Dylan's Witch: 10 (Supernatural Bonds) (12 page)

He was vaguely aware of the way his hips jerked. Of the pre-cum leaking to coat his cock head.

He couldn’t care.

All he cared about was the erotic taste of a woman he’d already made his. The way she cried, begged him for more with the grind of her cunt against his face.

He gave her more. Fucked her with his tongue. Alternating its thrust with licks and the capture of her clit, with sucks that had her thrashing then cresting in orgasm.

Satisfaction was a roar in his head when she went boneless, as done in by the pleasure he’d given her as he’d been that last time against the door.

He moved up her body, halting to suck each nipple for long moments before returning to her lips, using the excuse of a kiss to rest his forearms against the table and give her some of his weight. His parted shirt allowed for the exquisite sensation of her breasts against his bare chest. It muted the demands of a cock promising to explode the next time she wrapped long, feminine legs around his waist and trapped him in hot, wet depths.

She was soft and welcoming beneath him, stirring a different kind of fantasy to life, of having her wrists bound in a show of trust he’d never, ever, allowed any woman to give him—not since college, not since Heather.

He slammed the door on that desire and those memories by deepening the kiss. Losing himself in Seraphine was made easier by the feel of her fingernails scraping his back.

“Turnabout is fair play,” she said when he let her breathe again.

His cock throbbed in time to his heartbeat, saying,
Yes! Yes! Yes!

He levered away from her and she slid off the table, taking the can of whipped cream with her.

His hands beat hers to the front of his jeans. His cock was freed by the time her lips arrived.

“I’ll take it from here,” she said, husky voice accompanying the chase of his hand away from his cock as she replaced it with hers.

He gripped the table edge. It was that or drop to his knees.

A full-body shudder went through him when cold hit his dick first, then heat—incredible heat as her tongue lapped away the whipped cream, her mouth following, sucking to make sure she got it all.

He couldn’t look away from the sight of his dick disappearing between red, luscious lips. The image of it was burned into his mind so he knew there’d be no denying himself this fantasy from now on.

He moaned with the loss of her mouth. Moaned again when she swirled her tongue around his cock head.

Waves of ecstasy racked his body. Eradicating any possibility of thought as she took him deeper, worked him. Her hand on his ball sac adding to the pleasure. Her grip there and on his penis making it impossible for him to control when he came, though it didn’t stop him from trying, from thrusting, driving toward the back of her throat.

“Jesus, Seraphine. Jesus.”

It was as close to begging as he got.

White noise filled his head. Sweat coated his skin.

His chest heaved as his lungs struggled for breath.

Nothing could compare to this. Nothing could ever feel so good.

And then her grip loosened. Letting him go deeper.

She swallowed on him.

Once. And it was like shooting off a rocket.

He came. Shuddering and jerking. Nearly passing out with the pleasure.

It made him docile as a lamb.

A thought that energized him enough to snort after having recovered enough from the mind-blowing orgasm to step into the bathroom with Seraphine, though it didn’t cause him to protest when she peeled his shirt off, then knelt in front of him, ridding him of the rest of his clothes.

The position put her mouth in close proximity to his cock again. It started to fill.

Impossible
.

Maybe this was some kind of sex magic. Now
there
was a witchcraft he could get behind.

Seraphine stood and pulled her hair back, anchoring it in a knot so it wouldn’t get wet. She smiled at reading the heat in his eyes, even as she understood hope had invaded and she’d foolishly allowed it to fully bloom.

They got into the shower together. He claimed her mouth, took it with a series of deep, drugging kisses before moving to her neck, her shoulder.

“This is nice,” she said, hands on his chest then traveling down his arms, covering his as they moved to her breasts.

Her thumb rubbed against the heartmate stone in his ring. She felt the flare of tension in his body, her heart catching on a squeeze of pain when he used reaching for the soap to subtly break the contact.

