The Zombie Billionaire's Virgin Witch (Zombie Category Romance)

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  Power that sank into her.

  Her body was like Remy’s that first night, greedily soaking in magic after years of drought. Only she didn’t know how she could possibly hold this much power. Her skin burned, her bones dissolving into dust beneath the release of his pleasure.

  Until the cold cotton of the sheet pressed against her back, she didn’t even realize he’d picked her up, let alone carried her to bed. She blinked, trying to focus on him and make her mouth work. Did you feel that massive release of power? Is it always like that? Because I’m not sure that I’ll actually survive.

  “The ring lit up like a beacon.” He did something with her hands but she was still too drugged on power to figure out what. “Did you see it?”

  “Mmmm.”

  Grinning down at her, he stood and began removing the rest of his clothing. “That good, huh? You should be very afraid now, Clare. You’ve taken the edge off so I can play for a very long time. How many times do you think I can make you come before I finally slide into your luscious body?”

  Still reeling from his release, she couldn’t answer. Simple caresses shattered her. What would real intimacy do to her? What was the magic going to do when she climaxed the first time?

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, drawing her gaze back to him.

  Slowly unbuttoning his shirt, he stared at her so fervently she could almost feel the passing of his gaze like ghostly fingers. Her breasts swelled, her nipples hard and aching. Which only reminded her of how much she ached to feel his touch. She trembled at the thought, her legs parting automatically.

  “Yes,” he ground out in that hard, growling voice that sent her nerves singing. “Show me everything, Clare. Show me where you want me to touch you first.”

  She drew her knees up and lifted her backside, thinking to remove her panties for him, but her hands didn’t move. Startled, she twisted up to see that he’d used his tie to bind her to the headboard. She wrapped her fingers around the silk and tugged experimentally.

  Tied. Bound. Helpless.

  He let out a wicked chuckle that made her gaze leap back to him. Eyes blazing like black coals, he stepped out of his pants and stalked toward the bed with deliberate slowness—so she’d have plenty of time to think about what he was going to do when he arrived.

  She tugged harder, enjoying the way it made her feel. Trapped, penned, with danger approaching. He’s the best kind of danger.

  “Too much, Clare?”

  Wordlessly, she shook her head. Her heart had somehow crawled up into her throat. She clutched the tie, grateful to have something to hold on to. Everything seemed to whirl in her head, like she’d started down a hill happy as a lark only to find herself windmilling out of control.

  Head over heels. That’s me.

  “When you want your hands freed, tell me. Or if you become afraid. You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

  She shook her head again, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

  “You’re afraid of something, though. Tell me, sweetheart. If it’s the bondage…”

  “No,” she forced the word out, wincing at how squeaky her voice sounded. “I like it.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over her, wrapping his left hand around her bound hands. Just the heat of his palm made her moan, her back arching up off the mattress. Shivering, she squeezed her eyes shut, struggling not to let the sensation wash her completely away.

  “Ah,” he breathed out. “You’re afraid of feeling too much.”

  “Don’t you feel the magic?” She couldn’t keep the quiver out of her voice. “It’s like a massive thunderstorm, roiling on the horizon. I’ve never felt this much magic even inside Remy’s kitchen, and every time you touch me, it gets worse.”

  “Better. It gets better.”

  She forced her eyes open so she could glare up at him. “You released so much power I thought you were going to blow the top of my head off. What’s it going to do to me when you touch me for real?”

  “Like this?” Holding her gaze, he ran his hand down her wrist to her elbow and shoulder. His grip was firm and strong but not hard enough to bruise. Definitely not flirtatious or intimate, but magic flared, heating her skin. It made her arch toward him, desperate to get as much of her body touching his as possible.

  He laid his fingers on the scrap of silk between her legs. “Or like this?”

  Heat poured through her, magic crawling through her pores, desperate to escape. “Yiorgos.” She panted, twisting against her bonds. “It’s too much.”

