Eclipsing Dawn (Dusk takes Dawn) (2 page)

Duncan, on the other hand, hadn’t ever fully unleashed his passions with a woman. His darker side would drive most of them away. A shudder rode Dawn’s spine at the thought of how the man dominated in word and action.

But he had another side.

In the line of duty, the updates they left never failed to make the other partner smile. Their love had begun with laughter. Later, Dawn started waking up to gifts. Some of them were left at the foot of her statue, other times she’d enter her apartment and breakfast would be waiting—still hot. Or Duncan would have wrapped up a case and given her the day off.

Best of all, once they’d moved in together, he’d started recording himself reading the books on her nightstand out loud. Nothing compared to curling up in her favorite armchair to watch him read chapter after chapter to her. His reading glasses, precariously perched on his nose, gave him the look of a super sexy barbarian scholar. A half-naked, ancient Scottish warrior in spectacles, his hair wild, scars across his chest, and only a plaid blanket covering his nakedness, could thrill the coldest heart.

Duncan’s voice drew her back into the moment. "We’re almost there. I went out and filled the
memorykeeper
. I left it for you," he said, holding up the messenger bag in the video. Dawn picked it up from the couch beside her and looked inside.

A tangy scent of molten metal coated the back of her throat.
Yuck.
She pinched the edge of the flap in two fingers and pulled the bag off the couch, letting it fall to the floor. The contents jangled.

Duncan chuckled. "I’m sure you’ll be making your ugly face when you look inside."

Dawn nodded and exhaled. "You know me too well."

Her gaze returned to the screen. His face lit in the most temptingly sensual expression. The curve of his full lips, the strength of his jaw, and the spark in his slate blue eyes all benefited from his smile. He remained dangerous no matter what expression he wore, but the intimidation factor only made his sense of humor more exhilarating.

"You’ll have to fill the
timekeeper
," Duncan continued. "Mr. Atreyu’s shop opens at ten a.m. After you
meet
with him, the Grant Park Crone will be waiting for you."

Dawn nodded. Activating the timekeeper might be tricky, but Atreyu’s mob-boss-without-a-mob reputation didn’t scare her. The thugs of New Chicago called her
the witch with a capital B
. Mr. Atreyu would be wise to seek last rites from a priest before attempting to block her path. He had what she needed. Nothing and no one would keep her from finally touching Duncan.

"I’ve been dreaming about claiming you, my jewel," he said from inside the phone. His tone had deepened into a husky rumble. Dawn closed her eyes and let the echo of his affection wash over her. He called her "his jewel" because he said her skin shimmered like a precious stone.

"And with the thought of making you beg for it until you’re hoarse, I’m concluding the business portion of this morning’s program. Switch to the laptop."

Dawn laughed to herself. Duncan got bossy when aroused. She reached for the computer but he hadn’t finished.

"Before I forget, the pictures you left me were a nice surprise. Really nice.” He moistened his bottom lip. “I had no idea you were so flexible." He paused to raise an eyebrow. "Dammit, Dawn."

The video message ended abruptly, and Dawn tossed the phone aside. She leaped to wake the computer up and her body vibrated with renewed anticipation. Duncan had left a video player on full screen. She clicked the arrow on the player. The video started and she sucked in her bottom lip.

Duncan reclined on the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest, one leg propped against the coffee table. It seemed a perfectly normal way to begin a conversation, except for his complete nakedness. Lord love him, the man’s body needed to be explored with lips, tongue, fingers and even teeth.

In his free hand, he held a cocoa colored bottle of lube. Dawn picked the same bottle up from the coffee table. It smelled and tasted like chocolate, and Duncan knew she liked it best.

He tipped the lube upside down and tapped it against his knee. She’d given him this particular brand because the liquid heated through friction. But her body didn’t require friction to combust. The sight of him naked with that lusty look on his face took care of ignition nicely.

