by Sharon Page
Moaning, Alana writhed against the pillows, craving more of Colin, wanting him filling her. But with that last orgasm, her urgency was less, her hunger temporarily sated. Now she could think of other things, like running her hands over his hard body. Samhain might be the only chance she had to do so.
“Wait. I want to see you.” Her voice sounded oddly hoarse, her throat raw from all her vocality.
Colin levered himself off her, his forearms braced on either side of her hips. “Look your fill.” He grinned, licking his wet lips, her juices smeared across his mouth and stubbled chin. “I’m not hiding anything.”
She ignored the obvious reference to his naked state and her lack of the same. “Lie down, then.”
Grinning, he complied without demur, stretching out on the bed and clasping his hands behind his head, throwing his pectorals into prominence. He displayed the same confidence that had caught her eye last Beltane when he’d first opened his shop. She hadn’t been able to pinpoint what about him attracted her attention back then, but now she knew: it was his carriage, that absolute confidence in the way he bore himself and now allowed her to look her fill.
Sitting up, she smiled, taking pleasure in Colin’s nudity and his unabashed arousal.
He was lean yet well-built, with none of the obvious beefiness of burly men—so different from Bryce. She’d never suspected this was what hid beneath the businesslike shirts of her jeweler neighbor, never noticed just how wide his shoulders were. What else had she missed?
He was Bryce’s opposite in almost every way: from his easy tenor to his lean physique, the elegant line of his jaw—now shadowed with stubble—and straight, sharp nose to the smooth russet hair and the light, unbroken tan of his skin. Even the soft dusting of hair on his chest.
She couldn’t resist putting her hands on him, needing to replace the lackluster memories of Bryce’s lovemaking with those of Colin’s fiery expertise.
His muscles rippled under her palms, his belly a warm board of resilient cobbles. A remainder of his stint with the Army, perhaps? Bending down, she rubbed her cheek along the faint arrow of soft hair pointing south, bisecting his chiseled abs, mindful of its guidance. She rejoiced in the differences between the two men, grateful that Colin was so much more.
Her ponytail spilled over her face, blocking her view of her destination. Impatient with the interruption, she tossed her head, sending her hair back over her shoulder.
The motion unveiled his straining cock, its round head thick and ready. She skirted his sex, blowing on his shaft as she passed it on her way to his furry balls. She nuzzled them gently, delighting in their size. Down here his summer scent was much stronger.
Colin caught her head, fiddled with something at the back. “If you’re going to do that, I want this off.” He held out the silver twist she used to put up her ponytail as her hair cascaded across her shoulders and down her back.
His eyes widened, probably recognizing the piece; she’d bought it from his shop during the festival sale last Lughnasadh. “You have good taste.” His grin was full of devilment as he laid the clasp by the pillows.
“I wish.” If her judgment was so good, Bryce wouldn’t have duped her that easily. Maybe she wouldn’t have waited so long to act on her attraction to Colin.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you.” He ran his fingers through her hair daringly, fanning them across her shoulders, then settled back on the mattress. “Please, proceed with what you were doing.”
His nonchalant offer was so courteous Alana felt driven to shake him. Spurred on by an imp of mischief, she dipped her head, licking the length of his cock like a piece of hard candy, nibbling and sucking up and down his shaft.
She was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath and a low groan; then Colin buried his hands in her hair and pulled her closer. “Bright Belanus, yes!”
Gratified by his reaction, she redoubled her efforts, stroking his thick sex with both hands and taking his head between her lips. She licked and swirled her tongue over him, drew fanciful patterns on his velvety flesh.
He only grew harder. Thicker. Seeping a salty sweetness that called to her, enticed her to take him deeper.
Now it was his turn to surrender to pleasure, and she found the prospect entirely agreeable. Bryce always treated sex like an itch to be scratched, a problem to be dealt with quickly with as little fuss as possible. Colin’s voluptuary approach made his lovemaking a celebration of the senses, and he was a feast she intended to enjoy.
