A Breath of Magic

by Tracy Madison

  His hand shot out and tugged the bow that held my robe together. It slithered apart, and I pushed my shoulders back, letting the lacy piece of fabric fall to the ground. A groan choked out of his throat. His fingers brushed the negligee’s gap, softly and languorously stroking my belly. “I might very well die tonight,” he said in a very serious tone. “You are bewitching.”

  I arched a freshly plucked eyebrow. “Like ‘Witchy Woman’ bewitching?”

  “Maybe.” His fingers wrapped my waist, his touch searing, branding me. “But you’re definitely bewitching. And bewildering. And breathtaking.”

  “Damn straight,” I teased, as if I were used to hearing such compliments. In truth, his declaration zipped through me, filling me with pleasure, heating my cheeks another degree. Most of my life I’d heard how cute and perky and girl-next-door-like I was. Not bewitching. Not bewildering. And most definitely not breathtaking. I found I liked his assessment quite a bit.

  “Can I kiss you, Chloe?”

  “Not yet.” I walked to the bed and climbed on. Crossing my legs, I patted the space next to me. “Will you join me? Please?”

  He did and, mimicking my position, crossed his legs. I carefully lifted the tray I’d prepared earlier and put it in front of us, within both of our reaches. I picked up a bowl off of the tray and set it down between us.

  He gulped. “Are we playing a game?”

  “We are. In this bowl”—I nodded to it—“are questions. I’ll ask you a question, and if you answer it, then you get to choose something off of the tray to eat…and you can choose anywhere on my body you want to eat it from. Then it’s your turn to ask me a question.”

  “What happens if I don’t answer?”

  “Then I get to ask another question. Until you answer one, you don’t get to eat.”

  “But if I do…” His eyes swept my body. “Anywhere I want?”

  “Within reason,” I said, my voice way breathier than normal. “You can’t remove any of my clothing. That’s the only rule. Do you want to play?”

  “I do.” He gulped again. “Yes, Chloe. I want to play.”

  A surge of power—not of the magical variety—rushed into me. It was the type of power that being a woman, a desired and sexy woman, brings. I found I liked the feeling quite a bit. It was new, exciting and more than a little heady. “Do you want to go first, or shall I?”

  The blue in his eyes became dark indigo. “Your home, your game, your rules and your bed. You should go first.”

  Heat and hope brought a tremor to my body as I dipped my hand into the bowl, selecting a folded slip of paper. I’d written down every question I could think of, from the silly to the mundane to the serious, that just might help us get to know each other better. I’d also thrown several away, deciding they were either too serious or too silly.

  “Okay. My question is ‘How old were you when you had your first crush, and what was this person’s name?’”

  “That’s an easy one. Her name was Wendy LeBlanc, and she was my nanny when I was ten.” He whistled. “Dark brown, almost black hair, brilliant blue eyes, and she had a mole”—he pointed to the spot just above the left side of his mouth—“right here. I asked her to run away with me when I was eleven.”

  I grinned. “What did she say?”

  He pouted. “She said her heart belonged to another, but that someday I’d make some girl a very lucky woman.”

  “And did you?” The question came out before I could stop it.

  “Play by the rules, Red. Unless that question is in that bowl and you happen to choose it, I don’t have to answer.” His eyes locked with mine. “Besides, I’m suddenly starving.”

  I dropped the slip of paper on the bed. Stretching my arms behind me, using my hands to brace myself, I arched my back into a curve. My negligee fell open, draping backward at the sides, baring everything from the line of my panties up to the ribbon beneath my breasts. “What are you hungry for?” I asked, another tremor tickling along my skin.

  “Most men would go for your breasts.” He reached over and plucked a strawberry out of a dish. “Maybe they’d put this in your cleavage and bury their heads in your”—he waggled his eyebrows—“heaving bosoms.”

  The image sent a wave of heat through me. “What about you?”

  “I am not most men.” He very purposefully and slowly dipped the strawberry into a bowl of chocolate syrup and then held it over his tongue, letting chocolate drip into his mouth. My body quivered.

  “So…um.” I swallowed again. “What’s your choice?”

  Sliding the question-filled bowl to the side, he leaned over and drizzled chocolate from the strawberry onto my navel. The muscles in my stomach clenched, then the ones in my thighs. Another quiver stole over me. His hand dropped down and he skimmed the berry along my skin, the syrup spreading into a thin, warm layer. My muscles bunched again and then released in a jerk. I tried to breathe, but my lungs refused to cooperate.

  He shot me a look of pure anticipation before letting go of the strawberry. It landed perfectly on my belly button, and then he bent his head. His tongue caressed my skin in a sensual rhythm, swirling into the chocolate, eliciting a rush of goose bumps. I tipped my head back, closed my eyes and tried to relax, tried to keep my muscles still.

  They refused. Again, they tensed. Again, they released. His mouth found the strawberry and he nibbled it until his teeth scraped oh-so-gently across my belly button. I moaned. My hips moved, pushing my belly up tight against his mouth. Another languorous slide of his tongue across my skin brought forth a fresh crop of goose bumps. And then, far too soon, he lifted his head.

