Never Been Witched (16 page)

“You are. You’re a natural. And I’ve never been so sexually satisfied in my life.”

“Wanna come again?” he asked.

“I’m game if you are.”

He’d die of embarrassment if
he
passed out before his turn came.

“Okay,” she said after taking the sexual world by storm, “I’m starting to see stars. How about one more time but with the two of us in sync? This time, when I start to come, let yourself go, and we’ll come together.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his body already reacting to her suggestion.

“Boy Scout,” she said, “I wanna live to do this again, after a reasonable recovery period.”

He patted the sweat from her brow with the corner of a blanket. “How
long
is a reasonable recovery period?”

She slipped her hand between them to stroke him, and he lost it.

“Twelve minutes,” she said, distracting him.

He hadn’t been prepared for the satisfaction of pleasuring her. He certainly hadn’t been prepared to let go, to reach the ultimate pleasure, that final thrust as he spilled his seed, the ultimate sensation lasting longer than his breath, the unbearable and surprising aftershocks—hers and his intermingling—drawing pleasure from pleasure. He especially hadn’t been prepared for an
emotional
connection. By the saints, sex with Destiny poleaxed him, but before he could make any sense of it, he collapsed.

“You okay?” she asked. “Because I don’t think I have the strength to give you CPR.”

He rolled off her so as not to crush her, found her hand, and squeezed. “Never better. Wanna do it again?” The urge to chuckle, or run, was the last thing he remembered until he woke hours later.

He could seriously care for the woman sleeping beside him, he thought—not for the first time—though the rush of heart and soul that accompanied his yearning hadn’t been present previous to taking her to bed or her taking him or whatever one called what had taken place between them, besides a high-octane inferno.

He adored the sight of her body in moonlight. He ached to touch, so he did, softly, gently, so as not to wake her. He kissed her hip, her mound, sweet with the musk of their sex, her belly button ring—a surprise, but not, like the toe ring—her ankles, calves, thighs. She slept through every touch and kiss.

When she mumbled his name and turned on her side, he got a breast in the face. Nothing he could do but accept the gift and close his lips around it, and as he did, he nestled his awakening cock against her soft, pliant body. He slipped a hand between her legs to unfold her petals, one by one, and find her slick, sleeping center.

Sweet, warm, willing, she opened to him, spread her legs in sleep, allowed him access. When she whispered his name and arched against him, she might as well have taken his heart in her hand and claimed it as hers, he was that humbled. Even in sleep, she wanted
him
.

He suckled her and worked at her core until she began to rock against him, sighing and moaning, finding his mouth and Frenching him the way she’d done the night of King and Harmony’s wedding, but this time—this time—he knew exactly what to do.

On their sides facing each other, Morgan pulled Destiny’s leg over his and slipped inside her sweet, sweet haven, but he let her take over the rhythm. When she rose and climaxed, she opened her eyes and gazed at him with a world of tenderness.

Lovers. He’d never understood the intimacy before, the vulnerability in sharing a sexual bond. Powerful. Mighty powerful. Scary powerful.

Could be mistaken for love.

“What?” she asked. “Again with the ‘no foreplay for me’?”

He kissed her and surged inside her. “You slept through it, but that’s okay. I’ll start again from the top.”

“See that you do.”

Chapter Twenty-three

DESTINY woke alone and stretched like a sated feline in the sun, disappointed that Morgan no longer slept beside her. Speaking of cats, she heard Caramello yowling in the distance, talking to Morgan.

Destiny got up and followed the sound to the open window overlooking the shower. Yummers. Morgan, getting naked for a shower, Caramello playing Chatty Kitty beside him. He pulled the chain to release the steamy stream of hot water, and her cat yowled, bounced from wall to wall, then scrambled up and over the top of the enclosure with Morgan laughing his ass off.

He’d told her about it, but it was definitely more fun to watch.

Speaking of which, be still her heart, how gorgeous was Morgan? Laughing. Easygoing. No grudge, no frown. Morgan the major sex god.

