Cast a Lover's Spell

by Claire Thompson

  They walked back to her place, not touching, but closer than the walk out. When they arrived at her brownstone, Anne hesitated. “Listen, the place is a mess—I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  “Please don’t worry. I like a place that’s lived in. I can’t abide those pristine houses with every item in its place, no book spine cracked, no sign of life. One wants a home, not a museum.” Well, it was lived in, all right. At least she’d cleaned up some of the clutter and dusted earlier. No way she would have let him upstairs if she hadn’t.

  As she opened the door and gestured him inside, Paul said, “What a beautiful old place. These brownstones remind me of London in the last century. The fine woodwork, the beveled molding, the attention to detail and the solid workmanship.” Anne puffed with pride. He hadn’t seemed to notice the piles of old papers and books crammed into the overfilled shelves or the fact the sofa needed reupholstering.

  “What’s this?” Paul walked over to a small oil painting on the wall. He gazed at it appraisingly for a moment. “The way the light falls makes one feel one is there, just at dawn. Who did it?” He was admiring a small landscape that depicted a hayfield, newly plowed, its grass neatly bundled into large rolls. It was a simple scene, one of Anne’s favorites.

  Blushing but hugely pleased, she admitted, “I did actually. I paint. Well. I used to paint. Before…” She turned away. When had she stopped living? When had she let everything she held dear fall away from her? Was it the moment he’d died? It wasn’t quite that simple, she realized. It had been slipping away, bit by bit, as he had fallen more and more ill. Would Greg have wanted that? Had he expected her to stop living because he was no longer in the world?

  “You have real talent, Anne. I hope you’ll paint again. Where was this taken from? Upstate New York?”

  “Yes, actually,” she answered, glad to be distracted from her thoughts. “The Hudson Valley. We were driving along on our way to see friends and the scene just struck me as so idyllic. I don’t know why but I love those hay rolls. They make me happy for some reason.”

  “Well, you’ve captured the beauty of the place and your love for your subject.” Paul’s tone was sincere. He turned from the painting to Anne, bestowing one of those dazzling smiles on her.

  How could she have thought he was a murderer? The man liked her art! He couldn’t be all bad. She grinned back at him and said in an overdone British accent, “Shall we have a spot o’ tea then?”

  Paul laughed and answered, “We shall indeed.”

  As he sat at the table, Anne bustled around the kitchen, pouring water into the kettle, putting out a pot of sugar cubes, some lemon and a pitcher of cream. The tiny pitcher was shaped like a small cow, its spout the cow’s open mouth, faded black spots painted on its china body, the tail curled over into a handle. Paul picked it up. “Wherever did you get this? It’s delightful.”

  Anne smiled, realizing as she did she hadn’t smiled and grinned as much in a year as she had in these past few minutes. “That was my grandmother’s. I always loved it as a child and she actually left it to me in her will. I was really touched she’d remembered I liked it.”

  They smiled at one another until Anne felt the heat of another blush coming upon her. Turning away she asked, “What sort of tea do you prefer? I’ve got a whole cabinet full.

  “Earl Grey?”

  “You bet. I’ve even got one of those cute little tea houses to steep it in.”

  “A true tea connoisseur—you would be at home in an English country kitchen.” Anne smiled again—her cheeks were practically aching. She realized with a guilty start she’d barely thought about Greg since Paul had walked into her house. What was wrong with her?

  They sipped their tea in silence, Anne now lost in a funk of guilt and confusion. She could almost feel Greg’s presence, as if his spirit were drifting sadly through the room, his emaciated, jaundiced face a mask of reproach. Paul was quiet, his dark eyes upon her when she looked up. This wasn’t going to work. She just wasn’t ready.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally said in a low voice, “I can’t—”

  Paul put his hand over hers and Anne suddenly found her mouth dry, her tongue thick. She couldn’t seem to speak. She’d been about to tell him he had to go. She wasn’t ready to go out—or even sit in—with another man. She might never be ready. Something inside her had been ripped out, tattered possibly beyond repair. She tried to swallow and say the words, but she could only stare helplessly at Paul.