His cock jerked against her lips, warm and resilient. Living steel sheathed in silk and velvet. She pressed her mouth on him, nibbling his length with delicate care, laughing when he called to Belanus for strength.
“It’s a ruthless woman, you are,” he chided as she brushed her lips lightly over his plum-like head. He suffered her un-practiced attentions with gratifying zest, groaning with every stroke of her tongue.
His hungry growl when she took him deep into her mouth sent shivers up her spine, knowing she was teasing a predator and would soon reap the consequences. She creamed at the thought of his prodigious control snapping, anticipating the fury of his lovemaking.
Alana sucked hard on his cock, fondling his balls with one hand and his shaft with the other, trying to hasten his outburst. With all the time he’d spent pleasuring her, surely he couldn’t last much longer.
It happened suddenly with only the abrupt tightening of Colin’s butt cheeks to warn her. He sat up, jerking her into his arms and tumbling her onto her back in one fluid motion.
Before she could even gasp, he had her legs hooked over his shoulders. He buried himself inside her with a sharp thrust that stretched her swollen inner membranes with delightful force, his thick cock delving deep into her yielding flesh and settling snug against her core. He pounded her, his hips pistoning in a fast, relentless rhythm that didn’t slack even when rapture burst through her in a precipitate outpouring of delight.
He swept her higher, driving her up the heights of pleasure, merciless in his passion, his gaze turned inward as he pumped her, focused on some unseen goal.
Moaning, Alana clawed the bed as savage need coiled once more in her belly, cream gushing as Colin slammed into her. Peak after glorious peak fell away beneath her in rapturous splendor, each more breathtaking than the previous one. Lights flashed before her eyes, scintillating and golden.
“Yes! Give me more!” He urged her onward, inciting her with hands and mouth and tongue, his cock’s mind-blowing friction fueling a firestorm that rampaged through her senses. Each hard thrust fanned the flames engulfing her body, stoked her burning thirst for more.
She came with explosive force, one that overshadowed her previous orgasms and catapulted her screaming into the starspangled heavens. She soared weightless, borne by a towering wave of rapture strengthened by renewed surges of ecstasy that buoyed her ever higher.
Colin jerked in her arms, roaring his release as he continued pumping her, drawing out the climax. The raw pleasure lasted for endless moments, overwhelming her nerves with sheer sensation, before tumbling her onto a gentle shore.
Replete, she lay panting beneath her virile blanket, boneless with carnal languor. Unbelievable. She’d never dreamed so much pleasure was possible. If she didn’t have to move until Beltane, it would still be too soon.
“So, why’s Alcott after your brooch?” The question floated through Alana’s euphoria, idle and unthreatening. A simple query with an equally simple answer.
She responded without thinking, all caution held at bay by satiation. “He wants to use it to summon Papa Dare.”
The male heat covering her slipped to one side, then snuggled her against a broad, firm chest. “Who?”
“My great-grandfather, Adair MacArdy. It was his brooch.” Memories of Papa Dare flashed before her mind’s eye. He’d raised her after her parents and grandparents had died in a plane crash, had taught her how to use her wood magic and to amplify it using the brooch. He’d led her through her grief and w
restled with the problems of female adolescence. He’d stayed until he was sure she would be all right. Then he’d given her his brooch, the secret of his long life, the reason behind the wild success of her business, and had passed on after one hundred and twelve years.
Alana blinked back tears at the reminder of her loss.
“Summon him for what?” Gentle hands stroked her belly, a rhythmic back-and-forth that soothed her distress.
“Bryce thinks it’s part of some treasure Papa Dare had, so he stole my brooch. He’ll use it to enslave Papa Dare, make a simulacrum of him and force him to reveal the location of his treasure.” The discussion reminded her of what waited beyond the wards. She groped for her brooch, relaxing only when its magical warmth enfolded her.
“Is it? Part of the treasure, I mean.” There was no change in the rhythm of Colin’s strokes, nothing but absent interest in his voice.
She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Certainly, there were hints aplenty from Papa Dare’s stories.
