Gone With the Witch (11 page)

"The handcuffs and abduction didn't do it for you?" she
asked, returning. "I guess if that didn't scare you, you think
nothing will, but don't count on
it."
She held up an empty measuring cup. "Here ya go"

Aiden raised his head. "What the hell is that for?”

“Aim and pee.
It's so easy for men."

"I do not pee well in public."

"Don't tell me you're one of
those.
I took you for the
kind of guy who could take a whiz on the side of the highway in plain sight."

"Let me rephrase that
. '
I do not pee well while a sexy woman is holding my target."

"
And your hose. I'd have to hold that, too, I believe.”

“
Gee," Aiden said. "I wonder how long a jail term you
can get for hijacking and abduction? Thanks to your coffee stop audience, there are now witnesses and photographs.”

“
Dragon's blood, are you touchy." She unlocked his an
kles and one wrist, but she cuffed the other wrist to her own.
"What the hell?" he said getting up. "Oh, it feels good
to stretch. You're not coming in there with
me "

"I won't watch. We'll stand back to back."

"Fine for now, but it won't work in the morning.”

“
Yeah, yeah" She'd been hoping that by then, he'd be addicted to having her around and wouldn't bolt when she
let him loose ... which probably meant that she needed
some insurance ... like sex.
Fantasmaglorious sex.

In the bathroom, standing back to back, she realized
that she'd never found herself in so ludicrous a position,
but her giggle seemed to have a direct effect on the sound of running water, as in ... his stream stopped.

"Now see what you did," Aiden said. "You scared the
big guy, and he's not done, so now we have to wait for him
to come out of hiding. What's so funny?"

"The women at the coffee stop. One wanted to rent you
for an hour. They dubbed you the Silver Fox.”

“
Wonderful. Why?"

"They saw your silver boxers, and they think you're a fox. Personally, I don't see it. Anyway, they asked questions about you"

"You didn't answer them?"

"Don't worry. I didn't use our names. I told them a pack of lies about paying you to be my traveling sex
slave.”

“
Storm!"

"You're never gonna pee if you don't calm down"

Aiden took a deep breath and told her in boring, step-
by-step detail how to go about restoring a great work of art,
never mind that she'd already watched him do an everlasting restoration on a wall mural at the castle.

"Great lesson," she said.
"But, duh, why?"

"To get my mind off you behind me or to get my mind off your behind.
Either way, you're a distraction. I can't
keep the big guy on task if we're thinking about you naked
back there."

"I'm not naked. I'm wrapped in a blanket, mostly.”

“Yeah, and I'm dressed, mostly."

When she got him back to the bedroom, Storm tried to cuff him again. The first arm was easy, because she was cuffed to it. But catching his ankles was like chasing a
greased pig, and she didn't appreciate him being so
heartily entertained while she tried.

Finally she ended up naked and spread-eagle on her
belly on top of him, except that she was facing the foot
board and he was facing ... well ... enough of a dis
tr
ac
tion for her to cuff his ankles. His last wrist was a no cuff,
but that was okay, because she liked having that arm
around her as she snuggled in beside him and pulled the covers over them both.

"Is this it?" he asked. "One arm is all 'I get?"

"Yes. I need some sleep."

"That sucks. I'd like to hold you with both arms while we
sleep."
"It won't stop at holding."

"I have control," he said. "I'm not an animal."

"You have too much con
tr
ol," she said turning to face him. "I'm the animal." She growled like a hungry wildcat. "You're not safe from me. Ergo, you're in protective custody."

chapter
fifteen

•

A few hours after falling asleep, Storm woke to the familiar sound of a crying baby. Aiden was already awake and watching her, his morning boner saluting like a good
little—no big—soldier, his free hand cupping a breast. She
didn't have to think twice. She grabbed the breast-happy hand, jumped up, and cuffed that wrist to the bed.

Aiden sputtered and cursed her witchy ancestors back
to Lili in
Scotland. "I can't believe you did that:' he
shouted, but his fury ended abruptly when she grabbed a cher
ry
condom, tore the packet open with her teeth, and straddled him for a morning ride.

Though Aiden groaned at the near skin-to-skin contact, he shouted for her to look him in the eye when she slipped
her hand in his briefs, and having him hold her gaze cap
tive was mesmerizing and quite the added tu
rn
-on. She
grabbed his cock, sheathed it by Braille in its cher
ry
slicker,
then
she slipped his saluting soldier into her warm,
pulsing self.

Aiden raised his hips off the bed with a roar of satisfaction, and as she rode him, he continued roaring and shout
ing, loud and vocal ... almost as loud and explicitly vocal
as her. Three weeks in the making, with a slow, sweet burn
that might freak lesser mortals, this mating was worth
every spark of torture.

