she wore and made the air smell like charcoal.
Brows furrowed, heart in her throat, Morgan looked up at the wreckage of her home. Someone had come into the cabin and burned it to the ground.
Tears flooded her vision. Her plants, her beautiful vines were nothing more than black charred pieces hanging from the ceiling. Her hammock was ashes on the ground. Smoke stains covered the walls and holes revealed even her garden had been ruined. All the plants plucked up from the roots and left to die while she was in the Mountain King’s realm.
Their ghosts screamed in her mind. They called out for their mother, but she hadn’t heard their screams of pain and anguish. She hadn’t been there, and she should have been there.
Morgan let out a sob that turned into a wail of rage and anger. How dare they?
Who would step foot into the home of a witch and burn it to the ground?
Green magic swelled in her chest. She had so much of the Mountain King’s magic in her. She hadn’t wanted to use it, he could track her if she did, but there was no choice.
Morgan slapped her hand into the ashes and growled out a spell. “Mother moon, oracle of lunar light, send to me your second sight.”
Sparks of power danced down her fingers. The shock wave lifted all the ash into the air, then pounded it back into the floor. Moonbeams sliced through the cabin like headlights, blinding her.
She kept her hand on the ground until the cabin looked as it had when she left. All her plants hanging from the ceiling and in the window. Wind rustling the leaves outside. A song dancing through the hedgerows, sang by the leaves and the roots tangled in dead boys’ hair.
Her door banged open and three laughing men strode through. They held beer bottles in their hands.
“Is this supposed to be the witch’s hut?” one of them asked. He was taller than the others with a shock of red hair pluming like bird feathers from the top of his head.
“Yeah,” the brunette replied. He was short and squat, but stronger than the others. “Tommy used to say she was the prettiest woman in town, but I’ve never heard of a witch who was pretty.”
“You’ve heard of witches before?” the last one asked. He was the attractive one. Handsome features, square jaw, blonde hair slicked to his skull. “Witches ain’t real, man. We might as well just burn it.”
The tall one was poking around in her pots. He lifted a rat carcass by the tail. “You see this shit?”
They shouldn’t be searching a witch’s cabin if they didn’t want to find things that terrified them. She watched them paw through all her things. They trashed the place, leaving whatever they found on the floor as if someone didn’t live in the house.
Rage boiled in her soul. They thought they could just violate her home like this?
It was the pretty one who found the first proof of witchcraft. “Yo! Look at this satanic shit!”
Her book of spells. Every coven member had one, and every spell was more dangerous than the last. She hoped they poked too much and whispered the words that would raise a demon.
If a demon burned her cabin to the ground, at least she could force them to rebuild it.
But the young men didn’t whisper a spell. Instead, they found something much worse.
The short one dumped her chest onto the floor and then swore. He lifted out a patch of a jersey, one they recognized as their own. “Isn’t this Tommy’s?”
All her sins were coming back to haunt her. They became enraged as they realized the missing boys from town had been here. In this cabin.
They threw their beer bottles and shattered the glass against the wall. Alcohol made them stupid. They didn’t care what they wrecked as they spent their anger on her home.
Morgan flinched as they ripped her vines apart. She gasped as they broke her pots and windows.
But it was the ghosts of her plants that hurt her heart the most. She could hear them calling out to her. Begging for her when their dirt had already gone dry.
Where was she? Where was their mother?
Jaw shaking as she held in the tears, she squeezed her eyes shut and let the vision fall from the cabin. She sat in the ashes of her home, in the place where she’d once felt safe, and cried.
This was supposed to be her haven. All she wanted was to be left alone. Why could they not leave her alone?
“Well damn.” The voice cut through her grief like a knife. “I didn’t think she’d actually come back, but you were right. Burn a witch’s stuff and she shows up.”
Every muscle in her body locked. They were still here.
The fools. Did they think they could come into a witch’s home, burn it, and then threaten her? Their luck had run out.
She shifted, curling her hands into fists and holding magic deep within them. “You should have run.”
Two other sounds approached. All three of them were still here. The idiots. They had no idea what they had done.
The first who had spoken, the one she thought was the short boy, spoke again. “I don’t think so, lady. There’s three of us and only one of you. Now, you wanna tell us what you did to Tommy?”
Oh, she’d tell them. Morgan looked over her shoulder and glared. “Tommy? Was he one of the boys who came into my wood with alcohol running through his veins? Was he one of the boys who thought they could corner me, pull up my dress and see what a witch hid underneath her clothes?”
The short boy turned red. “Tommy wouldn’t do anything like that. You’re lying! What proof do you have?”
Why did everyone always want proof when there couldn’t possibly be proof? She was alone in the woods! No one was there to hear her scream except the four boys who would never have told on each other. There was no proof except her word and no one wanted to believe a witch.
She turned away from them and sank her hands into the ashes of her children. “The proof is in their bodies buried under my hedges. You can try to dig them up, but Tommy and his friends aren’t there anymore. I devoured them. Their souls tasted like cheap beer and hotdogs.”
“You bitch!”
She could smell alcohol on their breath. Their fiery anger pushed them forward with clumsy steps and an ill planned attack.
Morgan swept her fingers dow
n from beneath her eyes to her chin. Black streaks coated her cheeks as she turned toward them and opened her hands.
Power blast forward. It caught two of the boys in the chest and sent them tumbling back. The third boy hesitated, pausing before her.
She rotated her hands, fingers spread open and electricity crackling between her fingertips. “Like I said, you should have run.”
“You killed our friends,” he spat. The pretty one. The one who should have been home with his cheerleader girlfriend and a football scholarship.
Morgan tilted her head to the side, ear nearly touching her shoulder. “Oh you sweet little soul. You’re going to taste so sweet.”
The two others stood up. The redhead bolted from the room, running as fast as his feet could carry him. The other, the short one, stood his ground. “We’ll make you pay for what you did to our friends,” he snarled.
“No, you aren’t. You’re going to give me more years than I know what to do with,” she replied. “Your friends deserved to die.”
“Tommy was a good person!”
“No,” Morgan shook her head. “He was good at pretending to be a good person. Those are two very different things.”
She let out a bolt of lightning that caught the short one in the chest. He stood shuddering in place for a second before he dropped in a dead faint.
The pretty one took another step away from her, breathing hard. “Please, lady. I don’t want to die.”
“The surprising reality is that no one wants to die.” Morgan felt the smallest twinge of pity for the boy.
Maybe he wasn’t like the others. Maybe he had been roped into something he didn’t want to do, but lacked the courage to say no. It was a shame people like him existed. He was just as much a problem.
From behind her, she heard wind as something heavy rocketed toward her head. Just before it struck, she heard the third boy, the one with red hair, say, “Don’t hurt him!”
Something struck her head and Morgan saw only darkness.
17
King of the Mountains Page 13