She didn’t know where to put her hands first. With one, she yanked her bra down under her right breast and rolled the nipple between her fingers; her other hand stroked the source of the moisture spreading between her legs. The swollen flesh ached at first, then throbbed with each subsequent touch. Her body trembled as the pressure built. She arched off the couch, imagining Duncan’s fingers, his lips and tongue where her hands were. It wasn’t enough. Every part of her yearned to be touched, to be covered by his big body and pumped long and strong until he rocked her to sleep.

On the screen, Duncan took one arm down off the couch and poured a liberal amount of lube into his hand. "I left you a gift," he said, casually flipping the bottle away. He threw that arm over one of the cushions. "It’s under the table in front of you."

Dawn watched, mesmerized as he ran his slick hand up and down his hardened length. It grew fuller, each advance and retreat hiding and revealing the broad tip.

Am I drooling?

She touched the corner of her mouth with her second finger but kept her eyes on Duncan. He paused and fixed his gaze on the spot he’d known she’d be sitting in.

"Don’t. Stop," she said on a breath.

"Dawn." He seemed to answer. "The box."

Dawn leaped for the coffee table a second time, pulled the dark blue box from beneath it, and placed the gift on the tabletop. The package matched the size of a hardcover book.

The intensity of the moment drove her near to nail biting. She lifted off the lid, slowly, and her mouth dropped open in delight.
Yes. Oh, yes
. She looked back up at the screen.

Her man unleashed that devilish grin of his. His timing as always remained impeccable. "Why yes, madam," he said with a hint of brogue, "that is a mold of my…” He looked down at himself and pumped his fist meaningfully. “…only the mold is smaller. I want you wet and ready for me tonight, so I don’t hurt you. But.” He paused again. “I still want you tight.”

His expression changed. The playful lover replaced by the demanding barbarian he kept hidden beneath the veneer of a modern Scotsman. His jaw firmed. The blaze in his eyes pinned her in place. “Put it inside you and don’t take it out. I’ll know if you do. And I’ll make you pay for it.”

Dawn shuddered. A part of her wanted to refute his command but her interior walls began to spasm and she could barely breathe. Her body didn’t care about her pride.

Duncan continued, stroking himself in languid movements. "You don’t want me to have to punish you, do you? You’re already in trouble for wasting time molesting my statue. Don’t think I don’t know about your habit of doing that. I can smell you on me when I wake up."

Dawn yelped, but no glow of embarrassment touched her cheeks. Now he knew how fully her desire had overtaken her morning routine.

"Before you go out." Duncan said, his breathing quickened as he reveled in the pleasure caused by his hands. "Be safe out there."

He stopped and stared at her intently. His presence filled the room, leaving her paralyzed. "I want you to keep one thing in mind as you work toward our goal today."

He’d grown serious.

"What’s that?" she murmured as she slipped her panties down, took the custom dildo from the box, and parted her folds to receive it.

When he spoke she exhaled sharply at his parting words. A searing desire spiraled down through her belly, wrapped itself around her already swollen clitoris and tugged. She gripped the cushions to brace wobbly bones.

He’d ended the video and branded her soul with four words. "I’m fucking you tonight."

Most people had the witches and wands thing confused. A magic wand wasn’t strictly necessary. A witch only needed something pointy to focus her energies, allowing her to aim spells. However, they didn’t use their fingers. Fingertips tended to singe and sometimes explode.

Not fun. Murder on the manicure.

Dawn tapped the dirk she used in place of a wand. It remained strapped to her thigh in an embossed leather sheath Duncan had confiscated from a mage drug dealer. The weapon/wand remained where it should be, but Dawn had a nervous habit of checking her equipment. Pausing, she touched the strap of the messenger bag slung over one shoulder, making sure it stayed in place as well.

Her tools were crucial. She didn’t have a warrior’s ferocity as protection. Her dirk worked as a tuning fork for spells. Also, if Dawn had to fight up close, the dagger could be used for its original purpose. She tapped the sheath again. Still there.

