Wicked Magic Page 5

  She cried out, her body trembling, the thunderous din of her heart beating out of control before she threw her head back and stiffened. Fucking hell. Once, twice, her body convulsed with orgasm and she dug her nails into his back. He was going to lose it. The last waves of her climax subsided and her head lulled to the side. He was there with his mouth, sucking the delicate flesh of her throat between his teeth.

  Sam trailed her nails through the dusting of hair covering his abs. His body jerked in response. When she flattened her palm and drew her hand down the length of his cock, there was nothing virginal about it. The heat from her palm melted through denim and surrounded his erection. Slow, as if memorizing him, she stroked him over his clothes. Pleasure peaked. He bit harder against her neck and his testicles tightened.

  It was too much. If he wanted this to last, she needed to stop. Abandoning her breast, he caught her hands. When he pinned her wrists to the wall, she cried out, thrusting against him. He pulled away from her neck. The dark purple bruise he’d given her was probably going to piss her off. He couldn’t say he was sorry. After tonight, she’d be his—he’d make damn sure of that. They’d see who owned who when the dust settled.

  As she struggled to catch her breath, her chest moved up and down against him. When she pushed against the restraints his hands made, he didn’t budge.

  “I’m not sure what to do first,” he said against her mouth, tongue flicking out to taste her lower lip. “Fuck you or lick that beautiful pussy of yours.”

  Chapter Five

  Holy fucking hell.

  Every inch of Sam’s skin tingled as if she’d been electrocuted—but in a good way. Shouldn’t she feel lethargic and limp from her orgasm? Instead, her heart raced. Her palms sweat. The damp flesh between her legs throbbed. She tightened her fists above her head where Trent had her pinned to the wall. Something hard dug into her stomach and she wasn’t sure if it was his gun or his cock.

  “Do I get a choice?” Her voice was raw and, dare she say, sexy?

  His eyes darkened. “No.”

  Before she could tell him to stop, he released her wrists and dug his fingers into her waist. He pulled her to him and her head jerked back at the impact. The hard slant of his mouth over hers took her breath away. She twisted his shirt in her hands, pulling him closer. He moved both of his hands up her ribs, and an earthy moan left her.

  She needed to do something, prepare for the ritual to give herself to him. God, what did she need? Herbs. A candle. Something… All reason vanished under the demands of his passion. She couldn’t think beyond the surge of electricity that crackled inside her. Created deep in her soul, magic consumed her. It ripped through her body like her climax had minutes ago, drawing them closer together. Trent gasped into her mouth. The sound was raspy and delicious. Those trailing whips of light tightened around them like a lasso. They were bound.

  He gripped her waist, hands moving under her shirt. Where their skin touched, heat exploded. He lifted, picking her up off her feet.

  They stepped from the elevator and the stale, musky scent of the basement filled her senses. It was cool and damp, so unlike the upstairs portion of the bar. The liquor she’d knocked back hit her. Or maybe it was her heady reaction to Trent. Her head spun, making everything hazy and warm. He cupped her ass, pressed their lower halves together, and rocked his hips. The feel of him against her kicked her hormones into overdrive.

  She slanted her head and threaded her fingers through his curls. Hugging him close, she dominated the mating of their mouths. He pushed up on her thighs, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. She broke the kiss and drew his lower lip between her teeth and nibbled. When their eyes met, she could see how much he wanted this. Her. This was how it was supposed to be.

  He clutched her ass, harder this time, pulling her against him, until the only thing she was aware of was the hard length of his cock begging to be released. Trent walked forward.

  When she opened her mouth to speak, she knew it was going to be the best idea she’d ever said out loud. “There’s a couch in the corner.” Pointing past the rickety desk, she directed him to the leather sofa she sometimes used as a bed. Although it was lumpy and bled white cotton from a rip on the corner, she couldn’t get rid of it.

  Trent spun them around, changed directions. As his tongue flicked against hers, she tried not to imagine what it’d be like if he was doing that somewhere else. Her pussy slickened with arousal from the thought of him gripping her thighs and burying his head.

