Dylan's Witch: 10 (Supernatural Bonds) (11 page)

Her scent intoxicated him. It had from that first meeting.

He forced himself away from her mouth, kissed his way to her ear, needing the taste of her, the caress of her hair against his skin. He gripped strands of silky red, tightened on them.

Her hands reached his jeans, scratched along the waistband, tormented with a dip beneath, nails against his buttocks. His cock throbbed. His mind ventured into fantasies of cuffing her and rendering her helpless as he drove her as crazy as she’d driven him.

She moaned when his tongue fucked into her ear. His cock leaked arousal, urging him to rip the nightgown up and enter her.

Her hands left his ass, traveled along his sides before she worked them between their bodies, unbuttoning his shirt, her fingertips unerringly finding his nipples and sending fire streaking down to his dick.

It spasmed. His balls went full and tight.

She was begging for it.

“Lower,” he said on a groan, his own version of begging.

Her laugh was soft, husky. A sound of victory that had him returning to her mouth, taking possession. Dominating even as she nearly sent him to his knees when she cupped him through the jeans, stroked.

His hips jerked. A moan escaped.

He tried to care about control.

Failed when she freed him. Capturing his dick, her thumb rubbing, spreading the pre-cum over his cock head.

Jesus.

There was probably a good reason to stop. To take this deeper into the house, but the only deeper he cared about was getting inside her.

It was a damn good thing he already had her against the door. He dragged his fingers through her hair, going from one form of silky to another when he reached shoulders and gown, peeling the straps to the side.

She offered a moan of approval. A little hum that passed through his skin, expanding in a blaze of anticipation.

A tug and material slipped, caught on breasts he’d fantasized about seeing, touching, pressing his lips to and claiming with hard sucks.

Unwilling to leave her mouth, he settled for cupping, fondling, capturing hard nipples between his fingers, and she thrust her breasts against him, demanding more, rougher contact to match the possessive, hot grip and feverish movement of her hand on his cock.

He gave her what she wanted. Need building with each tug and twist. With each of her moans and the hard strokes to his cock until he couldn’t delay where this was heading.

He grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand from his dick and levered away from her just far enough for the nightgown to slide downward, no longer an impediment to pleasure. Then he lifted her, her legs going instantly around him, her hand returning to his cock to guide it home.

A single stroke and he shuddered at being fully sheathed. Jesus, he’d traded one type of insanity for another.

“Fuck, condom.” But all that gained him was the clamp of her channel and the thrust of his hips, pumping, not trying to escape.

“I’m safe,” she said, fingers capturing his nipple, rubbing. “I’m okay with this.”

He’d pull out at the last second, after she climaxed, he told himself, letting go. Slow was not an option, not after denying himself for so long. Slow was not a demand she made on him.

He embraced the searing ecstasy of fucking her. Thrusting hard and fast, promising himself they’d do long and slow another time.

His mouth captured hers. His pleasure was magnified at swallowing her moans and soft cries, at feeling her mounting tension as his cock stroked deep inside her.

Her legs tightened at his waist each time he rammed into her cervix. Her nails dug into his shoulders, the little pain spurring him on, eradicating rational thought.

She came. Clamping down on his cock in fierce demand and he answered with another thrust, with the jetted release of his semen.

And fuck, it felt so good he couldn’t even care.

Right or wrong way to handle things? Seraphine asked herself, lips curving into a smile, her eyes closed and Dylan’s forehead touching hers as they each tried to regain strength. “Well, that was less awkward than earlier today at Aislinn’s store,” she finally managed.

He laughed. It was a carefree sound that had her wanting to hear more just like it.

“Would have served them right if they’d seen this show,” he said. “Though I don’t think they could have handled it.”

She opened her eyes and met his, a flutter going through her heart. Serious, he was attractive; but smiling, laughing, he was devastating to any woman’s defenses and hers were already lowered.

Question answered. Hot, spontaneous sex was definitely the right way to handle things.

“That was just round one,” he said.

“Then I need to fortify myself with chocolate.”