  He kissed her knee and worked his way lower on her thigh, each stroke of his mouth a flame that fueled the storm rising in her. “Nothing’s too much for you, baby.”

  Taking his time with Clare took his mind off the horrible doom waiting for him.

  He cupped her fully, letting the pressure and heat of his palm build her anticipation. Sweat already trickled down his back and his lungs burned, as though he’d set out hours ago on a marathon that just wouldn’t end. Magic? Or the constant battle of keeping himself reined in enough to give her every pleasure she could ever want?

  The signet ring cast swirling red rainbows on the ceiling, a living, pulsing heartbeat on his hand. His heart was pounding, yes, but this pulse was different, deeper and richer and faster, hinting at Clare’s rising passion.

  Shuddering, she twisted her hips beneath his hand, silently begging for a deeper caress. He curled his fingers beneath the elastic band of her panties, stroking her with the backs of his fingers.

  Panting, she raised her hips. “I want these off.”

  He snagged the upper corner of silk with his free hand, the other with his teeth, and stripped them away. Keeping his touch light, he trailed his fingers over her, up and down her inner thighs, tracing the creases and folds as gently as angel’s wings.

  “I’m not going to break,” she retorted, throwing his own words back at him. “You don’t need to handle me like a soufflé that’s going to fall if you risk a peek in the oven.”

  Laughing softly, he leaned down, holding her gaze. “I’m going to do more than peek, Clare. I’m going to feast. Remember how many pieces of cake I devoured?”

  She opened her mouth but whatever response she intended to throw back at him was lost as he licked across the full length of her. He gave her a firm, deep stroke, pushing between her folds to taste her desire as he’d threatened.

  Her breath rushed out. Her thighs came up, not to push him away or keep him out, but clutching him closer. Pulling back enough to breathe on her flesh, he firmly pushed her thighs down to the mattress. He pinned her wide, gripping her thighs hard and tight. “Now there’s nothing to keep me from eating my fill.”

  He nibbled his way down the tender skin of her inner thigh, stroked the crevice of her hip, and turned his attention to her other thigh. She pushed and heaved beneath him, trying to free her legs. He glanced up at her face to measure her reaction—whether she truly wanted to escape or was simply enjoying the opportunity to struggle.

  Her neck was arched, her full breasts flushed with desire, her lips parted, soft and open. She held the tie in both hands like a lifeline, but he didn’t sense any fear. More, the magical pulse of the ring quickened, the hue richer and blood-red.

  He closed his teeth on the soft flesh of her thigh, gripping harder until she cried out his name.

  “Too much?”

  “Yes,” she panted. “I need you inside me. Now.”

  “Not yet, baby. I haven’t feasted nearly long enough.”

  But he relented enough to slip a finger inside her. So hot and tight, she quivered around him, surprisingly close to her first precious release. He kept his finger buried inside her heat and flicked his tongue over her clit, a gentle torturous stroke.

  The ring suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. It gripped his finger in a vise, just as her muscles clamped down harder on him. He captured her clit in his mouth so he could feel the rhythmic pulse of her release on his tongue. Hairs rose on
his arms like he’d plugged himself into a light socket.

  She cried out, words he couldn’t understand, couldn’t hear over the roaring in his ears. His muscles clenched and for one wretched moment he feared he might have come again without ever thrusting inside her. His entire body throbbed, every nerve ending alive and screaming with the force of her release. The air vibrated in the room, thick and heavy as though magic hung all about them, and the ring spun a vibrant wildfires throughout the room.

  Shaken, he abandoned his plans to drive her insane over and over. He had one thought only. To bury himself in her as quickly as possible.

  He crawled up her body and jerked at the tie binding her to the headboard. His breathing rasped in his ears, every moment of delay ramping up his lust until he was growling and tearing at the blasted silk like a beast. His heartbeat thudded so hard in his head he had the passing thought that his skull might split open when he actually climaxed.

