Bewitch Me - A Halloween Collection (8 page)

And then she was there, pushing him back on the table, yanking his jeans off his legs, and clambering up to straddle him, settling her sweet pussy against his desperate cock. An empty flowerpot crashed to the ground.

“I’m sure there’s a joke here about witches’ broomsticks and hard wood,” he groaned, “but all the blood has left my brain.”

“I can still turn you into a frog,” she reminded him sternly, “In theory.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say, because at that moment she fitted the fat crown of his dick against her slick folds and started sinking down, blissfully tight and hot.

This is witchcraft right here,
he thought, and then stopped thinking altogether.

CASS FELT EVERY INCH of Tom’s hard cock as he filled her with his own kind of magic, rasping each nerve ending in her weeping pussy, taking him to the hilt. Her sheath felt tight and stretched, and he throbbed within her, tension coiling low in her abdomen when she started to move.

“Ride me, sweet witch,” Tom murmured underneath her, his fingers gripping her hips, helping her glide up and down as they found their rhythm, straining against each other, skin sheened with sweat. Faster and faster, the heat building with each delicious stroke, his body a wonder as she rode him, drowning in the green fire of his eyes and the pulse of his blood under the thin skin of the shaft buried deep within her body. She barely noticed when they left the table, levitating higher and higher until her head brushed the leafy canopy that had grown from her previous orgasm.

Tom’s eyes only widened at the sudden change in elevation, but he said nothing, just held her hips down and started fucking her hard and deep, ramping up the tension coiled in her body. Cass could do nothing but hold on as he jackhammered up, hot and thick and so male she wanted to melt. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it another second, he moved one hand to flick her swollen clit.

“Come, Cass. Come for me.”

Cass screamed as she detonated, pleasure consuming her in flames so bright she thought she might go blind. Her vision wavered. Below her, she felt Tom following her over with a guttural shout of his own, arching his back before going limp. She collapsed against his chest, wrecked, as they drifted down to the table. Suddenly, from outside –

BOOM! BOOM!

Something wet and heavy splattered against the glass roof of the greenhouse, like rain or mud.

Cass’ eyes widened.

“Oh no.”

She sucked in a breath as she separated herself from Tom, the thick warmth of his shaft rubbing against tender flesh as he pulled out.

Cass slid off the table, grabbed her nightshirt, and pulled it on in one swift motion as she raced for the door, skidding to a halt in the doorway, her stomach dropping.

Tom came up behind her.

“Fuck me,”
he breathed.

The pumpkin patch was a field of sticky orange goo, with shattered pieces of twelve giant pumpkins scattered as far as the eye could see. Cass groaned as the truth hit her like a freight train. Tom had given her pleasure like she’d never known, and when she’d exploded in ecstasy, the pumpkins had followed suit.

The last straw.

Ignoring the curious neighbors that were starting to make an appearance, Cass swallowed her tears and took off barefoot across the lot. She didn’t stop running until she reached the safety of her house. Alone.

Tom didn’t follow.

THE NEXT MORNING DAWNED crisp and cold, but normal cold, not magical, freeze-your-nuts-off-kill-everything-that-grows cold. After a sleepless night, Tom spent the morning fielding questions and condolences on the destruction of his beautiful crop, and started cleanup. The questions he handled with a carefully vague answer – a burst pipe in exactly the wrong place, a buildup of pressure, blah blah blah. He gathered debris for mulching and salvaged a few wheelbarrows full of seeds for next season. The greenhouse was still overgrown, but the tendrils of magic had dissipated. He’d need more than a weed whacker to get the place back to normal. Through it all, Tom tried not to think. He wasn’t ready to process everything, and focused instead on physical activity, pushing himself to exhaustion.

Unfortunately, his mind couldn’t block Cass, no matter how hard he tried to distract himself.

Cass, whose raven hair felt like cool silk against his skin…who made the sweetest little cries of pleasure when he sucked her tasty clit… and whose pussy was hot enough to melt his cock as she rode him to oblivion. Cass, who was a witch that accidentally destroyed a year’s work by coming too hard.

Tom sighed and wiped the sweat from his face with the edge of his shirt.

He tried to convince himself that if she never spoke to him again, he’d be dodging a bullet. No doubt last night’s episode was just the tip of the iceberg. Who knows what might happen if they were in a real relationship?
Who knows what might happen if he sank his cock into her again, maybe from behind this time, or up against the wall. Maybe he’d just strip her and fuck that sweet mouth while she played with her tits.

