Wicked Magic Page 4

  Heat rushed to her face. She’d secretly hoped he’d been too drunk to remember that night all those years ago. He’d never brought it up and neither had she. “Maybe I should come back later,” she blurted, standing and holding out her hand for the bottle.

  “Sit down.” He pointed to the chair.

  The rude sound she made seemed to force a rich, deep chuckle from his throat.

  “I’m sitting only because I want to, not because you so rudely told me to. I wish you’d stop that.”

  “I don’t know how you do it, but you’ve managed to pack about ten feet of pain in my ass into a beautiful five-foot-four package. Boggles the mind.” His voice was soft, affectionate and it had her heart skipping a beat.

  “I wanted to ask you something,” she said.

  He opened his hands, making a sweeping motion in a gesture for her to go right on and ask away.

  “I want—” She stopped mid-sentence.

  She batted her lashes. Her mouth opened and then closed. It was now or never. Samhain was in two days. This was what she’d been saving herself for. There were a select few things a witch needed to inherit her magic—a bridge to access the powers of her ancestors—in other words—Samhain, her familiar and most importantly, giving her virginity to her familiar before her twenty-first birthday.

  Now or never. The next time she blinked, she kept her eyes closed and went for it. “Trent, you need to be my first.”

  Chapter Four

  The sweet smell of Brenda’s perfume made Trent’s stomach roil. He hated perfume. The closer she got, the more distracting it became. He turned his head, nose tracking the scent so he could avoid it.

  He barely heard Sam over the noise in the bar.

  “First what?” he asked absently.

  He was no longer looking at her. No, he was distracted by the way Brenda swayed through the room, her giggling laughter trailing behind her. Where she went, people stared.

  There was something about her besides her breasts and god-awful perfume that commanded attention. She wasn’t even that attractive, not to him at least. Sam’s best friend came to a pause at their table and flashed him a full smile. She bent ever so slightly. If he wanted, which he didn’t, he would have been able to see down her low-cut leotard. The sharp, angry press of Sam’s magic forced his head in her direction. Brenda set a longneck in front of him and pressed her full, round breasts into his arm. Sam glared at her roommate, as if silently telling her to go away. The point wasn’t taken.

  From his wrist up, Brenda trailed her ruby nails along his arm to his neck. Back and forth, his jaguar paced. The longer he was exposed to her scent, the more agitated he was becoming. Before she could caress his throat, he grabbed her wrist. She hadn’t earned that right. He tightened his fingers around her arm.

  What was meant to deter her only turned her on even more. Her scent took on a musky aroma. Without waiting for an invitation, she slid onto his lap and wrapped an arm around his neck. He was going to throw up. Brenda exhaled a warm breath against his ear. The hand she placed on his chest felt as hot as Sam’s glare and he didn’t dare look at the waitress.

  Brenda leaned in close and brushed her lips along his lobe. When Sam had done that, it had sent a spark straight to his groan. The curvy redhead didn’t render the same reaction. If that bothered her, it didn’t show.

  “You know I love it when you get all aggressive,” Brenda purred. She fingered the butt of his weapon. “My, my, your gun is big.”

  He gave an uneasy chuckle and unthreaded her arm from around his neck. At least this way he could breathe. “You know I adore you, Brenda, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  Flashing a pout that would have made a weaker man beg, she turned her head to Sam. He’d never seen Sam look so pissed. This time, though, the anger was directed at him. What had he done?

  “Run through your own species already?” Sam bit out, grabbed the whiskey and took a long, suffocating swig. Man, she was going to be sorry in the morning.

  When Brenda laughed, her curves shook against him. She quirked an eyebrow and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Jealous?”

  Trent looked back and forth between them, as if he were watching a Ping-Pong match. He wondered if the gleam in his eyes said he was hoping the ball would fall onto the floor and they would wrestle for it. Brenda was bigger, but his money was on Sam.

  “Jealous?” The sharp tone of Sam’s voice betrayed her words. “Trent doesn’t belong to me. He’s free to sleep with whomever he wants. Cat, dog, gopher. I don’t care.”

