Mysteria Nights

by P. C. Cast

  There was so much hatred in his voice, she stumbled back. “Yeah. So?”

  “So, let’s just say I’m not very fond of witches.”

  She snorted, refusing to believe him. “You’ve always been nice to Godiva and Genevieve.”

  “I wasn’t . . . attracted to them.” The admission was snarled, more an accusation than anything.

  “That’s—” Wait. What? He was attracted to her? Pleasure zoomed through her with such potency she almost fell to her knees. But the sensation lasted only five seconds before common sense reared its ugly head. He’ll say anything to soften you. Even a humiliating lie. Pleasure morphed into searing fury.

  Why, that . . . that . . . bastard! Her fingers tightened around the stick, and she had to fight the urge to grab the pen and write a hungry lion into the scene. “So you were attracted to me, were you?” she asked as calmly as she was able.

  “What do you think?” he muttered, motioning to his dick with his chin.

  She dropped her gaze, staring between his legs with wonder. Okay. Maybe he hadn’t been lying. He was hard, his erection straining against his jeans. “Th-that’s not because of me.” Was it?

  “Your nipples are hard, and I can see the outline of fine red hair between your legs. Obviously, you’re not wearing any panties. So yeah, it’s because of you.”

  Her mouth floundered open and closed. “Only because I’m the only woman present and you’re probably in heat.” Warmth bloomed in her face as she finally covered her breasts with one arm and between her legs with the other. “So you can just look away!”

  “Make me.”

  “I’ll take away your sight. Just see if I won’t.”

  Finally his gaze snapped back up to her face. “Are you truly that cruel?”

  Damn him! He’d zapped her anger with those words, making her feel like the wicked witch Evie had teased her about being. “No. I won’t go that far,” she whispered, as shamed as he’d been a moment ago.

  “How far are you going to take it, then?”

  She peered down at her bare feet—Ick, time for a pedicure—and kicked a rock with the tip of her toe. “I honestly don’t know.”

  Falon clenched his jaw, cutting off any words that might try to escape his mouth. A mouth currently watering for a taste of the woman in front of him. Her curves were a thing of beauty. And with ribbons of moonlight seeping from the canopy of treetops, paying her flawless skin absolute tribute, with that flame red hair dancing like naughty nymphs around her shoulders and her lips glistening from the sting of her teeth, his beast wanted to tame her beauty.

  Except, she now appeared defeated.

  He hated seeing her like that almost as much as he hated being bound. Almost. Right now, however, he was too primed to feel anything more than desire. He wanted her to reach out, to touch him, kiss him. Suck him.

  He was hard as a damn rock and needed to come.

  “The night you came to my house in that trench coat,” he said.

  Her attention suddenly locked on him and the fire blazing inside him. “The night you screwed that fairy hooker? That night?”

  Surprisingly enough, her waspish tone delighted him. “Jealous?”

  “As if!”

  He hadn’t invited the fairy, whatever her name was, to his house. He’d met her in town earlier that day, had talked and laughed with her, but hadn’t meant to take it further. She was married, for God’s sake. Had Glory not been standing in front of him, he would have sent the fairy away. He liked sex, yes, but he’d never allowed a woman inside his home. They tended to linger, and he liked to do the deed and move on.

  In fact, the moment Glory had taken off, he’d sent the pink-skinned fairy packing. Despite the fact that she had offered him apples—off of her body. He hadn’t even touched her. Had just stood at the window, peeking out the blinds like a criminal, hoping for and dreading a reappearance from Glory.

  He’d been hard then, too, so maybe he should have slept with the fairy. But it had been flame red hair his hands had wanted to tangle in, hazel eyes he’d wanted to stare into, and a soft, plush body he’d wanted to penetrate.

  No one else would have done.

  Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to have sex these past few months. He felt guilty for how he’d hurt Glory, so his body would no longer allow him to respond to other women. Maybe he needed to sleep with her once—or twice—and build up her self-esteem. She’d feel better about herself, he’d stop feeling guilty for the way he’d treated her, and they could both go on with their lives.

