Wickedest Witch (4 page)

Could she find someone like that? Someone who would share a common interest with her and whom she could talk to with ease?
Someone who will embrace my evil side instead of treat it like a flaw?

The maudlin direction of her thoughts irritated her and as she coasted down from the sky, aiming for her building, she took her annoyance out on the couple strolling
along the sidewalk. Her magic made the sidewalk icy despite the warm evening air. Feet went sliding, bodies crashing, and her lips curved in an evil smile when she heard a woman’s voice screech, “Get off me, you giant oaf.”

Alighting on her balcony, she swiped her finger across the sliding glass door
, disarming her alarm before entering. A witch never left her things unguarded.

Evangeline parked her broom in the front hall closet
—yes, the whole broom thing was cliché but practical. It didn’t take up much space, she could always find parking, and it never ran out of gas. Of course, on the down side, whipping through the air messed up her hair and was only useful on short trips given the low level of comfort that came with a hard wooden handle as a seat. For longer voyages, she tended to use a shag rug.

Away from prying eyes, she snapped
her fingers and dropped the glamor she wore whenever she went out. She’d learned years ago if she wanted people—and other supernatural beings—to take her seriously as a force to be reckoned with, she needed to look the part. Unfortunately, her real life petite and curvy frame did not make for an imposing witch, not to mention, who ever heard of a sorceress with freckles? And no amount of straightening or spells could do anything with her cork screw curls. Stupid genes.

D
raining as a magical glamor was to maintain, she used it and adopted a cold, ice queen persona that people noticed. One glacial glare and people knew to get out of her way. She quite enjoyed her alter ego; tall and skinny with a great set of legs.

Kicking off her pumps, she padded
barefoot into her living room, the clear spruce wood floor hidden partially by a thick white shag rug. She loved the open space without knickknacks or clutter, just a pair of matching white leather couches, a large, flat screen television, a slim bookshelf with a handful of magical tomes, and a glass table upon which sat a crystal ball, a ball that currently flashed. Unlike the gypsies and seers, hers didn’t act as a portal to view the future; instead, hers acted as a magical version of an answering machine. She only needed to place a hand on it to play back her messages.

“Evangeline, are you there? Hello? Evangeline? Stupid machine. It’s your mother, call me.”

Beep
. Next message.

“Eva! Oh, by Satan’s horns, are you never home? You had better be at that dress shop for your fitting on Friday or I am
so
going to send a demon after you.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes at her sister’s message.
Not another dress fitting. I’d rather baste for a while over the flames of hell.
Hmm, given who her sister’s fiancé was, that could very well happen if she didn’t show up. Crap.

Beep.

A high-pitched voice spoke next.
“This message is for Wicked Incorporated. I am in need of the services of a witch of your caliber. If interested in making an obscene amount of money, please meet me at...
”

Evangeline scrambled for a pen and paper to write down the instructions. She recognized both the address and the voice. The speaker wasn’t kidding when he said she’d make an obscene amount of money. She’d worked for him before. She wondered what he needed this time. Last time, he’d wanted her to turn a pony into a unicorn for his daughter’s birthday, a huge success, even if it resulted in a flood of calls from others asking for more party
favors. Of course, most of them had politely hung up when she mentioned her going rate, which didn’t bother her, as she had no interest in being some kind of parlor trick for spoiled brats.

As she thought up ways to spend the money she’d soon mak
e, she readied for bed. Alone.
But I could have had some company.
For some reason, the stranger from the bar popped into her head—more specifically the shifter’s big,
very
masculine body. What she wouldn’t give right now to have that male body with her in bed, naked of course. She’d noticed the bulging muscles that rippled under his clothes. She did so like a big man, problem was they usually preferred someone more delicate than her. Someone like her alter ego. He’d sure seemed interested in getting to know her ice queen persona more intimately. And in retrospect, she couldn’t deny she would have enjoyed seeing the behemoth wearing nothing but a smirk.

I wonder if his shaft is as thick as the rest of him.
Evangeline very much liked a well-endowed man. Wicked or not, a witch had needs. Carnal needs. Needs sometimes only a man, or at least his cock, could satisfy.

With a squirm of arousal, she slid her hands under the covers and pulled off her damp panties.
Masturbation wasn’t new for her and would ease the ache in her cleft. Without shame, or a second thought, she slid her fingers through her trimmed curls and found her clit. After wetting her index finger with her own juices, she stroked her sensitive nub and closed her eyes in pleasure. For a naughty visual, she imagined the shifter’s heavy frame poised above her, the muscles in this arms tensing as he held himself up, the tip of his cock poised against her sex. He’d dip his head down and suck on her breasts, his unshaved jaw abrading her soft skin.

Evangeline sighed and her finger rubbed more quickly. She slid two fingers from her free hand into her wet pussy, the slickness and heat exciting her. Biting her lip, she imagined the feel of his prick sliding between her thighs straight into her damp sheath, his thickness stretching her and filling her. Her muscles clenched her pumping fingers
as her breath hitched. She worked herself faster. Amazing how a fantasy of a complete stranger could excite her.
I bet he’s the type of guy who likes to fuck hard, his long shaft driving deep while he sucks on my nipples.

W
ith a cry of pleasure, Evangeline came, the ripples of her orgasm squeezing her embedded fingers tight. Stunned at her quick bout of self-pleasure, she went to the washroom to wash up, readying herself for a second time for bed. Yet, even after she ran a cool cloth over her heated skin, she still found herself plagued by naughty thoughts of the rugged stranger.