  “Anne. Everything is fine. Everything is as it should be.” His voice was soothing, almost hypnotic. For a moment she wasn’t sure if he’d spoken aloud or somehow entered her head. But that was ridiculous. Paul’s mesmerizing dark eyes focused on hers and all at once Anne felt a sort of peace descend over her.

  “Would you care for more tea, Paul? Or would you perhaps like some wine? I have a Merlot I’ve been saving for someone special.”

  ~*~

  Paul sat on Anne’s couch, staring out the window of her living room at the starless night. Anne was in her bathroom freshening up. The evening had been delightful, at least on its surface. They had taken their stroll through the park as the sun set over the skyscrapers of Manhattan.

  Anne had looked so adorable eating her hot dog, the chili spilling out between her fingers as she tried to contain the mess. She had laughed and flushed like a young girl, promising him she wasn’t always such a slob. He had found her utterly charming.

  It wasn’t just her wide-eyed beauty that disarmed him. Paul was used to being with beautiful women. Yet most of them bored him even if he admired their form and features.

  Anne was a natural beauty with those shining corkscrew curls spilling around her face and her skin clear and soft, tinged with pink on the apples of her cheeks. She had dressed in a long, flowing silk skirt with batik patterns of dark blue shot with gold. Her sleeveless blouse was a softer shade of the same gold and her flat sandals revealed slender, elegant feet. Her large eyes looked more gray than green in the twilight and they softened when she looked at him.

  Paul twisted his hands and tried to examine the tumult of feelings churning inside him. Naturally her eyes had softened—he had enchanted her! No, he hadn’t given her a love potion but he’d meddled nonetheless. She had clearly been about to refuse him, not once but twice, and each time he’d stayed her words and her thoughts with a spell. She’d only agreed to see him at all because of his first invasion of her thoughts, planting words in her head, twisting her desire in his direction.

  He took some solace from the knowledge they weren’t especially strong spells—just a suggestion to reconsider, to be more receptive to him. Yet he couldn’t deny, despite his own promise to himself earlier that day he would win Anne’s affections without the aid of magic, he’d given in.

  He had been surprised by Anne’s intelligence and quick wit, more used to the vacuous beauties powerful men in Amelia’s social circles seemed to favor. This woman was educated, opinionated and quirky. At the same time she was funny and there was something of a little-girl quality to her that touched his heart. Beneath the obvious sadness at the loss of her husband, he sensed a deeper longing—a yearning for something she had yet to find, perhaps yet to even identify.

  The particular enchantment he’d wrought didn’t actually make Anne do something she didn’t want to do—it merely released her from the fears and concerns that held her back. At least he knew she found him attractive and enjoyed his company, had circumstances been different. Taking a chance, he’d tried releasing her from the receptivity spell from time to time, hoping the sparkle of pleasure in her eyes would remain.

  But each time he had released her she had quieted, her eyes clouding. He could hear the whispered guilt and confusion swirl into her head as the spirit of her dead husband poised to leap back into her mind. Paul knew the spirits of the dead could linger, as real as any living thing in the hearts and minds of their bereaved. He understood far better than Anne the danger of clinging to a spirit who
was ready to depart this earthly plane.

  Yet he also sensed within Anne she wasn’t yet ready to let this spirit go. She was keeping him inside of her, the suffering and pain he’d felt as the cancer ate away at his body still festering inside of her as if she herself had been the one to fall ill and die.

  Paul sat up as he heard Anne coming out of her bedroom. She had changed from her skirt and blouse into a flowing robe of dark crimson satin. The fabric cascaded over her high, firm breasts like a rippling red waterfall. Paul caught his breath at her beauty.

  Anne smiled shyly, still in the grip of his subtle enchantment. “I hope you don’t mind my, uh, changing into something a little more comfortable.” She said the words with a toss of her head, trying to mimic the starlets of old movies who slipped into something silky just before the scene cut to waterfalls and trains going into tunnels. She laughed and Paul laughed with her, unable to help the bulge in his pants at the sight of her fragile but lush beauty.