  Are you kidding? Are you so hard up you’ve got to bed a witch? Think of the consequences, idiot! She’s nuts now, so how much worse will she be after you’ve slept with her? What if she didn’t want things to end after the sex was over? What if she tried to punish him again?

  “Uh, hello?” she said, exasperated.

  “What?” he asked more harshly than he’d intended.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing the material of her gown tight over her breasts. And nipples. Which were still hard. She was killing him. He could make out the edge of the pen between her fingers, but he couldn’t make himself care.

  “You mentioned the incident,” she said. “Well, what about it?”

  He’d had a point, hadn’t he? Oh, yeah. “You were aroused when you came to me.”

  A huffy gasp left her. “No, I was not! I was going to give you a chance to arouse me. That’s all.”

  “Please. You flashed me, and baby, you were already glistening.”

  Her cheeks heated to the same shade as her hair, making her all the lovelier. “You are very close to losing your favorite appendage.” Scowling, peering at him hotly, she jerked the hand holding the pen forward and poised it just below his nose.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” he rushed out. Damn her and her powers! He lost his erection as every reason he hated witches flashed through his mind. “I’m sorry.” But not as sorry as you’ll soon be. “You were cold as ice that night.” You nearly singed me. “You weren’t turned on at all.” The scent of your desire is still imprinted on my brain.

  Slowly, she lowered her arm, expression mollified.

  The limbs binding him began to loosen their grip, and he blinked in surprise. Was it possible? With a twist of his wrist, he was free. That easy, that simple, as if he’d never been bound. He had to hold on to the limbs to keep them upright. He blinked again, doing his best to hide his elation.

  Glory was going to pay. Oh, was she going to pay. First, he had to claim that fucking pen!

  “Com’ere,” he said as gently as he was able. “Please. I want to tell you a secret.”

  She shook her head, red curls flinging in every direction. “What kind of secret?” Suspicion danced in her eyes.

  He tried to look troubled.

  “Tell me like this. No one can hear us.”

  “I don’t want to say it aloud. It’s . . . embarrassing.”

  Several moments ticked by, and she remained in place. Then she sighed and stalked to him, hands fisted on her hips. She was so sure of her prowess—and his weakness. She’d learn . . .

  “What?” she said.

  Her feminine fragrance wafted to his nostrils, the same aroma she’d emitted that night on his porch. In the cell. She still desired him. He took a moment to simply enjoy. Savor. Crickets chirped a lazy song, and locusts rattled an accompanying, faster rhythm. In the distance, a dog barked. Around them, pink flower petals floated through the air, warm and sweet, each laced with a strong aphrodisiac. He’d heard that Glory had cast a love spell over the entire town, and since that day the petals had fallen from the sky like summer snow.

  “What?” she demanded again.

  “This.” He grinned, and snapped his arms closed around her waist.

  She yelped.

  “Got ya,” he said.

  Four

  Shock coursed through Glory, and it was mixed with an insidious thread of desire. Falon had her locked against his hard, hot body so
tightly she could feel the frantic beat of his heart. Or maybe that was her heartbeat. Her breasts were mashed into his chest, her nipples like hard little points, and every time she breathed, she sucked in the scent of strength and soap and dark spice.

  “Nothing to say?” Falon asked smugly.

  “Let me go. Now.” Trying not to panic, she attempted to lift her arms, attempted to flatten her palms against his chest and push him away from her, but her arms were glued to her sides.

  “None of that,” he said, latching onto her wrists with one hand and shoving them behind her. With his free hand, he grabbed the stick. Clearly, he assumed it was the pen, because his grin widened.

  “Mine now,” he said, and stuffed it into his pants pocket.

  Do not smile. “Give it back.”

  “Make me.”

  Not knowing how to respond, she ran her tongue over her teeth.

  His gaze followed the movement, his pupils dilating.