  Brenda gave Sam a soft, affectionate smile. It was the most attractive he’d ever seen her. The waitress winked at him, as if to say she’d been messing around.

  “Sam must have inherited her claws from her father. You two have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  With one last knowing look between them, Brenda walked off. Her hips swayed back and forth to a beat that was all her own. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. A skirt as short as the one she wore left nothing to the imagination.

  “You know what?” Sam yelled. It snapped his head back in her direction. Her chair scraped away from the table and she stood. She tugged hard on her necklace and he worried she might rip the damn thing right off.

  “You’re an asshole.”

  He loved the fire in her eyes, the way her cheeks lit. She was sexy when she was pissed. It was almost worth doing it on purpose. For as much alcohol as he’d drunk, he was surprised at the speed of his reflexes. Before she could turn, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to the table. Heat moved from where they were connected. For a second, it felt as if their souls connected. As if it were a living, breathing object, all teeth and claws, her magic snapped at him. It was a clear message to back off.

  He fought back. His jaguar pounced. Although he remained human, he saw the outline of his feline lurking around her like a mist. Teeth nipped at her neck, pinned her in place. She sucked in a startled breath. His message was clear—sit down. He could tell by the look in her eyes there was no thought when she obliged.

  She dug her teeth into her lower lip and gave him a nasty look. Sam wasn’t the submissive who liked being manhandled. Being an alpha and an enforcer made him top cat. In her world, that meant nothing—which was part of the problem in the first place. When she finally released her lip, it was swollen and full.

  “I’m sorry, Sam. You know how distracting Brenda is. I’m listening.” He wished he could drag Sam out the door, push her against the wall and fuck her until she couldn’t walk. After that, he would carry her to his bed and screw her some more. Never in his life had he wanted anything more.

  “I’ve tried to tell you for years that I was an asshole. Not my fault you just figured it out. You’ve got my full attention. Go for it.”

  “I do not.” She pointed in the general direction Brenda had run off in. “You’re thinking about her ass. You’ve got that look on your face all men get when they’re thinking about getting a woman naked.”

  A slow, predatory grin lifted the right side of his mouth. He had been thinking about sex. Leaning in close, he dropped his voice. “Darlin’, I’m thinking about getting you naked. You need me to be the first what?”

  That got her attention. The first subtle scent of her arousal hit his nose. She smelled like honey and lilacs. One day he was going to bury his face in her pussy and smell nothing but her. Rich, sweet. He couldn’t wait to find out if she tasted as good as she smelled.

  It took only a few seconds for the anger to fade. The light, airy tone of her voice that was so damn addictive made his heart beat faster. “And to think I defended you when ’Miah told me you were a moron.”

  She never could stay mad at him, even after he’d chased her off as a teen. Grabbing his beer, he tipped his chair back so it rested on two legs. It took balance and concentration, neither of which he had at the moment. That was where the appeal lay. He took a long drink from the bottle.

  That was the
moment she decided to sucker punch him.

  “Iwantyoutotakemyvirginity,” she blurted.

  One word or an entire sentence, he wasn’t sure. She spoke it so quickly, it took him a few seconds to translate. The light bulb inside his brain clicked to life and everything else went dark.

  “Wha…” His stammer turned into a choking fit. Talking and drinking, it turned out, were hard to do together.

  He coughed, sputtered, his eyes watering, and he pounded his chest. At the sudden movement, his chair gave out. He flipped back. His arms flayed in circles. Crack. The back of his head slammed against the ground and stole his breath. For the second time that night, he’d caused the room to grow silent.

  It was his brother’s laughter that spilled out first. It spurred on a cheer, some clapping and a few hoots and hollers. He stared up at the ceiling, breathless. The paper ghoul he’d seen earlier that night looked down at him with two black, uneven eyes. Even it was laughing at him.

  Sam was still a virgin—a status he’d figured she’d lost long ago. She wanted him to rectify that. Jesus, he was a moron.

