Cast a Lover's Spell

by Claire Thompson

  When he mentioned the year of his birth, 1753, Anne blurted, “So you’re over two-hundred-fifty years old? Yet you look like a man of thirty-five!” He explained about guises and the magic it took to maintain a guise or change it.

  “This is actually how I look—how I looked as a young man. We magical folk age much more slowly than mortals but we do age. Many witches and warlocks change their guises entirely over the centuries, perhaps selecting whatever is most popular and admired during a particular era as the basis for their looks. I never cared much for shape changing—I like being myself.

  “I appear to be a man in my mid-thirties because I like this body—it works well, it’s strong and my mind is sharp. It’s a vanity perhaps, but it has its uses.”

  Anne laughed despite herself. “I imagine it does. You’re way too good-looking for your own good. That’s the first thing I thought when I saw you.”

  Paul grinned. “As I recall, your first thought was that I was a jerk and you fervently hoped I wouldn’t try to talk to you.”

  “Well,” Anne looked embarrassed but retorted, “If you’re going to eavesdrop in people’s heads, you deserve what you get.”

  “Agreed,” Paul said soberly. “And just so you know, I have to make a conscious effort to listen in to people’s thoughts. They don’t just come tumbling into my head. If it will give you comfort, I can probably teach you a very basic blocking spell to keep nosy parkers like myself out of your head entirely.”

  “You could teach me? Real spells? Magic stuff?”

  “Certainly. Why do you think books like Clara’s are so popular? Simple spell books have been written for mortals and by mortals for centuries. Most of the spells in them don’t work or require magic to be effective. But some simple incantations can be quite effective if you know the words—the way to arrange the sounds to change what is to what you want it to be.”

  They fell silent a moment. It was well past midnight. Should she ask him to take her home? Get her a cab? Or should she give in to her body’s yearning, though her head still didn’t know what to make of the amazing revelations she’d heard tonight.

  “Paul” she said, turning toward him as he turned toward her, saying her name at the same precise moment. “Anne.”

  Their heads touched as their lips met, a kiss each had waited all night for. His lips were so sweet, his tongue dancing into her mouth in a way that made her shiver with pleasure. She pulled him closer so their bodies touched, her breasts brushing his chest. He was the first to pull away, gently disengaging himself from her embrace.

  “Will you stay, Anne? Will you stay the night with me? Without magic to protect either of us, will you share my bed? If you’re not ready, say so. I’ll see you home and court you as patiently as any man who has found a woman worth waiting for.”

  He stood, still in his tuxedo, though his bowtie was askew from their embrace, his hair falling into his eyes. Anne wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone. At the same time, she felt nervous, her heart fluttering, her breath catching.

  Paul had already seen her naked and at her most vulnerable. He’d made delicious love to her and she’d responded as she’d never been able to with another man, even Greg. Yet how much of that response was due to his magical manipulation? Would this time pale in comparison, devoid of magic?

  Yet despite her trepidation, Anne found herself longing for the feel of his hands on her body, his mouth on hers, his cock deep inside of her… She flushed, aware he was waiting for her to answer. To speak aloud.

  “I want to stay,” she said at last, her voice hoarse with lust. Paul held out his hands and Anne placed hers in his. He whispered, “I want you, Anne. God, how I want you.”

  He led her down a hallway, past several rooms to the master bedroom. The room was large with original oil paintings and watercolors hung on the walls. A black lacquer framed silk screen partially obscured the four-poster bed set against one wall.

  Paul led Anne to the bed and she sat on the edge, watching him undress. He removed the silk tie, the jacket and the linen shirt, setting the cufflinks on a high mahogany bureau and hanging the clothing over a chair. He returned to her, his chest bare, his eyes blazing.

  He removed the rest of his clothing, standing naked before her like a Greek god. Anne couldn’t help raking his body with her eyes. He defined masculine perfection, from his strong, smooth pecs to his six-pack abs and narrow hips, his erect thick cock a testament to his desire for her.