What did you expect? That something happened to make him accept the existence of the supernatural? That he came here believing a relationship between us was favored by fate?

Coward
. Because instead of calling him on the retreat she accepted it, in this moment anyway, allowing the escape from intimacy by taking the soap from him and applying it to her skin rather than his.

“Stay a little longer?” she asked, hand capturing a cock hardened again, sliding up and down on it in a signal that they could ignore everything in favor of pleasure, at least for a little while.

“Once more.”

They left the shower, dried off and entered the bedroom. She pushed him onto his back, straddled him and guided his cock to her opening.

She controlled the pace, savored the stretch and burn, the heated connection. Where he’d thrilled her with fast and hard upon his arrival, she tormented him with slow, with lifting until only his cock head remained inside her. Drawing the connection out until there was only one escape, and they found it in the rush and burst of orgasm.

Despite what he’d said, Dylan knew once more wasn’t really enough to fortify himself against the day ahead. Hell, he felt the loss when she slid off him to lie on her side.

The urge to roll her onto her back and cover her became nearly impossible to resist when she trailed her fingers over his chest, detouring to circle a nipple and sending a hot surge of lust straight to his cock. The nipple hardened, mimicking what was happening to his dick.

Impossible
, he thought for a second time, only this time he didn’t feel so sanguine about thoughts of useful witchcraft. Yeah, he was good, but he’d never been able to get it up this many times in such a short period of time.

There was a reasonable explanation.
Use it or lose it
. That covered it, and he’d been doing without.

What guy in his right mind was going to complain about getting frequent erections?

“We never got to the part where you told me why you showed up at my door.”

“Insanity.” Only right now, the insanity was fighting this. Jesus, he was just about ready for another round.

Feminine fingers walked down his arm, unerringly going to the cut on his palm. “How’d you get this?”

The question was almost enough to wither his dick. Almost. And that was because as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise, in her house, with her, his head was totally clear of everything but the need to give himself over to pleasure.

Mental placebo effect. Only he heard himself saying, “I got it handling the blade at the Harper crime scene.” Fuck if he’d name it.

He felt her jerk, heard the soft catch of her breath as her heart raced against him. “Did the cut heal?”

“Yes.”

“When did it open again?”

“A couple of nights ago.”

“It bled?”

“For a little while.”

“And last night?”

Why did women always want to talk after sex?

He thought about covering her mouth with his to stop the questions. But the mental image of his bloody bed was a mood killer, and as much as he wanted to shut this conversation down—really, really wanted to—he’d shown up on her doorstep for more than sex.

Call it survival instinct. He hated it, but there it was. It’d saved his life a couple of times when he was wearing the uniform before making detective.

She rose onto an elbow so she could look at his face. “Why did you come here, Dylan?”

Urgent demand rather than pissed-off woman. He could roll away from her, but there was enough body contact that he’d sure as hell offend her if he did.

“It bled last night, okay. More than the first time. I freaked. I thought of you. And the rest is history.”

Nothing flashed in her eyes. Resentment didn’t straighten lips that, fuck, just looking at them revived the mood because if they weren’t made to wrap around a guy’s dick and blow the top of his head off with pleasure, then he needed to turn his boys club card in.

They tilted up at the corners, like she knew what he was thinking, and he nearly rose onto his own elbow so he could trace her lips with his tongue as a precursor to encouraging them to travel downward for a second time.

She interrupted the fantasy by saying, “It’s all over the news that a police department clerk was found murdered. What department?”

“Evidence. Mostly putting it in storage and retrieving it when it needs to be revisited.”

“So he’d have access to Lucifer’s Blade?”

Dylan’s stomach went tight and cold. His heartbeat sprinted and kept racing full out. Because fuck it, he was a detective and he could put one and one together, Nicole Harper’s getting shanked in prison the morning after Katcher had been killed. And if he went where he didn’t want to go, and added the cut opening up, bleeding…

“Yeah. Katcher had access.”