  Release her, a voice whispered in Paul’s conscience, yet he was afraid. And would it be fair to her, to suddenly allow her to revert to her natural self? Would she feel humiliated to find herself in a scarlet robe, her lovely nipples poking alluringly against the satin that moved like water over her naked body?

  Thoughts flew from Paul’s mind as Anne sat next to him. Her perfume assailed him, something subtly floral with a hint of lemon. “Paul,” she whispered, “I’ve been waiting all night for this.” She lifted her face to him, her eyes fluttering closed, her full lips parting, clearly inviting his kiss. Succumbing to her charms, artificial or otherwise, Paul leaned down, unable to help the small sigh as their lips touched. He gathered the young woman in his arms, crushing her to his chest as they kissed, their tongues twirling in a sweet dance.

  He felt her breasts, soft against his chest as he held her close. She clung to him, holding his head in her hands as she pulled him even closer. As they kissed, his hands roamed her sides, feeling the long, smooth curves of her tapering waist and feminine hips. Lifting her, he hoisted her onto his lap, her thighs pressing against his erect cock.

  Lust exploded in the warlock. Even knowing she was not acting of her own volition, at that moment he didn’t care. How different from a strong drink of liquor was his mild enchantment? If she hadn’t wanted this, the spell he’d cast would have been useless. It wasn’t as if he’d used a strong incantation, requiring magic potions and dust, and great skill and care to create and administer. Had he done that, she would have been powerless, bent to his will regardless of her own desires. No—he’d sent only the mildest of receptivity spells into her psyche. This kiss was from her heart—it had to be.

  Lifting her into his arms, Paul stood. Anne released her mouth from his, her head falling back, her lustrous hair streaming down over his arms. He carried her into her bedroom, dropping the young woman gently onto the bed. She lay where he’d set her, her clear green eyes shining up at him, her lips parted, her chest heaving slightly.

  The scent of her perfume overlay another scent—the scent of her arousal. Paul hurriedly pulled off his shirt, spraying the buttons as he impatiently ripped it from his torso. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, Paul kicked off his boots and socks, unbuckling his belt. He could feel his cock, rock-hard and eager to plunge into her buttery softness.

  Taking a deep breath he paused. How many hundreds, how many thousands of times over the centuries had he taken women just this way? Through magic or not, he had rarely stopped to consider the spirit inside the lovely bodies, the willing arms and spreading legs of his conquests. Paul rarely needed to resort to magic to get a woman but when he had, he’d given it barely more than a moment’s thought.

  Yet as he looked down at Anne, he hesitated. Was this any different than rape? Was he taking what wasn’t freely offered? If he released her now from the spell, would she jump up in horror, demand that he leave, threaten to call the police? Could he bear it if she did? Would his heart, which felt exposed and unprotected around her, simply cleave in two at her rejection?

  Coward, his conscience whispered, even as he unzipped his pants and let them fall down his strong, firm thighs. As he dragged his silk bikini briefs from his body, Anne’s eyes widened, her mouth curving into a saucy grin. Paul’s cock was large and thick, ramrod straight and at the moment bobbing toward the girl, a drop of pre-cum glistening at its tip.

  She held out her arms, her fingers curling in a clear invitation toward him. Paul fell forward onto the woman, his hands sliding under the satin. Her skin was so soft. Softer than the satin that covered it. She shivered and sighed, igniting his lust even further, if such a thing were possible. He had to have this woman.

  He rolled to her side, pulling open her robe. Anne, still under his spell, flushed but made no effort to cover herself. Reason had vacated Paul’s mind, overtaken by lust and a natural dominant impulse. He leaned down, taking a nipple between his teeth, lightly pulling it erect before licking it with his tongue. Moving to the second nipple, he did the same thing. Anne sighed, her head to the side, her eyes closed.

  His cock felt heavy with the need to feel her velvet sex envelop him, take his full length, submit to his masculine desires. He drew his hand down her belly, cupping the thatch of dark pubic curls covering her sex. “Spread your legs. Show yourself to me,” he commanded, his voice deep with lust. Anne obeyed, though her face was now in full blush, the flush covering her neck and chest as well.