  Anne was as aroused as she had been that night at her townhouse, yet she felt different—no longer cocooned in a magic spell of desire. It was more frightening as a result—her first real time with a man since Greg’s death. Yet in spite of this or perhaps partially because of it, she was all the more on fire.

  Standing, she slipped the satin straps of her gown from her shoulders. Paul moved closer, reaching around her to unzip the dress. He whisked it away as she stepped out of it, laying it carefully over another chair. The dress had a fitted bodice, making it unnecessary for Anne to wear a bra. Stepping out of her shoes, she rolled her pantyhose down her thighs and tossed them aside. She stood now in her silky panties, at once shy and full of lust.

  Paul took the silver combs that held her hair, gently pulling them away. Her curls cascaded around her face and she shook her head, tossing her heavy mane of hair back, though most of it fell again around her cheeks. Paul touched her face, gently tucking her hair behind her ears as he bent to kiss her.

  He pulled her close, his hands running over her back and ass as they hungrily kissed one another. Anne couldn’t control the shudder of pleasure as his strong fingers stroked her flesh. Lowering her to the bed, he knelt over her. His lips were warm and soft as he suckled her nipple to a stiff point. She gasped at the nudge of his teeth, which created a dual sensation of pleasure and pain that confused but aroused her. He did the same to her second nipple, and though she was expecting it this time, still she couldn’t contain her gasp.

  She felt his fingers slip along the side of her silk panties, grazing her labia. Instinctively Anne closed her legs, shyness winning out over lust for the moment. Paul cupped her mons with his large hand, his fingers slipping down between her closed legs, sending sparks of electric sensation through her body. Despite herself, her legs fell open, her body aching for his hot perfect touch. Slowly he rubbed over the silky panties, her own heat and moisture dampening the fabric.

  Anne moaned, her legs falling wider apart as her desire overcame her modesty. When she felt him tug at the sides of her panties, Anne lifted her hips, nearly desperate for his touch. She felt him pull them down her legs and still she kept her eyes closed.

  His fingers sought her most private place, dipping into her wetness, drawing it up over the soft folds of her pussy. Paul began a slow tease, moving his hand over her rapidly swelling sex, gliding in light circles toward her clit, only gracing it now and again with his touch.

  Anne squirmed, at once on fire and frustrated. Laughing softly, Paul relented, touching her as she needed to be touched, drawing a long, low moan of pleasure and approval from her lips. His fingers were more skilled than even her own at seeking out the little hard nubbin at her center, applying just the right pressure for just long enough to make her pant before he pulled away, again teasing the whole of her sex, entering her vaginal tunnel with a perfect thrust of two fingers, withdrawing them silky wet with her desire to lubricate her delicate folds.

  She felt his tongue lightly touch her clit and it took a second to realize it was his mouth now against her, not his fingers. A moment’s self-consciousness returned, but even if Anne had wanted to close her legs, she couldn’t as Paul now knelt between her thighs, his hand on either leg to keep her open to his caress.

  As he licked and kissed her, Anne became lost in pure sensation. Her mind shut down at last, every fiber of her being now focused at her sex. When Paul again slipped a finger into her wetness, his mouth still locked at her clit, Anne felt the world shift and she began a tumble in
to orgasm. Unable to control herself, she arched up against his mouth and fingers, thrusting and gyrating, panting rapidly, intent on her pleasure. “Oh, oh, oh, oh…” she moaned a steady mantra as the world narrowed to her need for release.

  What was happening. Her orgasm, instead of subsiding quickly as it did when she masturbated, seemed to go on and on, intensifying into something close to pain, but still this side of mind-shattering pleasure. Weakly she tried to push his head away. “I can’t—you have to…” She couldn’t seem to finish her sentence, his tongue for the moment obliterating the words. Again she pushed at his head, trying to dislodge him from her throbbing pussy. Lightly he gripped her wrists, ignoring her feeble protests as he continued to lick and suckle her oversensitive flesh. Sagging limply into the soft sheets, she surrendered, nearly unconscious from overstimulation. Yet though she might have thought he’d wrested every possible ounce of ecstasy from her, now she felt a rumble of rising orgasm moving through her loins with the inexorable determination of a tidal wave. As it washed over and through her body, she heard a keening squeal, unaware it was her own voice. Her body writhed and shuddered beneath his skillful attentions until at last she was completely spent, a rag doll splayed and inert on the bed, her heart pounding, her pussy throbbing, her mind utterly blank with pleasure.