Ten minutes late
, she thought, running her hands over the bun she’d secured her chestnut hair in. She didn’t need to check her watch. Without doubts, she’d reach the shop at 10:10 a.m. rather than on the hour as Duncan had appointed… 
Ahh
, Dawn trembled. The thought of him punishing her for repeated tardiness caused her inner walls to clench. The mold he’d made of himself sent an answering shockwave of pleasure ricocheting back through her.

Twenty minutes after she’d arrived outside of Mr. Atreyu’s antiquities shop, the man himself turned on the lights, unlocked the front door, and flipped the sign to open. Dawn had gotten there, customarily tardy, and read the plate glass door:

Store Hours: 10:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. Daily

Damn her man. He knew her too well and he’d tricked her into being on time. Hell, more than on time, he’d tricked her into being twenty minutes early.

Since she’d had time to kill, Dawn grabbed a bagel slathered in salmon spread from the deli across the street. After finishing the first one, she’d gone back for a second and polished it off while giving the appearance of texting from a bench facing the antique shop. Everybody texted, you couldn’t get much more incognito than that.

When Mr. Atreyu moved away from the store’s entrance, Dawn propelled herself upright, popped the final bit of cream cheesy goodness into her month and chewed.
So good.
She needed fuel to burn and dealing with Mr. Atreyu figured to require a full tank.

On the inside, the shop, The Antediluvian, wasn’t a typical antique store. It didn’t have the layer of dust or the filled-to-bursting chaos of too much inventory. Meticulously tidy, the entirety of the shop’s stock had been arranged in three aisles, appearing to span outward into infinity. Dawn nodded at the storeowner upon entering and allowed the door to close behind her.

Rather than sitting behind the gilded Louis XIV writing desk, Mr. Atreyu had taken a perch atop it, his legs crossed at the ankle and swinging. His sepia vest and pinstriped dress-shirt worked in concert with features keen enough to slice bagels. The combination gave him a formidable edge that the knitting needles in his hands and slender body didn’t belie.

From the looks of it, he’d have a very nice argyle vest when he finished knitting it. "Greetings," he said.

"Hey."

She’d heard the rumors about him. Some said he invented the worst tortures used in modern times, but neither she nor any of the police department had been able to confirm his wicked ways.

Dawn physically rolled doubt off her shoulders. She hoped the rumors about him were true. She needed them to be so she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about what she’d come to do. Either way, she wasn’t a
cop
today. She’d become a desperate woman.

Tension traveled along Mr. Atreyu’s shoulders, signaling he sensed danger. Dawn refused to play a role. She didn’t have time.

"Is it true in the eighteen hundreds, you devised tortures so vicious even the Spanish Inquisition refused to use them?"

"And if it is?" Cultured and smooth.

Dawn shrugged. "Then I’d feel a lot better."

"Need me to assuage you of blame, do you? I won’t do it."

She watched his hands. They twitched with gunfighter readiness over his knitting needles. Suddenly, he drew one from the patterned yarn and aimed at Dawn. "Mystify!"

Dawn spun out of the path of the bewilderment spell and ducked into one of the aisles. He’d been ready for her. The magic hit an old-fashioned wall clock. The hour and minute hands went haywire while the pendulum rocked, abandoning the usual side-to-side motion in exchange for an impossible forward and back. If she’d gotten hit, it would’ve knocked her senseless and allowed Mr. Atreyu to take her out without protest. Only newbies got caught by mystify spells.

"Not taking this seriously, are you?" Dawn said, before popping up from behind a settee, her dirk in hand. "Petrify."

Atreyu trained his needle on the incoming fright spell and whispered, "
Captus Relaxare."

Dawn’s hex collided with the point of the needle in a swarm of tiny embers. The embers twisted around the impromptu wand, stopping short of the gentleman’s fingers. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the magic careening back at her.