“How does Alcott know about the treasure?”
“He found a ring.” Bryce had brandished it at her, so sure she could do nothing against him. “Somehow he connected it to Papa Dare. And from him to me,” she finished in a whisper. The glee on the earthworm’s face when he’d admitted he’d sought her out merely to steal her brooch was still stark in her memory.
How could she have been so blind? Bryce had never wanted her. No wonder he’d barely made an effort at pleasuring her during sex. To think she’d hoped things would improve. That this Samhain would add a spark to their lovemaking. She bit her lip, remembering her excitement that morning when she’d shaved her nether lips. What an idiot she’d been!
“Is there anything to eat?” Alana suddenly realized she was famished. She couldn’t remember when she last ate.
“Just soul cakes.” Colin used his chin to gesture toward the foot of the bed.
Of course. The traditional bannocks were spread out on the window seat beside a basket filled with brown bottles of ale. Alana left the bed to get one, strangely grateful for her skirt and blouse as she forced her shaky legs to carry her to the window. She ran her fingers though her hair to give them something to do, the brush of her unbound tresses along her back sending a thrill up her spine.
The oat bread was chewy and sweetened with honey for energy to help lovers last through the long night. She consumed it eagerly, conscious of her latest exertions. The delicious ache between her damp thighs wouldn’t let her forget.
“Want some?”
Colin lounged on the bed, his arms folded behind his head, one leg bent at the knee with its foot flat on the mattress, his soft cock in its nest of curls exposed to her gaze—completely unabashed by his nudity. And why should he be? He was clearly an excellent example of the male of the species. “Please. An ale would be good, too, if you don’t mind.”
Holding her bannock between her lips, Alana twisted off the cap of one bottle, then handed him his brew and a soul cake. “Why upstairs?” she blurted out after taking a mouthful of oat bread, asking the question that had been nagging her.
He took his time quaffing ale, the strong column of his throat working steadily as he drank. “It was the nearest haven. Simulacra are fast, faster than most people. We wouldn’t have made it out the door even with my distraction, so upstairs was the only option.” He bit into his bannock before continuing. “It helps that it’s above ground. In most cases, simulacra have to maintain contact with earth or stone. If the HardWood used brick in its construction, for example, we’d already be in trouble.”
About to sip from her own bottle, Alana paused. “Most cases? There are exceptions?”
Colin gave her a tight smile from behind the soul cake. “Samhain—the time when spirits walk freely. If the necromancer is strong enough, he can force a simulacrum off the ground even if it doesn’t have any contact with stone.”
She stared at him in horror, the oat bread like sawdust in her mouth. “Then—”
He shook his head. “Not yet. Alcott’s barely stressed the wards. But maybe. Eventually.”
“So we’re trapped here?”
“Not hardly!” Colin retorted immediately, his tone almost indignant. The quickness of his reply reassured her of his sincerity.
Alana searched the room for another exit, but only the window presented itself. “The window?” she asked incredulously. They were more than twenty feet up because this side of the building had three stories, counting the ground-level pub in the HardWood’s basement.
“Uh-hmm.” He raised his bottle in the affirmative.
She drank some ale and finished another bannock while she considered his answer and the confidence implicit in his casual delivery. “There’s no ledge.”
“No problem.” Thumping the mattress, he brushed crumbs off the sheet, then patted the bed in invitation and set his empty bottle on the floor.
Nonplussed by his assertion, she walked across the room, fully conscious of his warm, admiring gaze sweeping her body, and sat down where he’d indicated, wondering how he intended to escape.
Colin wrapped an arm around her waist as he settled back on the pillows and urged her down beside him. “He didn’t just give it back to you.” He returned to his original topic as though there hadn’t been a long break in their conversation.
Alana went still at his statement but couldn’t pretend to misunderstand. Smiling grimly, she gave a careless shrug. “When I realized he was the one who took it, I stole it back.”
He laughed softly, his arms closing around her as he spooned her against his chest. He held her that way for several heartbeats in restful silence.