  ~*~

  She was lying naked and splendid on the rumpled sheets, the moon through the skylight silvering her body. Her hair was wild on the pillow, her body languid, her firm breasts rising and falling lightly as she recovered. Paul drank her in—the sweet flush of lust staining her throat and chest, the dark pink nipples still at attention, the long line of her torso tapering at the waist. Her legs were akimbo, bent and spread where they’d fallen open as his lips and tongue had kissed and suckled her pussy until she’d shuddered, pulling his head close with her hands, crying out as she trembled and heaved against him.

  As he tasted her spicy sweetness, lust had pounded through his veins like a tribal drum beating its sensual rhythm. Power spurred him on—the power of controlling her orgasm, pressing her past her own envelope of pleasure, drawing climax after climax from her hot, delicious little cunt. He hadn’t let her go until he was certain not another drop of pleasure could be wrested from her body. She lay now like a plundered wench, a victim of passion. His own passion still raged unchecked within his loins but Paul controlled himself, at least for the moment. He knew his mortal lover needed time to recover. He would not claim her with his cock until she was again on fire, begging him for what he longed to give her.

  Paul stroked Anne’s soft cheek. She smiled a dreamy smile but didn’t open her eyes. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t used at least a modicum of magic in his lovemaking. Yet true to his promise to them both, this time what magic there had been was of the mortal variety. Unlike the first time they’d made love, when he’d altered her mind sufficiently to allow her free rein with her lust, tonight her passion was freely given. Paul found the gift of it worth infinitely more as a result.

  Anne turned her head to snuggle against Paul’s chest. He took her into his arms as his cock nudged itself between them. To his delight, Anne reached down, lightly gripping his shaft, causing it to harden even farther, if that was possible. She opened her eyes, their clear green gray capturing him anew. They were like the sea on a calm day, clear and brilliant, fringed by dark soft lashes.

  He couldn’t suppress a small moan as her fingers teased his cock. His eyes fluttered shut as her fingers wrapped more tightly around him. Her touch was exquisite, so much so Paul knew he would come if she didn’t stop soon. As if reading his mind, Anne released his cock and pushed him gently to his back.

  Lifting herself over him, she straddled his hips, pressing his shaft between their bellies as she leaned over to kiss him, her nipples grazing his chest. Slowly she sat up and Paul lay still, waiting. Again her fingers curled around his cock as she maneuvered to lower herself onto him. She was still wet from his kisses and her own arousal, and his cock slid in easily. He felt the tight grip of her vaginal muscles milking him as she began to lift and lower herself, her hands pressed against his chest for balance. “Paul,” she whispered as she began to move backward and forward and from side to side. The friction was perfect. Paul brought his hands to Anne’s slender hips, lightly gripping her as she rode him.

  Anne opened her eyes, pushing her hair back from her face as she leaned down to whisper throatily, “No magic, right? You promised. This is just us.”

  “Yes, I promise. No magic but your beauty. You lovely, sexy girl, you don’t need any magic to drive me wild. Feel me inside of you. Take me, my love. Take what I have to give you.” He gripped her hips, pulling her hard against him, his touch no longer gentle as he thrust deep inside of her.

  Anne responded with a grunt, her eyes squeezing shut, her lips parting in a primal pant. He swiveled beneath her, making her cry with pleasure at each skillful twist. Anne moaned, rocking his cock in a delicious clench. She began to shudder over him, her body no longer in her own control. Her hair whipped wildly around her face as she rode his cock with utter abandon.

  She began whimper, little mewling cries of desperate pleasure as she rocked and gyrated over him. Paul opened his eyes, watching her through the haze of his own lust. Her head fell back, her breasts lifting with her movement, drawing his eye up the long, smooth line of her throat. “Oh God!” Anne screamed. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her teeth biting her lower lip as she gripped his shoulders, still rocking against him.