Hot damn. No more wasting time. She wanted to share that decadent shower with him, so she ran downstairs and out the door, naked and uncaring. “Don’t start without me,” she called as she rushed in and jumped him beneath the silky spray.

He caught her with a grunt, her ass in his hands, her legs around his waist. “Care for some company?” she asked.

“Well, hello.” He kissed the triquetra on her breast. “What does this one mean?”

“The triquetra is the Celtic symbol of three in a heart to symbolize triplets—me and my sisters.”

“If they each have a tat like it, I don’t want to know.” He eyed her, challenged her to keep the information to herself, and when she did, he scooped a nipple into his mouth and took her back to their world of wonder and pleasure. Mr. Mammoth came into his own; she could feel him growing beneath her bottom. Slam it, she’d aimed too high. She didn’t want the big guy beneath her but inside her.

One-handed, she brought him up to target and took him in. No man had ever filled her so completely, stretched and challenged her—and she was talking heart as much as flesh, with a good deal of spirit and emotion thrown into the mix.

She was talking
crazy
.

Good thing she
wasn’t
talking.

Shut up a you mind,
she told herself, paraphrasing their old, Italian grocer. She guessed she was the mind-talking triplet, but who cared when you were shivering and showering with a god and coming in his arms.

They came together in a quick, cataclysmic mating and ended sitting on the raised slat floor, all soapy, beneath the warm, life-giving spray. “Sorry,” Morgan said, catching his breath. “Lost my legs. Did you bring vitamins?”

“I did.”

“You brought everything you’d need in the event you sapped the life out of me. You
do
see the future.”

She hooted and shoved him. “About time you figured that out.”

“So you knew I was here?”

“Here in the shower? Or here at the lighthouse?”

“The lighthouse.”

“No. I can’t see my own future, and since you would have been part of it—since you were already here—I didn’t know. I came looking for my psychic purpose, a clear mind, and ordered priorities.”
You among them,
which she didn’t admit.

Morgan gave her a nod, as if he approved her goals. “Did you find everything you came looking for?”

“Not everything, but I did find
more
than I expected.”

“Because you taught an ex-priest how to have sex.”

“So you know everything there is to know about sex? You’re finished with your lessons?”

“ ’Fraid not. I’ll need lessons every other hour for the rest of our . . . two weeks.”

She’d caught his hesitation as he lathered her breasts with wicked enthusiasm.

“There are
other
parts that need washing, you know, but no soap around the vaginal area. Causes itches that can become infections.”

“New information. Thanks. The big guy wants a place to go.”

“You’re all heart.”

“What can I say? Jumbo likes his new venue.”

“Which is why he needs a good wash.”

The object of their discourse rose to attention, and Destiny took him in hand for a good scrubbing. Slowly at first, one-handed, while she oh-so-gently cupped Morgan’s pretty blue balls, and he looked ready to float to the firmament. “They don’t hurt anymore?” she asked.

“What? Who?”

“Your balls.”

“Oh them. They’ve never been treated so well. They wouldn’t take kindly to being kneed or cart-busted again, but they’re recovering fine and appreciate your attention.”

“I watched you in the shower the other morning,” she confessed. “You were washing the big guy quite vigorously, but you didn’t finish to
my
satisfaction, nor your own, I noticed. I wanted to see your face while you came.”

The big guy firmed and thickened in her hand, overlapping her palm by another inch at least. Obviously turned on at the thought of her watching, or washing him, Morgan let himself go, his eyes glazing over, while telltale brown flecks appeared in their green gold depths.

“I want to watch you, now,” she said. “I’ll wash Studly Big Bone, here, until you can’t hold off any longer. I want to see his stream and watch your face while you experience the ultimate pleasure at my hands. I couldn’t watch last night, I was too busy climaxing myself, but this is different. This is for you. Last as long as you want. The longer you do, the more outrageous your pleasure, but you can’t close your eyes. I want you not only thinking about me, I want you looking at me.”

Morgan groaned and leaned against the side of the wooden shower stall while she worked him. “I haven’t thought of anyone but you while coming since the day I met you. You looked daggers at me.”

She raised a brow. “I didn’t like the way you made me feel.”