  Trent knocked the breath from her when he slammed her up against a hard, cool surface. It was the beige vertical filing cabinet that hadn’t seen any type of organization in the three years since her mom had left.

  “Sorry,” he muttered and pulled at her tank top.

  She lifted her arms and he pushed it up. Her silver pentagram thudded against her chest—she had the passing thought that she was forgetting something important. Her hair fell in front of her eyes. When Trent pushed the tresses out of the way, she forgot to breathe. He looked between them, hunger clearly written on the hard angles of his face. She sucked in her stomach and pushed her chest out.

  Her breasts, as small as they were, spilled from her black satin bra. Thank God for laundry day. It was the one time biweekly she broke out the underthings in the back of the drawer. He traced her exposed nipple with a single finger, tightening the areola into a peak. He bent his head, and his hair tickled her neck. He used the tip of his tongue to make a circle around the bud before he sucked it into his mouth. Hot. Wet. Decadent. He tugged on the sensitive flesh until she cried out. Sensation penetrated her and her pussy clenched.

  He pulled her away from the chilled metal cabinet and her tank top fell from his fingers. What would have taken her ten steps, he did in four. He set her down on the couch and she spread her legs. She cupped his hips and pulled him between her thighs before lying back. The sofa creaked and dipped beneath their combined weight. She had a moment to wonder if it would survive the promises she read in Trent’s eyes. From her mouth to her neck, he rubbed his jaw along her skin, nuzzling her like a feline.

  He cupped her cheeks and looked down at her, his gaze moving from her mouth to her breasts. “I’ve dreamed about you so many times, but I never expected it to be like this.” His voice was husky, sexier than she’d ever heard.

  When he found the stretch of skin below her ear with his teeth, all she could do was suck in a breath. She surged forward, closer to the heat radiating off his body. “We need—” She panted, arched her back as he drew a circle around her nipple with his finger. She grabbed his ass and guided his cock against her.

  Trent pulled away from her neck. “We need to stop talking.”

  He removed his shoulder holster and gently lowered his gun to the ground. His badge hit the floor next. He reached behind him. In one move, he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Her eyes widened at the marks across his chest. The only thing that left a scar on a shifter was another shifter. Trophies, she tried to remember. A lighter shade than the rest of his skin, three slashes marred the perfection of his torso.

  She traced the lines with her gaze and her magic leaped. His jaguar surfaced, its fur soft under her touch. The low rumbling purr in her ear drew her closer. Trent shuddered and she wondered if it felt as if invisible fingers were stroking him.

  “Sam.”

  If it was a warning, it wasn’t one she was going to listen to. When she lifted her fingers and drew them down his stomach, his muscles, all defined and sexy, jumped. He placed his palm on top of her hand. It was hot, rough. He moved south, guiding her wandering fingers to his erection. His eyes fluttered shut. She stroked his length through his jeans and his jaw tightened. She watched, her arousal growing. He was thick and long.

  Using the weight of his body, he pressed her farther into the sofa. The leather creaked. She ignored it. The kisses he pressed along her jaw were slow, gentle—such a contrast to how she felt inside. He moved lower, dragging his body against hers
until his beard scratched her stomach. When he breathed, the warm air kissed below her navel. Trent slid his mouth lower with hot, open-mouthed kisses that left a trail of moisture in his wake. When he brushed the top of her jeans with his fingers, he looked up as if asking permission.

  Gaze never leaving hers, he trailed his touch under the hem. He curved his digits, teased her stomach until a renewed rush of arousal left her slick and ready, wetter than she’d ever been.

  The impact of what was about to happen had her sucking in a breath. A low, needy moan left her throat. She arched off the couch and pressed herself against him. He popped the button on her pants, parted the zipper to expose the black triangle of satin covering her curls. It was the rasp of her zipper echoing through the room that gave her pause. How far was she going to push this?

  There was a specific ritual she needed to perform to inherit her powers. Samhain. Candles. Rosemary and ribbons.