  “What are you going to do with me?” she demanded. Or rather, meant to demand. Her voice was breathless. Again. Her body was trembling—and not with fury. How did he do this to her? Make her want him despite everything that had happened between them?

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I need to think about it, consider my options. Because I can’t allow you to run wild, using your powers against everyone who pricks your anger.”

  “Yeah, well, before you, I didn’t use my powers for bad things.”

  “So I’m just special?”

  “Of course you’d think so.” Good. Her voice had substance now. “But the real answer is that you’re simply the most irritating person I’ve ever met.” Kiss me. Let it be a terrible experience so that I never crave it again.

  He leaned down and traced the tip of his nose along the curve of her cheek, leaving a trail of decadent fire. Glory tried not to arch her hips and rub against his erection, but she did and, oh, Goddess, was he ever erect. Long and thick, hard and smoldering.

  He groaned, his eyelids fluttering closed. “Again,” he commanded.

  Stop. Don’t do this. Don’t travel down this road. A kiss is one thing. But this. . . Ceasing her gyrations was the most difficult thing Glory had ever done, but she did it.

  And suddenly he was eyeing her again, lashes casting menacing shadows over his cheeks and electric gaze piercing her soul. “I’m going to kiss you.” It was a promise. “And you’re going to kiss me back.” It was a rough demand.

  “No, you’re not.” Please, please, please. “And no, I’m not.” Impossible.

  “Yes, we are. We have to do something to end the madness.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Do what you want.”

  “This doesn’t change anything.”

  “I’m glad you understand that.”

  “Try to take the pen, and you’ll regret it.”

  “I’ll regret it anyway.”

  He arched a brow. “Do you always have to have the last word?”

  “Why, yes, I—”

  His lips smashed into hers. Her mouth opened automatically, welcoming him inside. He thrust deep, and his flavor filled her mouth. Drugging, addicting. White-hot. A tingling ache sparked to life in her stomach, then spread to her chest, her limbs. She melted into him.

  The iron lock on her wrists loosened. Rather than shove him, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. Her fingers tangled in his silky hair. His hands were free now, too, and they fastened on her waist, urging her forward and backward, mimicking the motions of sex.

  Waves of pleasure constantly speared her. This was what she’d dreamed of since going to him that night, so long ago. His mouth on her, his hands all over her, his body straining against hers.

  “More?” he whispered.

  She nibbled on his bottom lip. “More.”

  He reached between them and palmed one of her breasts. His fingers plucked at the hardened nipple. “So perfect.”

  Moaning, she arched her hips. Exquisite contact. Her head dropped backward, and her long tresses tickled her overheated skin. Had Falon not been holding her up with that arm around her waist, she would have fallen.

  No, wait. She was gripping spikes of his hair, tugging them. Hard. A few had already ripped from his scalp and were wrapped around her fingers.

  He didn’t complain.

  She eased closer to him, relaxing her clasp. Her mouth found his neck, and she licked. His skin was a little abrasive, but perfect.

  “You’re so hot,” he said.

  “On fire,” she agreed. She licked the seam of his lips.

  He captured the tip of her tongue and sucked. The hand on her waist slid down . . . down . . . and cupped her ass. As he’d correctly guessed earlier, she wasn’t wearing any underwear, and the tops of his fingers teased her most feminine core. She was so wet, she practically dripped between her legs.

  “Shit. You’re killing me.” One of his fingers stroked her clitoris.

  A tremor rocked her. Shouldn’t be this good. Not with him.

  Before the thought finished whispering through her mind, her entire world spun. Then cool bark was pressing into her back, and Falon was searing her front. He pinned her arms over her head with one hand and palmed her breast with the other.

  “I knew you’d be this good,” he growled, not sounding the least bit happy about it.

  “Wh-what?” Trying to find her common sense, she blinked open her eyes. When had she closed them? Falon loomed over her. His features were harsh, lined with tension, his gaze a swirling sea of blues, purples, and pinks. How odd. They’d never looked that way before.