 
Tom groaned. He wasn’t going to be able to forget her – the bright, curious eyes, her sweet laugh, or the way she gently teased him. So she destroyed a few pumpkins. So fucking what? He could grow more for next year. Missing the competition was a blow to his ego, but missing out on Cass would be fatal to his heart.

He picked up a small pumpkin from the corner of the lot by the gate, mostly undamaged, and headed down to Cass’ house.

Tom knocked.

And waited.

And knocked again.

“I’m not going anywhere until you answer the door, Cass.”

A long pause, and the door cracked open to reveal a very wary Cass still in her flannel shirt from the night before. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were red and swollen. She’d clearly been crying. She was beautiful.

Solemnly, Tom held out the little pumpkin.

Cass burst into tears again.

Shit.

Tom set the pumpkin on the porch and pulled Cass into his arms, letting her sob against his shirt. While she held tight and cried herself out, he noted the chaos inside – the house seemed to be having its own meltdown. He winced at the sound of breaking glass.

“Sweetheart, you have to calm down. Your homeowners insurance probably doesn’t cover damage by witchcraft.”

Cass let out a watery chuckle and the noise level inside abated somewhat.

“You shouldn’t be here, Tom. I blew up your pumpkins.”

“Yes, you did. But you also blew my mind, so I figure it’s a fair trade.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Tom tilted her head up.

“Look, everyone’s got their little eccentricities. I once dated a girl who thought that eating salad was murder. I can handle a little magic, Cass.”

“But it could be months before I figure out how to control it. Or years. It’s part of who I am. It’s never going to go away, and anyone who wants to be with me is going to have to deal with a certain amount of magical disaster,” she said, adding, “And my family.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to find lots of interesting ways to make it up to me when you accidentally leave me stranded in the Gobi desert or turn my customers into fruit bats.”

He explored her curves through the flannel, sliding his hands back to cup her ass in a firm grip. She plucked a pumpkin seed from the collar of his shirt.

“You’re covered in pumpkin guts.”

“Yes, I am. Let’s go take a bath and you can scrub my back, my sweet little witch.”

Cass seemed to waver for a moment, and then wrapped her hands around his neck.

“Are you sure?”

“Where am I going to find another girl who can literally sweep me off my feet?”

He kissed her, pleased with her gasp as he lifted her far enough to press his cock into the vee of her thighs.
Oh yeah.

“You know, I might be able to put your pumpkins back together,” she murmured.

“Leave my pumpkin patch alone.”

“It was just a suggestion.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

He grinned as Cass chuckled, and then swept her up into his arms, his mouth already moving on hers as he stepped inside the house and shut the door behind them.

THE END

THE WOMAN SITTING ACROSS from him was beautiful, accomplished, and elegant, from the top of her cool blonde head to the dove gray thousand-dollar heels that encased her aristocratic feet.  The CEO of the largest shipping company in the region and the daughter of a billionaire entrepreneur, Nicole Ellis was everything Trent Langley had been looking for in a wife. And she approved of him. He’d made a small fortune buying dying companies and turning them around, and apparently she liked his initiative. She was ready to cement the deal, even though they’d only been on a few dates.

Which is why it bothered Trent to no end that though he was sitting in an upscale bistro, dining on lobster and champagne, his unruly cock was hard enough to pound nails…and it had nothing to do with his potential life partner across the table. Nicole didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, busy laying out an offer that would affect the rest of his life.

“I’m so glad that we see eye to eye on this, Trent. In my world, men fall into two categories. Those that want the fairytale and those that want my money. You and I both know that love is for idiots. Mutual respect, shared goals – that’s the core of any good marriage.”

“I agree completely,” said Trent, shifting slightly in his seat.

His balls were going to be blue by the time he made it home.

A flash of gray eyes, black curls, and a sweet, heart-shaped face flickered through Trent’s mind, and he firmly shoved it away. He’d spent too many years of his life letting his heart and his dick lead the way and now, one explosive marriage and a dozen breakups later, he had decided that the path to true happiness lay in cool, rational thought.

“So, I’ll have my lawyers draw up the pre-nup, and once negotiations are settled, we can announce our engagement.”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Trent, and reached across to squeeze her hand, a friendly gesture that she returned.

Nicole pulled out her phone and tapped in a reminder.

“Just to be clear, we’ve agreed on two children, two years apart, separate finances except for a joint household account. Do we need to discuss sex?”

She arched a cool eyebrow as Trent gripped the edge of the table.

“We probably should,” he said, hoping he wasn’t visibly sweating.