  The faint beat of the music pulsed upstairs. She couldn’t hear the words, but she felt the tempo. Every couple of moments, a weak spur of cheers would hit her ears. It was all so distant. It made her realize how alone they were. As he pushed a finger under the lace of her panties, the hair on his chest tickled her skin.

  His breath was sweltering against her ear. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered.

  She traced her hands over his back in a slow, unpredictable pattern. When she gripped his ass, she bit her lower lip to keep from screaming out what she really wanted. Instead, she concentrated on his butt. It was as firm and tight as she’d always imagined. She pressed, brought him closer against her. If she spoke, she was terrified of what would come out.

  Nails lightly scratching, she zigzagged up his spine. It made him tremble. Across the wide breadth of his shoulders, she encountered another set of raised scars. Claw marks. He lifted her hips, apparently deciding for her. The denim of her pants scratched against her skin as he guided them past her thighs.

  “Trent.” She had to tell him.

  More than anything, she wanted to feel him inside her, to experience the passion she’d fantasized about. Right or wrong, the first orgasm she’d ever had was when she’d spent the night at Jeremiah’s and been forced to listen to Trent screwing his girlfriend all night through the walls. Even though she’d felt ashamed after, it hadn’t stopped her from recalling the husky sound of his voice, the dirty words he’d used, the next time she’d slipped her hand down her panties.

  Trent stood, tugged off her boots and pulled her pants to the floor. As if he commanded her magic, he also took control of her body. Her legs parted and gave him a teasing glimpse of her covered sex. Trent popped the button on his jeans and drew down the zipper until his cock sprang free. He was thick, long. Beautiful. Bigger than she’d anticipated. He palmed his shaft and stroked himself from base to the crown. Heat blossomed in her stomach. Up, down. She couldn’t look away.

  When she lifted up, the leather peeled from her back. He sat beside her, and the couch dipped. Trent reached over, caressed her hip, and pulled her onto his lap until she was straddling him. He spread his hands along her back, moved them up until he cupped her shoulders. She closed the distance between them and captured his lips. They fought, going back and forth for possession. He growled, gripped her hair and pulled until he had her submissive and controlled the kiss between them.

  When she couldn’t breathe, he pulled away.

  “We need to talk,” she whispered.

  His response was a grunt. Trent nibbled along her neck. Before she could stop herself, she tilted her head to the side to assist him. He walked his fingers down her spine, cupped her ass and squeezed. Guiding her pelvis against his cock, he set a steady rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure throughout her. She cupped his shoulders and threw back her head. Sensation built, tightening her stomach, and her pussy ached. He sucked on the front of her throat. Bolts of ecstasy ran straight through her.

  This was torture.

  “We can’t do this.” She had to stop before she couldn’t.

  Nearly twenty-one years she’d made it without having sex. She could wait two more days.

  “Yes we can.” As if to make his point, he thrust against her.

  “No, we can’t. Trent, stop,” she said.

  Trent stiffened underneath her. He released her ass and lifted his head to look at her. She expected him to be angry. She didn’t expect to see the concern in his eyes. It was even more proof that he was the man for her.

  “I thought this was what you wanted. Am I doing something wrong? It’s been a hell of a long time since I made out on a couch. I’m trying to take it slow, but—”

  “It’s not you,” she said. “You need to know that you’re my familiar.”

  He sat up a little straighter and nearly spilled her from his lap. Hesitation lurked in his gaze, dampening his lust. “Your what?”

  She stood and picked up the pendant her mother had given her, a symbol of protection, and tried to think of the best way to explain it without freaking him out. Alpha males were touchy when it came to anything that threatened their manliness—something her mother had warned her about after she’d come home crying after he’d rejected her.

  Sam glanced at the plants on a wide, thin bookshelf to the left of the sofa. Pathetic. They were brown and hanging limply from their green pots—she’d officially killed them. If she were a real witch, she’d be able to infuse healing energy into them. The cold ground seeped through her feet and made her calves ache.

  Focus. After a moment she answered him. “It’s kind of like a witch’s muse.”