“Chocolate?” Said in tones that suggested Dylan didn’t understand the miracle substance it was.

“Chocolate and sex. Probably the finest two things ever discovered by humankind.”

“Not in that order,” he said, lips going to her ear, capturing her lobe for a sensuous suck that had her nipples tightening. It was followed by the dip of his tongue in her ear to send a streak of need straight to her cunt.

She clamped down on his cock, her channel rippling against it in a demand to harden fully again. “Maybe,” she conceded.

His mouth returned to hers for a slow plundering, a hot claiming. The heartmate bracelet burned against her skin, the one on his finger left heated streaks down her back as his hands roamed, though she didn’t need either sign to know she wanted this man.

He felt right against her senses, her magic. She met the thrust of his tongue with hers, inner muscles clenching and unclenching on his cock with the plunge and slide and tangle of tongues.

He hardened again. Came again, less violently but more deeply felt, his seed filling her, planting the image of children with their father’s looks and her gifts.

He mumbled a curse and apology for not giving her an orgasm first. The weight of his upper body rested more heavily on her, leaving the impression that only the door held them upright.

“You can remedy that, after the chocolate.”

“Christ, I’m going to lose my boys club card.”

She laughed and forced her legs off his waist, hating the loss of his cock when it slid from her channel before her feet touched the floor, but loving the way his hips jerked, his body’s protest at not being inside her. A shiver of pleasure went through her at the reaction, at having his penis pressed semirigid and hot against her stomach.

Reality tried to intrude, because as much as she wanted his showing up to be the direct result of the encounter at Inner Magick and because he could no longer deny the attraction, she knew it had to be more than that. It had to be important, something more urgent than the need for sex.

She deferred asking in favor of his company, satisfied for the moment that he’d sought her out and he seemed relaxed. “Kitchen,” she said.

He lingered a moment, caging her against the door, kissing her neck until he pushed himself upright. He tucked his cock into his jeans and zipped up as she retrieved the short nightgown and slipped it on.

“Damn.” Said with a wealth of masculine disgruntlement.

She laughed and took his hand. Within steps of leading him deeper into the house, Dylan’s attention was captured by the tribal masks adorning the wall. “I didn’t notice these the last time I was here.”

Talk about a fucking understatement. She’d opened her door to Trace and him and everything had pretty much been lost in the roar of lust. He’d been in a battle not to disgrace himself by coming in his pants.

“Interesting choice of decoration.” And a hell of a lot better than pentacles, charms or anything else that screamed witchcraft.

“Most of them were gifts from tribal elders or host families.”

It was so out there he couldn’t leave it. “How’d that come about?”

“Fieldwork. I’ve got an anthropology degree, though most of my time is spent teaching these days.”

“At the university?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know Storm’s husband?”

“Yes. We’re in the same department.” Seraphine reached out, straightened a mask. “Khemirra is fascinated by them. She’s made them one of her freelance projects.”

An ache spasmed through his heart at the picture Seraphine’s words painted. He could see her at Inner Magick, as well as connected to the soon-to-be wives. He could imagine Seraphine and him as a couple, part of the transition sweeping through the Homicide department, drinking buddies moving on from single to committed, to one day soon talking about kids.

Christ. He should turn around and leave right now. He wasn’t marriage material. He knew this could only end one way, in a world of hurt for her—and for him.

He jammed his free hand in his pocket, felt the charm there. His heartbeat sped up with fear. Screw that—
with concern
.

But except for the spinning sound of his own thoughts, his head was blissfully free of noise. No whispers. No screams. No insanity.

Sweat broke out on his skin. What the fuck was he going to do? He couldn’t fucking hold on to the charm all day long.

They entered the kitchen. He sat at the table and distracted himself by watching Seraphine as she gathered supplies then set about making hot chocolate—no microwave or stuff in a package for her.

Worry about the weird shit later
. His cock hardened. He owed her an orgasm.

A smile came. Jesus, he couldn’t manage a straight face with that excuse.