“I would be pleased with twice a week, but I don’t mind you seeking out…companionship…as long as you’re discreet about it, and safe.”

Trent felt the first hint of misgiving. He didn’t want to cheat on his wife and sleep around. That was one of the benefits of being married – a woman in his bed to pleasure and fuck when the urge hit. And Trent had plenty of urges. He could go all night when the mood was right. But he didn’t want to scare her off. This was too perfect.

Laughing gray eyes flickered through his mind again, mocking.

“I enjoy your company, Nicole, and I hope we’ll be good together in bed, as well as out of it. I’d rather not seek outside entertainment if I don’t have to. Fidelity is a good quality to teach our children.”

Nicole pursed her lips, tapping her fingers on the table.

“You’re right, of course. Well, why don’t we start with two nights a week while we’re getting to know each other, and if it seems to be going well, we can revise that number upward?”

Trent nodded, relieved. He was willing to forgo life without love, but life without an adequate amount of sex was pushing it. His cock pulsed, agreeing with him.

Fuck, I have to get home.

Nicole smiled at him, her eyes roving his shoulders and his perfectly tailored suit.

“I must say, I am looking forward to having sex with you. I’ve heard you’re quite good …and exceptionally well-endowed.”

Trent struggled not to react, though heat crept up his neck.

“I hope it’s enough to please you. Would you like to find out for yourself? Perhaps tonight?”

Perhaps in the bathroom or the coat check or anywhere as long as it’s in the next ten minutes before I just blow?

“Sweet, but why don’t we wait until after the engagement announcement, for propriety’s sake, of course.”

“Of course.”

Trent didn’t make it home. Holding his jacket strategically, he escorted Nicole to her car, accepted his own keys from the valet, and drove five minutes until he found the nearest deserted parking lot. There, he pulled out his cock with shaking hands, leaned back in the seat, and let the images flood his mind.

Long lashes over gray eyes, dark with heat, pouting lips worshiping the head of his dick, luscious, creamy breasts with dusky nipples bouncing while she rode him, her curls tumbling around her, her wet pussy gloving him as she took everything he had to give.

Trent came with a groan, warm come coating his fingers as blessed relief overtook him.

He sat there panting, dizzy with satisfaction.

But it only lasted a minute.

Just as it had for the last two days, he’d no sooner used a handkerchief to clean himself up than his cock started swelling again to throbbing fullness, hungry and hard for the
witch
who was ruining Trent’s life.

He blamed his building’s management company. Of course.

ISABELLA FIERO DRAGGED THE last box from the elevator and crammed it in beside the others in her chain-link storage space in the basement of the building.

“Done! Margarita time.”

She flicked her fingers and the cage door slammed shut, the lock clicking of its own volition. For good measure, she popped a little magical shower of sparks to celebrate her victory. After three weeks of unpacking, everything in her new apartment was where it should be.

Of course, that will last for five seconds, but enjoy the moment,
she thought, and headed back to retrieve the elevator.

Finding a building open to both human and magical habitation in the city was tough, and this one, a lovely old thing with exquisite moldings and high ceilings, was a true treasure. It had just switched over from human-only, and Isabella had snapped it up. Most of the city was still oblivious to the idea of witches and monsters, goblins and fairies, but there was a gradual acceptance, and since Isabella had been invited to show her sculptures in a prestigious human gallery to great success, she had decided that it would make sense to live in both worlds. If only the whole building could get on board with the new arrangement.

Isabella smiled sweetly at the old couple huddled in the corner of the elevator, staring at her as though she had horns and feelers coming out of every orifice.

“Nice weather we’re having, right?”

Nothing.

Isabella knew it would take time, but come on, it’s not like she ate small children or bathed in the blood of virgins. She was just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill witch, and not a terribly powerful one at that. Most of the magic she did on a daily basis was by accident.

She let herself into her place on the eighth floor, sparing a glance for the door across the hall, wondering if he was home.

Trent Langley.

Even his name was high class. Isabella freely admitted to herself that she had developed a teensy-weensy crush the size of New Jersey on her new neighbor. He’d lived in the building for years, and upon learning that he was a big shot businessman, she wondered why he didn’t upgrade to one of those glass and steel monstrosities. In between getting her studio set up and unpacking, Isabella had gone out of her way to gather information about the fine,
fine
specimen of mortal manhood living across the way. The pixie lesbians on three had been no help, but the techie elf roomies down the hall had informed her that Trent didn’t
do
magic. The whole idea of interspecies relations freaked him out.