  “Witch’s muse?” Brow furrowing, the tender look he’d been wearing before dissolved into a slight frown. “I’m not following.”

  She didn’t even try to hide her grimace. This really wasn’t going well. When her mom had explained it, it had come out romantic and fantastical. There wasn’t a charming bone in Sam’s body.

  “Familiars help a witch come into their magic, and after, they help us concentrate and focus our spells,” she explained.

  His mouth twisted into a scowl. He stood up and folded his arms across his massive chest. “That sounds an awful lot like I’d be your bitch, not your muse. Rumor my fucking ass. My dad was right! I should have listened to the old man and left well enough alone.”

  She’d felt his muscles before, but the way he was flexing them made them look bigger than she’d expected. With his strong, broad chest and lean waist, he had the body of a swimmer. In the wild, jaguars loved the water. She wondered how many of those traits transferred to his human life. While she contemplated whether he liked his steak raw and bloody, he continued to stare down at her.

  “This was the reason I pushed you away all those years ago, why I stayed away. You tempt me, Sam, and for a moment, I thought maybe the old man just wanted ’Miah to have you. I’m a cop, an enforcer, I don’t do bitch. I didn’t come down here to sign up for this shit.” His tone was as rude as his words.

  She stopped cold. She curled her hands into a ball. Anger made her palms sweat. Magic flared to life, and with it, so did his jaguar. “And what did you sign up for? To fuck me, then walk out the door and never come back?”

  “You asked me to sleep with you! Then you spring this familiar crap on me, I bet there’s some kind of ritual or some shit. It’s Samhain, isn’t it? Now that I think about it, you’re always twitchy right around this time, sexier. Never mind. How did you expect me to react? Or were you planning on tricking me into it?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

  Not like this, that was for sure. Twitchy? She wasn’t twitchy. Sexual frustration fueled her fury. If she’d had something handy, she would have chucked it at his head.

  “I hardly tricked you! If you hadn’t been avoiding me, for years I might add, I would have had time to ease you into the idea. I’ve known since I was sixteen but you’re so damn unapproachable and stubborn—”

  “Goddamn it, will you stop pacing?” he growled and wrapped a hand around her arm, stilling her.


  As soon as he touched her, the magic in her veins rushed at him. He flinched but didn’t remove his touch.

  She looked up at him. “I’m not asking you to be my bitch. A familiar is a companion, an equal. It’s not like we’d be soul mates. Some witches aren’t choosy who they bind themselves with, but I believe every witch has a shape shifter that she, or he, is meant to find. It’s a system of balance. We aren’t anything without the other. My father’s was a leopard, my great-grandfather’s a tiger. I think my great-aunt’s was a wolf. We don’t know who our true familiars are until we stumble upon them.”

  Trent drew a hand through his hair and tugged. He digested the information and his nostrils flared. “Is that what Brenda meant when she said you inherited your father’s claws? You’ve never mentioned your father before. I think I’d notice if you turned furry once a month.”

  She shook her head and tried not to smile. “Brenda was only being cute. Besides, I’m not much of anything. Not a shifter. Not a witch. I’m all talk, no show.”

  “No show, my ass,” he grumbled.

  It was the first glimpse of a smile she’d seen reflected in his eyes since she’d ruined their sexcapade.

  He continued, “You think I walk around ‘scaring the crap out of people’? You terrify ’Miah.”

  She smiled. “’Miah is afraid of ladybugs.”

  A wide, loving smile finally cracked through his anger. “I forgot about that. Thanks for the reminder.”

  Trying to keep things on track, she forged ahead. He needed to know everything—no more stalling. “You were right. If you agree to become my familiar, there is a ritual. I give you my virginity during Samhain, when the veil between the living and the dead is the thinnest. We’ll need candles and a few other things. In turn, I get to be a witch. Until then, I’m not anything.”

  She dropped onto the couch and folded her legs underneath her. Back and forth, she pulled her necklace across her neck. It helped her think, reminded her of what her mother was, what she stood for.