  Boots echoed. The vibration of every step pounded through him. With one leg on either side of his waist, Sam bent over him and came into view. Her pentagram fell forward into a beam of light and the blue stone in the middle shone.

  “You okay?” Her bottom lip was between her teeth. Laughter danced in her big green eyes.

  He reacted on instinct. Her wrist disappeared in his grasp. He pulled. She fell and landed on his chest with a startled gasp. Using his hands, he caught her at her waist, steadying her fall. He adjusted her weight and, in the process, pressed his cock against the juncture of her thighs. A low, deep groan rumbled from his chest. He pressed his fully hard erection against her clit. Need smoldered in her eyes. Heat jumped between them and the only thing he could focus on was the scent of her arousal and the way her magic surrounded him. All the excuses he’d created over the years, his father’s advice, faded. Rumors were bullshit anyway.

  Trent moved his hands from her hips. Under her shirt, he stroked his calloused palm along her back, tracing the slightly raised texture of her tattoo. He passed the clasp of her bra and kept moving higher until he found the place where her neck melted into her shoulders. Touching her was like dipping into a cool lake on a hot summer day. He cupped her shoulders and pushed down. He wanted her to feel how much he desired her.

  He glanced from her mouth to her eyes and back and his heart raced. Hot, erratic, his rapid breathing painted across her lips as he closed the distance between them. The only thing stopping him was fear. Fear of being owned. Fear of her eventually leaving him—fear of his getting hurt and leaving her. Everyone died though—it was how you spent your time living that counted.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He’d never heard her voice so low, or so throaty. Using his hands as leverage, he pulled her down until there was no air between them. Her breasts were small, soft against his chest. It was a sharp contrast to the hard stone circle of her pendant.

  “This,” he whispered seconds before he captured her mouth.

  Teasing her lower lip with his tongue, he entered the warmth of her mouth. Whiskey and mint. She tasted like two of his favorite things. She tangled her tongue around his in a fervent kiss that spoke volumes of what pleasure they could bring one another. Their embrace deepened. She tilted her head and moaned.

  Sam moved her hips forward and increased the pressure between them in all the right spots. She whimpered against him. If they weren’t in the middle of the bar, on a dirty floor, he would have rolled her beneath him. He tightened his hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer, ignoring the fact that this was all wrong.

  When the pressure to breathe became too much, he pulled away with one last gentle nibble. Her heavy eyelids dropped shut then fluttered open. The look in her eyes was dazed. In that second, he wanted nothing more than to corrupt her, to feel her writhing underneath him. His moan reverberated against her mouth and he pulled her in for another kiss. The deeper they connected, the faster her heart raced against his. Passion exploded. Magic moved through them, transferring from the places they touched.

  With nothing more than a kiss, he’d managed to make her a quivering mess. She was wet. He didn’t just smell her arousal. He could taste it on the tip of his tongue. Tonight he’d be the first man to make her scream. That thought snapped the control he held over his beast.

  Sam’s magic surged with his intent to claim her, and she was there, harnessing him, giving him the control he needed to stay in his human form. The press of her magic was now familiar. Instead of pushing against it, he welcomed it. The passion between them morphed, spiraled out of control. He threaded his hand through her hair, cupped the back of her head and released all of his pent-up sexual desire into their kiss.

  Several moments later, they pulled apart gasping. As if something was being pulled from him, the magic retreated, leaving his cat alone in the wide, vast darkness of his mind. It was frightening how comforting it was to have her there.

  She drew soft, damp lips across his jaw and he had to flex his hands where he held her shoulders to help control his desires. Slow, almost shy, she pressed her mouth against his neck. He tensed, gripped her harder, but didn’t push her away. Sam explored his chest using her nails to scrape over the cotton of his shirt, dragging it up an inch. He loved the slight tremble that vibrated through her.

  From his neck, she moved to his ear. She licked his lobe and he thrust his hips up on instinct. Through the layer of clothes that separated them, the heat of her was nearly his undoing. Her body shook harder now, humming with tension that was begging to be released. Oh he’d set it free all right.