But the truth was he felt relaxed. It felt good to be with a woman who didn’t give off badge bunny vibes.

That’s the sex talking
. It’d been awhile, since…

Not going there
.

She put a mug in front of him, setting her own down before leaving for a trip to the refrigerator. She returned with a can of whipped cream, capping her hot chocolate with it.

“No cherries?” he asked after squirting some whipped cream on his drink.

“All out. Chesna polished them off while we were making cookies.” She glanced away. Not before he saw the sadness and pain in her expression.

Leave it.

His lips ignored him.

“Chesna?”

“My niece.”

“She in trouble of some kind?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Yeah. Family always is.”

He knew all about that. Over a decade later, he could remember the phone call that had him rushing home, foot heavy on the gas pedal, an internal voice screaming denial. His mother couldn’t be dead.

To this day he couldn’t understand why his mother hadn’t kicked his father out of their lives and gone on with hers, instead of letting his affairs whittle away her ability to be happy…until she’d felt as if she had nothing to live for.

I didn’t know that she’d sunk that low.
An old argument he quashed because it would only open the door wider to a shitload of other stuff he didn’t want to think about, not when he was with Seraphine. Not later either.

“I guess you see the worst of it doing your job,” Seraphine said.

He shook the past off. “Sad but true.”

He drank the hot chocolate as they shared the safe parts of their day with each other, though his thoughts veered to the carnal each time she licked a whipped cream or hot chocolate mustache away. She had lips made for giving a man a blowjob. It was one of the favorites of all the forbidden fantasies she starred in, creeping in whenever he let his guard down or it fell away in sleep.

His dick got ready for round three in a pounding rush of blood. And damn if she didn’t know the effect she had on him. It was there in her expression, in the way she repeated the action, practically begging him to pull her off the chair and onto her knees. The trouble was, he owed her, and he was a man who paid his debts.

Chapter Seven

The instant Seraphine finished her drink, he grabbed her wrist, tugged as he turned his chair and brought her to him so she straddled his lap. He was momentarily mesmerized by the sight of her thighs against his jeans and the way her short little nightgown had ridden up. Another inch and he’d see her pussy.

He jerked his gaze upward. “Christ you’re beautiful.”

One hundred percent truth. Not a line meant to get her to put out.

“You’re pretty stunning yourself.”

She smiled and his dick screamed at him to get on with it.

In a minute, buddy
. He couldn’t stop himself from claiming her lips with his, chocolate and whipped cream combining as one kiss merged into another, eradicating all sense of time and every care except the driving urge to get closer, and closer still, to touch and taste every inch of her.

He ate the soft sounds of her pleasure but they only left him hungrier, needing more. He broke contact with her lips, breathing hard.

Masculine ego soared at seeing the heave of her chest and what it did to her breasts, at noting flushed features, lust-dilated eyes and passion-swollen lips. He took two fistfuls of gown, rid her of it in a quick upward movement.

His cock turned into a battering ram at the front of his jeans. His testicles grew more swollen, promising a world-class case of blue balls just from having a naked Seraphine this close to his body and not making the hot, wet, tight plunge into it.

In a minute. But first…

He swiped his fingers along the inside of his mug, capturing the residue from his drink then circling an areola, leaving the traces there before leaning in. “I could become a fan of this stuff.”

He licked, drinking in her moan and the way she arched her back, along with the hot chocolate and whipped cream. He latched onto the nipple, sucked, one hand on her back while the other was at her breast.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him against her. Not that he had any intention of leaving.

Each catch of her breath, each moan, each shiver of pleasure he pulled from her was a satisfying victory. Every whisper and cry labeled with his name fed the hunger inside him, created a demand to give her more until it was no longer enough to feast on her breasts.

He rose, moved, just enough to avoid tumbling their mugs to the floor as he put her on the table then kissed downward to her pussy. Her moans turned to near-screams as he swirled his tongue around her clit, rasped over the naked tip, took the engorged nub between his lips and sucked her hard, as if he could take her to the back of his throat and swallow on the bare head the way he wanted her to do his cock.