  His shoulders were so wide, his body seemed to engulf her. Sweat beaded over his sun-kissed skin. He was like an animal whose stomach was rumbling—and he’d just spotted his prey. “Knew it,” he finished. “Feared it.”

  What was he talking about? Feared what? And why wasn’t he kissing her? “Falon, I—”

  “I want this nipple in my mouth.”

  “Yes.” Please, yes. That still qualified as kissing. “Hurry.”

  He ripped her nightgown down, revealing both mounds of her breasts. They were large. Overflowing. The nipples were pink, the hardened tips desperate. For a long while, he simply stared down at her.

  Glory’s cheeks began to heat, and not with desire. Did he like what he saw? He was used to slender women, had once turned Glory away because she wasn’t his type. How could she have forgotten?

  Embarrassed to her soul, she jerked at his hold, meaning to slide the nightgown back in place. He held strong.

  His lips curled in a frown. “What are you doing?”

  “Ending this,” she said, unable to look at him.

  “Be still.”

  “No.”

  He increased the death grip on her wrists, and his other hand cupped her chin, forcing her to face him. “Why do you want to end it?”

  “Because.” Like she’d say it aloud. But maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe that’s how he meant to punish her.

  Punishment. Of course. How could she have forgotten?

  You brought this on yourself. Tears burned her eyes, and her chin trembled.

  “What’s wrong? You look ready to cry.”

  “Let me go,” she commanded brokenly, focusing on his nose so that she wouldn’t have to see those amazing eyes of his and whatever emotion was now banked there.

  A moment passed in silence.

  “Glory,” he said.

  Do it; look at him. Get it over with. See his disgust and start to hate him again. Slowly, her gaze lifted. When their eyes met, she gasped. There was a fire raging there. Tension still branched his mouth, and sweat still trickled down his temples. He looked on edge, aroused to the point of pain.

  “I think you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld. And, like I said, I want your nipple in my mouth, and I think you want it there, too.”

  She gulped, unable to speak past the sudden lump in her throat.

  “I’m going to release your arms. You can p
ush me away or you can urge me closer. The choice is yours.”

  And just like that, she was free. Her arms fell to her sides. She gripped the tree, and jagged bits of bark cut past her skin. The sting did nothing to dampen her desire. He was so hard and hot against her he was like a brand. The pulse in his neck galloped fiercely. His lips were red and glistening from the kiss.

  His chest had stopped moving, she realized. He was holding his breath. Waiting. The knowledge . . . softened her. Was he afraid she’d leave him?

  With a shaky hand, she reached out and palmed his erection.

  He hissed in a breath.

  The tip of his penis had risen well above the waist of his jeans. Actually, the material was so strained, the button had snapped open on its own.

  “Trying to torture me?” he croaked. “’Cause it’s working.”

  Was it? She moistened her lips and released him. Was bereft without him in her hand.

  Now he moaned.

  Despite the warnings trying to slither into her mind, she cupped her breasts and lifted them. “Touch me.”

  His eyes widened in surprised delight. A moment later, he dipped down and flicked his tongue against one pearled nipple, then the other.

  She’d experienced pleasure before, but that had been nothing compared to this. There was an invisible cord from each of her nipples that lead straight to her core, as if he were actually thrumming her clitoris while he licked her. This was Falon, the man she’d fantasized about for years. The man’s whose strength and heat and raw intensity destroyed her defenses and made her crave . . .

  Soon she was writhing, couldn’t have remained still if the plan had been to pretend she felt nothing for him to undermine his confidence and try to convince him he was lacking. He was not lacking.

  He scraped her with his teeth, and she groaned. His fingers caressed a path down her stomach. Her muscles quivered when he paused. Glory felt as though she stood on a precipice, waiting to be pushed over. Would he delve lower, like before, only . . . deeper?

  “How did I ever find the strength to send you away?” he asked hoarsely.

  Some of the flames inside her dwindled to a crackle, and she almost screamed in frustration. If he kept talking, kept reminding her of their painful history, she might lose her pleasure buzz. “No more talking. You’ll ruin it.”