“You didn’t like me debunking you.”

“I didn’t appreciate you saying you didn’t believe in psychics, when it seems like you
are
psychic.”

“Maybe I am, because I predict that this is going to be the best shower I ever had.”

“You can take that to the bank, Morgan the Magnificent.”

She lathered his cock, brought him to the brink, and then she rinsed him off and took him into her mouth.

Morgan yelped satisfactorily while Destiny continued to attempt to surprise him. When he seemed to be near to spilling, she stopped her torture to prolong his pleasure and stroked his lovely, pulsing boner between her breasts and used it to tease her nipples taut and hard.

She knew when to lather him again by watching his face. When she picked up her pace, he became taut, his eyes bright, and he gazed into her eyes. She about climaxed just watching his stream.

“That was the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen,” she said, pulsing like crazy. “Watching you about put me over the edge.”

He settled her head against his shoulder, found her center, and gave her as good as he got, and there in the sunny shower, he watched as she came with every bit as much arousal and focused interest.

She kissed his chest and twirled the hair around one of his nipples. “At some point, we should actually take a shower,” she said a few minutes later.

He shrugged. “I suppose.”

“I’m too tired.” She yawned. “Let’s be lazy today.”

“What do you have in mind?” he asked with a suggestive brow wiggle. “A day in bed?”

She pretended to pass out. “A breakfast picnic?”

“Do we have to stand up?” he asked. “Hey what’s this tattoo on your thigh?”

“Oh, that’s my Celtic seahorse. It suggests guidance to another world.”

“Well you’ve sure guided me to another world, an incredible new world, a polka-dot paradise like your fingernails, suggestive like your shirts, delicious like your cherry scent, and as sublime as the texture of your skin beneath my hands and tongue. Sweet and calming like the sounds you make when you come in my arms.”

She blushed. She couldn’t help herself. “Picnic?” she repeated. “Please.”

After they finally showered, when she opened the kitchen door, bugs flew out at them. More crawled on the kitchen door, the curtains, and countertops. Bugs everywhere.

“Ladybugs,” Morgan said. “I’ve never seen so many in one place.”

Destiny followed him inside but left the kitchen door open so the bugs could leave when they wanted. “The place is crawling with them. Aren’t they cute?” One landed on her hand, and she remembered that in France, people believed that if a ladybug landed on a girl’s hand, it meant she was getting married. Yeah, right.

“Ladybugs are good omens, signs of good luck,” she said. “They remind us that life is short, so we should release our fears, enjoy and trust in destiny, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

But Morgan wasn’t smiling. He stood stock-still staring at his blue French enamelware coffeepot covered in ladybugs.

“Yikes,” Destiny said, taking her painting off the wall to compare it to the real thing. “It’s my painting come to life.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Morgan couldn’t seem to pry his gaze from the sight.

“Funny,” she said, “I always thought the item in my painting was a watering can.”

“I use mine as a teakettle but sometimes a watering can,” he said. “It could be either, I suppose.”

Destiny shook her head, a bit dazed by the sight herself. “It’s neither; it’s a French enamelware coffeepot. I own a curio shop, remember? Morgan, I can tell you’re freaked, but I painted that years and years ago. It could have taken place anywhere at any time, and many times. I might never have known it happened. It doesn’t
have
to be this scene.”

Morgan grunted, but she knew he wasn’t listening.

“The tower is structurally
sound
,” he snapped as he walked away.

Chapter Twenty-four

HE couldn’t get over the fact that he’d seen her painting come to life. A simple thing—a swarm of ladybugs covering a coffeepot—which Destiny saw in her head as a child, except that it happened now, down to the color of the coffeepot.

Down to the right colors, like in his unspoken, unfinished plans for the lighthouse.

All he could see in his mind’s eye was her painting of the tower in ruins. The thought that psychics might exist gave him a sick headache. Destiny was getting ready for a leisurely picnic that would probably include sex, and he felt like jumping out of his skin. Well, she could cure that. Sex with her could cure nearly everything, except for the unnerving thought that psychics might exist.