  Paul knelt between her legs, inhaling the delicious, intoxicating feminine scent. Her pussy was beautiful, the labia small and delicately shaped like the petals of a rare orchid. He bent down, his tongue gliding along the outer petals as his finger lightly touched the little entrance already slick with her desire.

  Anne moaned and let her legs fall wider. Eagerly Paul licked and kissed the delicate folds, loving the taste of her, the silky feel of her, the heady aroma of desire. As he explored her pussy, Anne shifted and moaned, her body shuddering with pleasure as he found the sweet spots. He thrust a finger inside her hot wetness and felt the tight hug of her vaginal walls.

  When he could stand it no longer, Paul leaned up over the girl and positioned his cock at her entrance. Anne’s hands were on his hips, pulling him down onto her, into her, leaving no doubt she desired him as much as he desired her. He slipped into her hot grip, his body covering hers as he bent down to kiss her mouth. Anne moaned and swiveled beneath him, her lust spurring him on as he claimed her with his cock.

  He wanted to make it last, but the pleasure was too great. With a cry he shuddered and released his seed deep inside her. Anne clutched him, wrapping her strong legs around his hips, holding him tight until his body’s trembling eased and his heart slowed to something near normal.

  Anne slipped from beneath him and knelt next to him, stroking his cock from its semierect state to full hardness. “So beautiful,” she crooned in a singsong voice. As he watched her long, slender fingers moving over him, Paul felt a surge of desire tingling through his balls, engorging his heavy cock. Though he’d just climaxed, her skillful attentions quickly brought him fully erect.

  Her mouth closed over the flared head, her tongue swirling down the shaft as she moved down its length. Paul watched Anne through eyes hooded with lust. Her hair was falling over her face, the curve of her smooth back rising over him like a swan. He reached out, cupping her small, rounded ass as she moved sensuously up and down his cock, rendering him weak with pleasure.

  When he knew he was again close to orgasm, Paul lifted the girl, placing her over his hips so she straddled his cock. Her wet, willing pussy accepted his girth as he gently eased her down onto his shaft. Holding her hips, Paul urged her to move, to sway as her body dictated, letting the sensation of his cock filling her guide her movements.

  Anne was still at first, her eyes burning into his. A mild whisper of magic released the final vestige of Anne’s inhibitions. She began to move, her hips swaying over his like a snake charmer over a cobra. She began to pant, gyrating with
increasing abandon, her clit rubbing his pubic bone with each shimmy and thrust.

  “Oh, oh, oh! My God, I don’t know what’s happening!” she cried. Paul knew what was happening. Grabbing her hips, he moved beneath her, the friction on her clit coupled with the deep thrusts of his cock sending her over the edge of ecstasy.

  Anne shuddered, her head back, keening her passion as wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure racked her body. Paul held her, pulling her forward onto his chest as she continued to shudder and tremble with the aftershocks of a powerful climax. Finally she stilled, her cheek resting against his heart as he stroked her unruly, soft curls from her face.

  He felt something wet on his chest and realized they were her tears. “Anne?” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

  But Anne did not answer, turning her face away when he tried to look at her. Troubled, Paul peeked into her thoughts. He realized with a shock that in his own passion he’d let the magic spell waver and Anne had been left defenseless in his arms. She was confused, the pleasure of her orgasm fighting with the guilt of lying in another man’s arms.

  Not knowing what else to do, he gently whispered the silent spell to affect her receptivity and ease her pain. Anne’s body relaxed against him, a sweet sigh escaping her lips as she drifted into a contented sleep.

  What a tangled web we weave… Paul could almost hear Amelia, who would chide him, not for casting a spell on a worthless mortal, but for caring her passion was not freely given.

  But he did care. More than anything in the world, Paul realized that he did care. And he had no idea what to do about it.

  Chapter 4

  The angle of the sun slanting into her eyes told Anne it was late. With an effort she twisted her head to see the clock next to the bed. Twelve-twenty. She let her head fall back, pulling a pillow over her face. What had happened last night? She recalled everything—every moment was recorded in her brain and now she let it scroll past her mind’s eye.