Which is a damned shame.

Isabella had finally won over the widow on the second floor, a human schoolteacher who plied her with homemade cookies and dished about all of her neighbors.  Trent worked hard, and he used to be something of a ladies’ man, but that had finally stopped. Now the gossip around the building was that he had been seeing some rich businesswoman and it was getting serious.

Even worse,
thought Isabella.

She’d fallen for him hard when they first met, and he joked around with her as he helped her carry boxes up from the moving van. The man was walking sex – tall, dark, handsome, and edible, his soft chocolate brown eyes incongruous with the hard muscle and supreme self-confidence evident with every move he made. He was like a tiger, all sleek power and strength. Since Isabella’s career had kicked into overdrive, she’d taken herself off the dating scene, devoting her time to work – far more interesting than the soulful, poetic warlock types she thought she preferred.

Since meeting Trent, her “type” had taken a dramatic shift. Forget sonnets and jazz fusion, Isabella was suddenly more interested in a strong, confident male who wouldn’t be shocked when she voiced some of her naughtier fantasies, and who wasn’t afraid to get dirty with her. She sensed that in Trent, and for the past few weeks had tossed in bed at night, unable to satisfy herself by magical means or fingers, plagued by the
strangest, hottest
fantasies she’d ever had. The worst was a couple of days ago, and she’d been all hot and bothered ever since.

They were on a main stage at a strip club, the audience full of men, eager for a show, the footlights blinding.

“Hold still, Isabella,” he ordered, his voice low and stern.

Trent tightened the belt that bound her arms behind her back and stroked her arms, then down over her ass to where the tight dress ended at the tops of her thighs, biting into the flesh as Trent nudged her legs wide.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” he said.

“Me, too,” whispered Isabella.

“Look at all these men. You know what they want.”

“Yes.”

“They want what’s mine. They all came for a glimpse. Shall we show them?”

Isabella whimpered.

He didn’t wait for an answer, but grabbed the front of her dress and ripped, leaving her standing naked but for a tiny g-string tied with little bows at her hips, while the crowd roared its approval. Trent cupped her breasts, pressing a firm erection against her ass as he rolled her nipples for the benefit of the audience.

“See how they watch you? All those eyes eating you up, wanting to suck your nipples, waiting for me to pull off this little scrap of material so that they can see the pretty pussy I’m going to fuck for their entertainment.”

Isabella moaned, so turned on she was shaking as Trent slowly untied the bows at her hips and tugged the material away, baring her soaked folds to the lascivious stares of dozens of men.

And then they were in her bed, the crowd gone, and Trent was taking her with slow, deep thrusts, no less possessive, but love and wonder shone on his face as he filled her, again and again.

Isabella leaned against the closed door, blushing, as a nearby cactus abruptly decided to flower. She wasn’t an exhibitionist, but
oh my God.
She didn’t need a professional to tell her what it meant. Isabella wanted a man with a hard sexual edge, but one that was tempered by an emotional connection. And no matter how badly she wanted him, she wasn’t going to find that in Trent Langley.

Especially not after the incident in the lobby.

TRENT ENTERED THE LOBBY with trepidation, but everything looked normal. Still, he hurried to check his mailbox and press the button for the elevator, his stomach churning with anxiety as it had for the last three weeks, his cock still hard and demanding his attention. Three weeks ago, the management company had opened up the available units to members of a heretofore unheard of magical community.

It was shock enough that creatures from fairytales and nightmares actually existed and were running around the city, sometimes in disguise and sometimes not. It was worse that now they were going to be living in Trent’s beautiful, hundred-year-old building, the place he’d loved at first sight, with its Old World character and prime location. For the most part, the newcomers kept to themselves, and Trent had to admit that the techie
elves
down the hall seemed like good guys, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to become drinking buddies or swap recipes with them. He was still worried about the towering man with the greenish tint that had been referred to him as a “half-troll.”

WTF.

And of course, there was the
witch.

She didn’t look like a witch, and he’d had no idea when he helped the voluptuous, raven-haired piece of dynamite move in a few weeks ago that she
was in fact a witch
.
Isabella Fiero
. She said she was an artist. She looked like a walking fantasy, her bouncy black curls framing a face that was almost too cute to be believed. There was nothing cute about the rest of her. She might be tiny, but Isabella Fiero packed a punch. There wasn’t a flat spot on her – she was all lush curves and a sweet little waist and hips a man could hold onto while he sank into her heat. Her breasts would bounce no matter how he fucked her. It was quite a pleasant visual.