  Paul let his body go at last, no longer able to hold back his pent-up desire as Anne climaxed against him and fell forward, the beating of her heart like a drum against his chest. Ecstasy consumed him as her name was wrenched from his lips.

  He held her for a long while, his cock slowly easing from her sex as he gently rolled her to her side, his arms still around her. She smelled wonderful. Like lavender with a hint of ginger plus some indefinable sweetness all her own. Paul knew for certain he was firmly in the grip of love—love for a mortal woman.

  A wall around his heart built from a lifetime of holding himself aloof and apart, impervious to the love of any woman, had come tumbling and crashing around him at the hands of this delicate, beautiful young woman lying sweetly in his arms. He felt as defenseless as a mortal, certain his magic was no match for her charms.

  Chapter 9

  Paul drew back the heavy velvet curtains that kept the area in near-darkness to protect the priceless objects within. At once the room was bathed in golden sunlight slanting through the huge picture windows on the east wall, reflecting and refracting into a prism of color over the dozens of crystal orbs set on shelving on the opposite wall.

  “Wow,” Anne breathed as she stepped into the room, her eyes wide. The orbs were of various sizes with diameters ranging from three inches to twenty-four. Each one rested on a pedestal of gold or silver. The orbs weren’t clear like glass but opaque, mostly dark grays, golds and reds. The colors almost seemed animate, swirling and shifting in the sunlight.

  Paul smiled as he watched Anne turning slowly round the room, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open, reminding him of a small child on Christmas morning. Bottles of every color and size were neatly but closely lined along the shelves of one wall, some sealed with wax, some stoppered with cork. Nestled between them were bags of silk and leather, some tied with string or ribbon, some sewn shut. Along the third wall were shelves of books—ancient-looking tomes bound in cloth and leather with brilliant lettering along the spines of some, others with no titles at all. Next to the bookshelf was a high wooden bureau with two columns of narrow drawers. The bureau’s marble top was lined with more mysterious glass bottles, leather pouches and gemstones strewn carelessly amidst the clutter.

  But it was the crystal balls that drew Anne. She crouched near a shelf, Paul standing just behind her. “They’re so beautiful. Do they really work? Can you tell the future by looking into one of these?”

  “No, I can’t. There are
those far more skilled than I who can catch glimpses of what will be or more accurately, what might be. But a crystal orb’s real power lies in its ability to see the present and the past.”

  “Whose present and past? The person looking into it?” She stepped closer, peering into a ball on a lower shelf, watching it swirl in pearly gray. “I can’t see anything at all.”

  Paul laughed. “I would have been very surprised if you could. While the crystals themselves do contain magic elements, it takes a skilled user to harness that power. Some witches devote themselves almost exclusively to the study of crystal orbs. I have a friend who excels in the crystal arts. I myself can use them to some effect, but not with anything like the skill and power she possesses.”

  Anne turned to Paul, her delicate brow furrowed. “Who is she?”

  He read her jealousy on her face without the need of telepathy and grinned. “I can’t decide if I’m pleased you’re jealous at the thought of another woman or annoyed you could be so silly. The woman in question is over four hundred years old and more like a sister to me than anything.”

  “Well,” Anne responded, “I was just asking. Don’t assume I’m jealous—that’s ridiculous.” She turned away. “And stay out of my head!” Paul laughed. She added, “That’s the first thing you have to teach me—the nosy parker spell or whatever you called it.”

  “The blocking spell.”

  “Yes. That one. But first, show me a crystal ball. I want to see something in it.”

  “Well,” said Paul, stepping forward to select the largest orb on the shelf—a dark gray ball shot through with eddies of swirling black. “This orb works best for me. I have the most success with my own past. That’s the easiest crystal magic to master—one’s own past and present. I’ll need to get a vision potion going.”

  When Anne looked blank he explained, “That’s a potion prepared to aid in the distillation of memory and thought.” Paul selected two small bottles from the shelf, one a mottled green, the other a deep royal blue. He also opened a drawer of the bureau, rifling through its contents for a moment before withdrawing a small sachet of powder.