Nothing had ever felt so good, so long, or so perfectly made to fit snug and deep down inside while stroking impossible-to-reach depths and raising her to impossibleto-reach heights.

Between them, they'd honed abstinence and staying power to a science; only look at the night of sexual torture they'd just survived.

This was Aiden, the man who'd touched
an
unnamed yearning in her at first sight, the m
an
she'd teased—who'd teased her—for three merciless weeks, who'd suckled her
breasts and made her come at every opportunity, despite
the clothes between them, the man who came, himself,
more often than not, as a result of the same torture.

They had tested each other to that endless most frustrat
ing brink and never consummated their mutual sexual
hunger for each other—not even during the ritual midsum
mer bathing, her naked in the sea and him ready to pop the
zipper on his khaki shorts. All that waiting and foreplay
had gone into preparing them for this moment, this cataclysmic mating.

Storm felt like a goddess as she rode him, head high,
hair thrown back, her wild mount bucking beneath her, taking her to a world unknown, but making her crave the jour
ney the more for his expertise.

She rode him hard and put all of
herself
into this mutual
inferno, as did he, his attention as much on her pleasure as his own.

Panting to increase her staying power when she felt her
self rising too high, too fast, too close to the pinnacle of sat
isfaction, she begged him to stay with her. But she needn't have bothered. He urged her to greater heights with a patience and enthusiasm like no m
an
she'd known.

His warmth and caring touched her in that scary emo
tional place, but with Aiden, she made the journey anyway,

and
as her orgasm overtook her, she flew from her body to a trembling zenith, a place of prismatic stars, magick crystals, and brilliant joy.

Wild and soul shattering, body-trembling multiples claimed her, and with Aiden's instigation, she kept rising, one orgasm after another, until she could barely keep from passing out.

She screamed her final release like a banshee as Aiden shouted her name and rose with her, impaling her more times than she would have thought possible—as if he'd experienced a multiple of his own. And when she collapsed atop him, prone, sated, sweaty, sticky, and damned near to passing out, she heard a pounding.

Her heart pumping in her ears most likely.

"The door."

Smoothing the sweat-slick hair from her face, she
looked up at Aiden. "Huh?"

"The door," he repeated. "Someone is knocking at the door."

"Breaking it down, you mean. I don't think I can summon the strength to move"

"Uncuff me, then," Aiden said, drawing air into his
lungs with a pleased look.

"Good t
ry
,
but you can't move either, for more than the usual reasons."

"Do you hear me complaining?"

Storm rose and tossed a blanket over him then wrapped herself in another, in case it was the orgasm police, and they'd exceeded their limit for legal multiples in one time zone.

She opened the door ... and looked up at the skinny
seven-foot clown on her doorstep, lost her train of thought,
and got a crick in her neck.

Words failed her. Her body nearly failed her.

Passing out seemed an option, not because of the appari
tion, because of the sex.

The clown squirted her in the face with his lapel carnation.

"Thanks" she said. "I needed that."

Carnival tents and animal cages had sprouted around them, like a hidden fairyland—while they'd slept the sleep
of the dead, apparently. Storm tightened her blanket and
hid as much as she could of herself behind the door. "Good
morning, Bozo"

"We're not all called Bozo, ya know." He raised a bushy
blue brow. "How about you don't stereotype, Trixie, and I won't either."

Storm slapped a hand to her mouth and nearly lost her blanket. "Oops.
Close call.
Let's start again. Hi, I'm Storm, and you are?"

"Winkie."

There ya go.
"Good morning, Winkie. May I help you?"

Storm got distracted by an elephant on a leash, led by a
purple-haired clown on stilts. She was so diverted, Warlock
ran past her and out the door. She saw him leap, as only Warlock could, to the edge of a cage where a full-grown tiger raised its head to eye her three-month-old fur ball.

One tiger
hello,
and Warlock relinquished the need for a
litter box.

Like lightning, her kitten ran and became lost to sight somewhere in the carnival crowd.
"My cat!"

Winkie cleared his throat.

Storm apologized and gave him her full attention. “Are
we in your way?" she asked. "I promise to leave as soon as
'I find my cat."

"Uh, no," the embarrassed clown said, removing his blue-striped top hat, banded with black-eyed Susans, to reveal a fuzzy thatch of blue hair. "We don't care where
you're parked. It's just that ... your screams were scaring
the children."

Storm focused on the scene, noticed the upbeat carnival
music, and smelled the popcorn and cotton candy for the first time. She saw people—midgets, giants, acrobats, and families—everywhere.

Parents, in particular, several sets of them, with chil
dren, stood in groups, all of them staring at her, some with wary surp
ri
se, a couple with smiles, but most with downright disapproval.

Storm rarely blushed, but the heat in her face could probably start a campfire. She stepped deeper into the confines of the motor home.
"Ah ... toga party," she said, too loud, too fast ... and too stupid.