He sat, turning his back to her—on truth. “I need to get to work.”

“Dylan.”

He stilled rather than pull away. The warmth of her hand on his shoulder and the fear in her soft voice melted the ice in his gut with a burst of heat.

“I believe there was a sacrifice last night, probably a human one.”

And Christ, his bed had looked like a crime scene, though there was no way he was going to admit it. A chill swept over him at flashing back to the nightmare, the sensation of his heart thundering in his head and then slowly fading, draining away through his wrists until he’d finally broken free in panic.

When he didn’t say anything, she asked, “Do you still have the charm?”

A nod was all he gave her.

“I’d like to do a working, to strengthen it.”

He wanted to deny her. Hell, he wanted to deny he’d clutched the fucking thing until he’d stepped through her doorway.

“Sure.”

Her hand fell away as he stood, retrieving his clothes and fishing the charm out of his pocket then giving it to her.

She padded away, catapulting him into the past, to another redheaded witch who’d worked so-called
magic
naked, sucking college kids in with her game, Heather included.

The only
magic
there was predictable—flash your pussy and tits in front of a red-blooded guy and he was going to get a boner. Offer him a chance to fuck and yeah, he might just forget he had a girlfriend.

Just as well. He was as certain of it now as he’d been then.

He wasn’t the marrying, faithful kind. He was too much like his old man.

Uneasiness crawled in. It was exacerbated by the feel of being watched. He tugged on his clothes as he glanced at where Seraphine had disappeared with the charm. A calico cat sat in the doorway, perfectly still, its gaze fixed on him as if judging his worthiness to be in Seraphine’s bed.

He glanced back to where they’d made—

Had sex. S-E-X. She couldn’t expect more from him, could she?

Dumb question.

He resisted the urge to look at the ring Aislinn had given him. Not that he needed to when the image of Seraphine’s bracelet presented itself front and center in his head.

He had to get out of there. Felt desperate to by the time she returned, the cat no longer in sight.

She’d put the charm on a necklace, the same as Aislinn had done to the one Seraphine had given Trace, a charm he
still
wore. Dylan took it from her rather than let her put it on him, avoiding the intimacy.

The need to escape ratcheted up at seeing the flash of hurt in her eyes. It tightened the ball in his gut until spikes of guilt pierced his chest so he had to fight against pulling her against him and apologizing. He should have stayed away from her.

Impossible. The quiet in his head was like following a beacon and reaching the safe harbor of home.

“Thanks,” he managed, leaning in, giving her a quick kiss. Fighting the urge to do more, to linger, to lose himself again in her body, to promise he’d call and be back.

Seraphine closed the door rather than watch Dylan all the way to his car. “You knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” she whispered, recognizing that a chasm had opened in the time it’d taken her to work more magic into the charm. He’d already been halfway out the door, at least mentally.

At least he’d come to her. That meant progress, right?

The ache in her heart was matched by her fear for him, leaving hope no more than a glimmer.

She rubbed her arms in an attempt to chase away chill bumps. The charm might not be enough to keep him safe. It
wouldn’t
be if he came in direct contact with a demon, especially a bound one.

Unlike the talisman she wore on a necklace, the one she’d given him didn’t offer Arioc’s protection either through fear of retribution or the possibility of an immediate summoning. The price of gaining that safety for Dylan would be steep.

And for information about the blade?

For answers about the link Dylan now had to the dark realms, and how to break it?

What price for that information?

How urgently did she need it?

She glanced at the sunlight filtering in through the front windows and decided against calling Arioc. She had time to investigate on her own. With luck she’d find Tristan in his office at the university, but if not she could track him down and ask him for access to the ancient books in his possession.

She turned away from the door and went to the bedroom, careful not to look at the bed, though proximity to it made her body hum with satisfaction even as the sharp edge of renewed need rode beneath the surface.

Shower. Then work.

She handled the first quickly, and hurried to the second.