  Finally, she was free, her fingers gripping his hair hard enough to make him his eyes water, her mouth inhaling his, as desperate and hungry as he. He knew she was untouched, that a rough entry would hurt her more than necessary, but he couldn’t pause his mad rush to get inside her tight heat.

  She cried out against his mouth, one hand still fisted in his hair while she clawed at his buttocks, drawing him deeper. A bubbling inferno roared inside him, pushed him deeper, harder. Every inch of his body blazed, his skin tight and seared as though he stood too closely to a raging bonfire.

  No, he’d swallowed the bonfire, his flesh disintegrating, dissolving into her.

  “Clare.”

  He thought he said her name aloud, but he couldn’t be sure. Not with the explosion ripping him apart.

  He came aware in disjointed pieces. Flat on his back, he blinked up at the ceiling, trying to remember where he was. He felt wrung out and weary, but not hurt. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

  Something moved, drawing his attention to the woman straddling his thighs.

  Her hair hung about her face, deliciously touseled, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen and full from his kisses. Now he remembered. He remembered everything.

  He’d expected their lovemaking to be glorious. He hadn’t expected her to destroy his control so easily. He hadn’t exactly been gentle with his little virgin. Frowning, he searched her face. “Are you all right?”

  She tipped her head to the side and smiled down at him, but it seemed… resigned. Sad. Guilt shredded his heart. Had he hurt her? “How do you feel?”

  Dread rolled over him even worse than the flood of guilt. The curse. She must not have been able to break it after all. “Fine. I guess I’ll get used to the hulking lurch of the zombie eventually.”

  “Look at your hand, Yiorgos.”

  He didn’t understand. Why would she care about his hand when his body would rot into dust before her very eyes? Yet he did as she asked, lifting both of his hands up before his face. They were healthy and strong as he remembered. For now. Until the curse…

  The ring was not on his finger.

  Stunned, he flipped his hands back and forth, looking for any sign of decay. He ran his hands over his face, neck and chest but didn’t feel the leathery skin or the tell-tale ridges and pits that had corroded his body.

  Joy burned through him so fiercely he wanted to jump up and whirl her around the room like a lunatic, but he settled for sitting up and wrapping her in a fierce hug. “You did it, Clare. Thank you! God, I’ve been so worried that I’d end up stumbling around like a mindless drooling corpse, rotting away but unable to die.”

  She was soft and warm and sweet in his arms, but not as excited as he’d expected. He pulled back and searched her gaze.

  Tears pooled in her eyes and her lips wobbled in the brave little smile she tried to give him. And he knew, then.

  She lost her power. She paid the ultimate price for me.

  “The ring…” He began, but she shook her head, dropping her gaze.

  In her hand, she held a dull gold band and broken red bits of glass. “The magic we released must have been too great. It shattered the signet. My magic is gone.”

  He closed his eyes and let the guilt wash over him. He pulled her tight, wrapping his arms around her, as though he could shield her from the pain and disappointment. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’d do anything to give you back your power. I knew we shouldn’t have made love. The price was too high.”

  She shook her head against him but kept her face buried against his neck. “I’m not sorry. I loved it. I love you. I’m just…lost. Without my magic, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  After everything he’d taken from her, he knew exactly what she was going to do. “Don’t worry about a thing, baby. I’m going to take care of everything.”

  “That’s not what I want.”

  “Shhh.” He lay back on the bed and tucked her against his side. Already, his mind was filled with delightful images. Clare, dressed in white satin and lace, his ring on her hand instead of the broken signet. He would spoil her with all the shopping and travel she could stand, if he ever allowed her to leave their marriage bed. “I’ll buy a whole new chain of restaurants and name them after you. You’ll be so busy starting up new kitchens and hiring staff that you won’t have time to fret for a single moment about losing your magic. I’ll make it up to you, Clare, for the rest of our lives.”

  “I don’t want any restaurant but Remy’s. I certainly don’t want you to buy any more, not for me.”