“Would it work, do you think?”
She stiffened at his question, his reassuring embrace suddenly feeling constrictive. Why’d he ask that now?
“Maybe,” Alana answered cautiously. “Papa Dare had it forever. There’s bound to be a resonance.”
“Then unless you break its link to your great-grandfather, there’ll always be a chance Alcott will succeed.” His voice was calm—logical and dispassionate—as though he didn’t have any stake in the matter.
She twisted around in his arms, needing to see his expression. “What do you mean by ‘break its link'?”
He met her gaze steadily, his face revealing nothing untoward. “Rework it so it can’t be used to summon your greatgrandfather.”
Alana clutched the big brooch, its rounded metal edges biting into her palm. “Rework it?” Her voice broke at his suggestion. Lose her most cherished memento of Papa Dare, never mind the magic that allowed her to tend to the gardens in the Pleasure Quarter?
“I could do it,” Colin was quick to offer.
She bit her lip. Was it all a ploy to get his hands on the brooch? Dared she trust him? He seemed to have her best interests at heart, seeing how he’d helped her elude Bryce’s simulacrum. But she wouldn’t have thought Bryce could turn to necromancy, so her judgment wasn’t all that reliable.
“I can’t risk it.”
Leaning back into the pillows, Colin blinked at the non sequitur. Risk what? Him reworking the brooch? He wasn’t as bad as all that! In fact, he prided himself in his craftsmanship.
He kicked himself at his ego. Alana’s doubts didn’t seem based on his skills—or lack thereof. He speared his fingers through his hair, at a loss for another answer.
“The simplest solution is to destroy it. It lacks elegance, but it’d be over quickly.” It galled him to make the suggestion, the artist in him horrified by the prospect, although the trained soldier knew it was the most expedient solution. “It would cut the link between it and your great-grandfather.”
Alana was shaking her head even before he finished speaking, her lips set in absolute rejection. But, then, he hadn’t thought she’d actually consider it.
Colin frowned inwardly. If he couldn’t convince her to let him rework the brooch, he’d need every erg of power he could get to protect her from Alcott and his simulacrum.
Just then, the walls flashed, another sudden ripple of yellow light that was there and then gone. He’d noticed it happening earlier, while he’d been making love to Alana, but now it was happening more frequently.
“What was that?” She grabbed his arm, staring at the wood panels as though expecting a simulacrum to emerge from the blank walls or break through the door.
“The wards,” Colin bit out tersely, rubbing the back of her hand. “Alcott’s attacking them.” There was no danger of them failing any time soon, but one thing the necromancer had was time. With midnight still approaching, every minute that passed increased Alcott’s access to power.
Her grip tightened, her knuckles turning white as her short nails bit into his skin. “What do we do?”
“For the moment? Just stay here. It’s still some hours to midnight. He’s going to get stronger.” While Colin got weaker, save for the energy he was drawing from the festivities. “Facing him down now would be a losing proposition.”
Of course, if the confrontation went down here in the Pleasure Quarter, Colin could tap the emotion in the air to boost his fire magic, but that would put civilians at risk. He didn’t even want to consider what would happen if someone was killed: the boost to Alcott’s power would be enough to give the fool an addiction to death magic. From what he’d heard, it was that potent.
Best to distract Alana and gather what power he could. Fretting wouldn’t change their situation.
She moaned when he licked behind her ear, his restless hands gliding all over the smooth expanse of her welcoming body. “So we’re just going to lie here while Bryce gets stronger?” The desire and delight coming from her told him she wasn’t adverse to his attentions.
Colin caught her soft lips, his stubble rasping against her jaw. “We’re not just lying around,” he informed her between deep, torrid kisses. “We’re charging up … or, at least, I am.”
4
Another wave of light flickered over the walls—still mostly yellow flashes, not that Colin expected that to last. They’d been coming more often in the past hour, sometimes with barely a pause between attacks. Alcott had to be nearby to sustain such an effort, even with midnight approaching.