  Before he could speak or even react, she straightened. Quick as lightning, she hopped up. Gravity pulled his hands from her shirt and they fell flat to the floor. A peanut shell crushed under the weight of his knuckles. He missed the feel of her body on top of his.

  Stunned into silence, he watched Sam wipe her hands on her pants. She didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she turned on her heel and grabbed the whiskey from the table. No matter how much he tried to will her around to face him, she wouldn’t. He wasn’t the one with the magic. And no matter how hard he tried to force the words asking her to stay, his tongue wouldn’t cooperate. His father’s voice echoed inside his head.

  You’ve got duty and responsibility. A girl like that, she needs someone stable, someone like ’Miah who won’t mind being shackled.

  As if bats from hell were chasing her, she scrambled and weaved through the tables. No one said a word. Her shoulder brushed Jeremiah’s arm, but she didn’t stop. She was heading to the elevator that led to the basement. If she was going to ride that scary-as-hell contraption, she really must’ve been desperate to disappear.

  He lay there for a few seconds, stunned, confused and horny as hell. Jeremiah appeared in his line of sight. His brother’s face eclipsed the sway of the tissue ghost. There was an amused tilt to ’Miah’s face. When a hand appeared in front of Trent’s eye line, he took it. He stood and rubbed the back of his head, wincing at the knot that had already formed.

  “That went well.” Jeremiah laughed.

  Trent smoothed his palms against his shirt, brushing off the debris. He’d be damned if he was going to let anyone else have her. Taking a chance, he let out a long, low whistle, then patted his brother on the back. He shot him a toothy grin. “You let anyone down in that basement and I’ll hurt you.”

  Following the exact same path Sam had, he crossed the room in half the time. As the dented brown metal doors closed, the low light of the elevator faded. He saw a glimpse of her hand pushing frantically at the button to help speed it along. No way was she going to tell him she was a virgin, kiss him the way she had, then run away. The doors closed around his foot, and he wedged it in the crack. The outdated motor gave a groan of protest before the doors moved in the opposite direction.

  He stepped inside and Sam
backed into the corner. She held out her hand, palm up, as if it were a stop sign. It trembled.

  “Wait,” she stuttered.

  “Fuck that.” He grabbed her wrist and tugged her to him.

  The doors shut behind them and he cupped her hips. One step at a time, he pushed her back against the wall. Hard, demanding, there was no finesse when he smashed his mouth on hers.

  She hesitated for a beat. It was a very small moment. She shoved her hands under his shirt, nails scratching a path up the indent of his spine. Goosebumps followed the wake of her fingers. When she was done exploring his shoulders, she curved her hands around the sides of his ribs.

  He nipped at her lips, teasing her tongue into his mouth as he slipped a hand between their bodies. He tugged on her tank, pushing it up her stomach. Her caress moved in the opposite direction and traced the rigid lines of his abs. Up, down. The muscles in his stomach jumped each time she dipped near the hem of his jeans.

  Growling, he shoved his knee between her legs. He snuck beneath the cotton of her shirt and nearly came like a fucking schoolboy getting to second base for the first time. This was Samantha Monroe. The forbidden. The one woman he couldn’t have. The one woman he should walk away from.

  Her bra was satin, almost as smooth as her skin when he pulled it below her breasts. She arched against him and he pinched her nipple into an erect, hard little nub. A goddamned virgin. Untouched. Probably tight as fuck.

  His.

  “More,” she pleaded, breaking their kiss only long enough for that one single word.

  Nudging her thighs apart, he ripped his lips from hers. He trailed his mouth over her cheek, down the curve of her jaw. The soft breathiness of her moans made it hard to concentrate. He pressed his leg up against her clit and almost lost it when she rolled her hips for greater friction. Her skin was every bit as sweet as he’d imagined. With more force, he cupped her breast in his palm. He tightened the grip he held on her hip, most likely bruising her skin when he urged her to rock against his leg.