  “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” Resolve cemented his arms around her. This felt right, more right than anything in his life. If it takes the rest of my life to make up her sacrifice, I’ll do it. Gladly. He kissed the top of her head. “How do you feel about a wedding in Greece?”

  She murmured something against his chest, still dripping tears, so he didn’t push her. Instead, he lulled her to sleep with tales of his childhood home on the tiny island of Methos. “I’ll make you happy, Clare. I swear it.”

  However, when he woke up a few hours later, she was gone. All of the beautiful clothes he’d bought her were still in the packages or hanging in the hotel closet. On the pillow beside him, she’d left a note and her father’s broken ring.

  Yiorgos:

  I love you. I have no regrets. But I can never be happy as the pretty little wife on your arm that you trot out for the next hotel grand opening. I need to be more than just your wife. I have to find my own way, back to myself, and back to you.

  Someday.

  Clare.

  THIRTEEN

  Surrounded by mountains of dirty pans, blackened loaves of bread, gummy stews, and charred meats, Clare sat down heavily at the kitchen table and bawled her eyes out.

  She let out all the frustration and hurt and rage pour out of her in loud wracking sobs that she’d spared Yiorgos. He’d probably wring his hands and fling diamonds and silks at her, trying to make her stop crying, when that’s what she needed most.

  She needed his strong arms around her, his broad chest against her face, his heart steady and loud against her ear. And she’d still cry, because it hurt not to let it out. She’d barely contained the tears on the long bus-ride home.

  “Oh, honey.”

  Suddenly engulfed in the scent of powdered sugar and ruffles, Clare allowed herself to be rocked back and forth, but she kept her face pressed against Helga’s shoulder. She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on her mentor’s face. Her stomach already churned with the bitter acid of failure.

  “It gets better, you know.”

  Right now, she couldn’t even think without that constant gnawing ache of loss overwhelming her.

  “He’s a man, dear. Sometimes we have to help them figure us out.”

  Startled, Clare raised her face. “I thought you were talking about the magic, not him. How’d you know I was back, let alone…” She couldn’t finish the sentence but her cheeks burned. “I let you down. I’m sorry.”

  “Bull hockey,” He
lga retorted. “You healed him when I couldn’t. So much for all my great magic. All it took was one night with you to break the curse.” She gave Clare a salacious wink and lowered her voice. “Although I never thought to have sex with him. I doubt I’m his type, though. He probably hasn’t forgiven me for my little demonstrations the other day.”

  The thought of the look on his face if Helga tried to hop into bed with him made Clare smile. It felt like her face cracked, but it was a start.

  Her mother set a tea tray down on the table and poured them all cups of fresh hot oolong. Served with Helga’s delectable wedding teacakes—ground almonds and butter rolled warm in powdered sugar—Clare almost felt human again.

  Selma gave her a tentative smile and squeezed her hand. “I called Helga. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, I’m glad.” And she was, Clare realized. She’d dreaded facing her mentor and admitting her failure, but now that it was all out in the open, she could start to think about her future. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet, but I’m glad you’re both here.”

  Helga jumped a little in her chair like someone had goosed her. “But your trials, dear. Aren’t you still going to participate?”

  “Why should I?” Maybe she was missing something obvious. Or maybe Helga had sniffed one too many of her concoctions. Because once a witch lost her virginity, her power was gone. Poof. Just like that stupid fragile little piece of skin that used to be so prized by men as they searched for their perfect innocent little bride. “Look around you and the truth is obvious. I’ve lost my magic. I don’t have anything to offer the Academy.”

  “You have a great deal to offer the Academy, Clare Remy.” Helga slammed her cup down on the table so hard that tea sloshed over the side. “Do you think I’m a poor judge of character and skill? I selected you because of what you’re capable of, not because of your magic.”

  Bewildered, Clare looked from her mentor to her mother and back. “The world’s best wizards come to the Academy for training. What could I possibly offer when I don’t have any magic myself?”