I really need to find a new lover
and quick. Look at me, fantasizing about a dirty shifter. I must be desperate.
More like horny
.

Was it time to lower her standards? At least temporarily
?
With my sister’s wedding coming up soon,
perhaps I shouldn’t have dismissed him so hastily.
She did after all know a good pet groomer. Surely they could do something to make him presentable. Shave him. Give him a haircut. Dress him in a suit. Put an electro shock collar around his neck so she could zap him when he got out of line.

And on that thought,
and with an evil smile on her lips, she curled up and went to sleep only to have even more erotic dreams about a hulking stranger that had her wet and squirming all night long.

“More. Give me more.”

Ryker didn’t need to be told again. He didn’t know how he’d come to find himself between the thighs of the cutie begging him, but he wouldn’t deny her what she wanted. In and out he thrust his cock, riding her fast as she panted wantonly, her skin flushed with dew.

He recognized her for who she was.
My mate.
The one meant for him. The one woman who would complete him and accept him for who he was.
My destiny.

A part of him questioned how he’d gotten her, who she was. Something about the whole thing seemed rather sudden and surreal.

Dreamlike.

A dream.

The illusion shattered and Ryker woke to a raging hard-on, his erotic fantasy dissipating, the details fading, leaving him almost bereft. And still so fucking horny.

Damn it. Couldn’t he have woken after he’d at least come?

While his blue balls bothered him, of more intrigue was the lingering certainty he’d seen his mate. Many scoffed at the idea of a predestined lover. He knew he had. Sure, many claimed they’d known from the moment they met their wife or husband that they recognized this would be the person they’d spend their life with. Their soul mate.

Ryker used to call it bullshit.
But that was before the dream. Now…now he wasn’t so certain. But who was the woman?

Ryker didn’t know where he’d seen his dream babe before. Surely, he would have remembered her
. Who wouldn’t with her frizzy brown hair in a wild halo around her head? Who could forget her button nose sprinkled with freckles and clear green eyes? She also had a plump figure, the kind made to welcome a man’s passions. In his dream, he’d fondled full breasts, plentiful enough to spill through his fingers. She’d boasted full, rounded hips, and he dared to hope a smooth, round bottom made for slapping up against. Just thinking about the creamy white thighs from his dream made all the blood in his body converge into one spot—one very hard spot.

Stranger or not, he could so easily picture her when he closed his eyes. She was everything he liked in a woman.
Everything he’d ever fantasized.

In his dream, she’d laid
on her back with her lush breasts beckoning his hot mouth, inviting and teasing him to taste. Talk about arousing. Ryker’s hand closed around his cock and he stroked it, his hand sliding up and down its smooth length. He could almost feel her fingers digging into his scalp as he plucked a tight berry with his lips, sucking it and teasing it with the edge of his teeth. She’d make sweet sounds of pleasure, and she would squirm under him, begging him for more.

He’d oblige.
He imagined himself between her creamy thighs, his cock pumping into the wet pussy that welcomed him with tight muscles. His rod thickened even more in his hand as he imagined her legs wrapping around him, locking him tight into her moist sheath. She’d beg him to ride her fast and hard. Clutch him tight to her plentiful tits and rock her hips against him, drawing him deeper, suctioning him with her wet sex…

With a bellow, Ryker shot his load, the force of his orgasm surprising him.

Fuck me. I have to find my dream girl. If this how I come from just imagining her, then I don’t even want to think about how it would feel to do it in person.
A thought that made his spent cock lift in interest.

Forget the witch he’d met earlier. He needed to find his green
-eyed dream babe. His future. His mate.

Despite a rather sleepless night—plagued by dreams, nightmares more
accurately, centered around a large beast of a man who did unspeakably enjoyable things to her naked bod
y—
Evangeline arrived right on time for her appointment. Smoothing down her pristine skirt, she presented an image of poise and professionalism in her black pencil skirt, red silk blouse, and lustrous black pearls. Or at least the glamorized version of herself did. Under the spell, Evangeline wore comfortable black slacks, a snug knitted sweater with a V neckline, and bright red lipstick.

Why the invisible dab of femininity? Surely not because she expected to run into a certain uncouth shifter
who, with one skin to skin touch, would see her true self. The chances of her encountering him were practically nonexistent. Since they’d only met for the first time last evening, they obviously did not run in the same social circles. Nor would they again since after the incident of the previous night, she’d already decided to never return to the bar where she’d met him.

Despite her
odd attraction to him– and her vastly enjoyable masturbation while picturing hi
m—
the reality of his personality—crass—not to mention his caste—disgusting animal—didn’t make a relationship, not even a sexual one, a concept worth pursuing. And no, she did not care what her body or subconscious thought. Erotic dreams or not, she refused to abase herself and that was that.

Why was she even wasting time dwelling on it?
She had business to attend to and money to make.

Heels clacking on the interlocked paving
stones leading up to the grand veranda, she thrust all unnecessary thoughts aside. She’d need her wits about her for her upcoming meeting.

T
he looming oaken doors of the mansion, eight foot carved monstrosities oiled and stained so that they gleamed, boasted an old fashioned brass knocker in the shape of a gargoyle’s head. It opened an eye and glared at her.

“Go away. The master doesn’t like door to door salespeople.”

“Neither do I.”

“He also doesn’t entertain light skirts.”

Up went a brow. “Do I really look like that type of woman?”

The metallic face sneered. “Nah. You’re obviously too uptight.”

“I’ll show you uptight,” she muttered. She pointed a finger at the impertinent creature, and with a zap of magic, sealed its lips shut.

“Mmhphf
,” it mumbled.