  “My turn,” he said, as he returned to his prior position. “But I’m happy to answer another question first, if you’d like.”

  I pulled myself upright and dragged air into my lungs. Before I even dared attempting to speak, I poured us each a glass of wine. After giving him his, I drank mine down in two gulps. “You’re scary good at this,” I managed to say. “Seeing how this was my idea and all.”

  He winked. A light grin teased at his lips. “I should’ve warned you how competitive I am. Had to come out of the gate at a full sprint.”

  I choked out a laugh, though my body was still trembling. “Remind me never to play Monopoly with you.” Inhaling another breath, I indicated the bowl with the questions. “Go ahead. I’m getting hungry.”

  Unfolding the paper he’d selected, he scanned it. Then he cocked his head to the side, a devilish smirk on his face. “What did you think the first time you saw me? Be honest, Red.”

  Damn it! I wanted to ask him that question. “I thought you were too handsome and too sexy to be real,” I admitted. “I also thought you were having an affair with your assistant.”

  “We are. Or, we were.” His tone was even and his face straight, so I totally believed him. “But she hated the pendulum so much she went back to her husband. I’m hoping when she gets your gift certificate she’ll have a change of heart. The workday is so much longer without our midday sex romp.” He sighed piteously.

  I still would have believed him, but his lips twitched from his effort not to laugh. My lungs squeezed out the air I’d held in. “Geez, you’re evil! You almost had me!”

  “I know. You have a horrible poker face.” His hand touched my knee in a gentle glide, sending another bolt of hot, heady awareness over me. “I believe you said you were hungry?”

  “Oh, yes. Very, very hungry.” I focused on the tray of food, considering what I might want to taste and where I might want to taste it from. Deciding how bold I could be. I had one thought, one utterly delicious, specific image in mind, which would require a fair amount of boldness. Not sure I was quite ready to pull it off, I went with my second choice, and selected the canister of whipped cream. “Lie down, Ben.”

  “On my back or on my stomach?”

  “Your back.”

  He complied, and I scooted closer. My eyes soaked up the pure masculine beauty of his body. A ball of warmth ignite
d deep in my stomach, teasing out until every inch of me radiated heat. Straddling his waist, I closed my eyes for one beat…two beats…and then opened them. “Most women,” I said, barely noticing the catch in my voice, “would probably squirt the whipped cream into your mouth. And then devour it slowly.”

  “But you are definitely not most women.”

  “No.” I shook the canister hard. “I am not.”

  I pushed the nozzle down and sprayed the whipped cream in a circle around his left nipple. A breath shuddered out of him as I created a peak and filled the circle in. I searched the tray until I found the bowl of maraschino cherries. My fingers slid around a slick, wet cherry and I oh so slowly placed it on top. The whipped cream canister slipped out of my other hand, landing softly on the bed.

  “Nice,” I whispered. “Very, very nice.”

  His muscles clenched so tightly that I saw them tremble beneath his skin. I swished my bottom on his waist, teasing him. Tantalizing him. He shuddered again. His lips formed an O.

  Dark, sensual, heavy-lidded eyes watched me, begging me to get on with it. Happy to comply, I leaned forward, keeping my eyes on his, until my lips touched the cherry. Using my tongue, I scooped the cherry into my mouth. I bit down, the juices exploding in my mouth, sweetness dripping down my throat. Licking my lips in my best porn-star move, I smiled. He groaned, so I must have been successful.

  Scooting backward from his waist, I tightened my thighs around him. I felt the hardness of his cock pushing against his boxers, pressing against my panties, making me wet. So very wet. I moaned at the feel, at the reality of the position we were currently in, at the realization that nothing but a few pieces of fabric lay between us.

  His hand came to the small of my back, teasing the lacy sheath up so he could touch my skin. “I think you should clean up your mess, Red,” he said, his voice rough.

  I blinked, not sure at first what he meant. But then, with his other hand on the back of my head, he applied a small amount of downward pressure and I saw exactly what he meant. My whipped cream peak was melting—from the heat of him, from what I was doing to him—and dripping down the hard planes of his chest onto my sheets.

  “I always clean up my messes,” I said, and with my tongue I lapped up one mouthful at a time, catching the drips, tasting his skin again and again until he was, quite simply, licked clean. His erection throbbed beneath me when I sat fully up.

  “You’re a devil woman,” he rasped. “How…how long is this game?”

  I slid off of him, my muscles like jelly, my belly quivering, the power of the desire I’d engendered warming through me. Once I was back on my side of the bed, I batted my eyelashes. “We’ve hardly started. Don’t tell me this is too much for you? I thought you were competitive.”

  “Oh, Red…you’ve seen nothing yet.” And over the next hour and a half, he proved that. One question, one mouthful of food and one seductive taste at a time, we kissed, touched and savored each other in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

  Through the questions, I learned that Ben had one sibling, a brother, but that he didn’t like talking about him. So much so, he wouldn’t even tell me his brother’s name. I also discovered that Ben was an Ivy League graduate, that he preferred summer to winter and that his favorite sex position was on top with a woman’s legs wrapped around him. He learned that I believed in ghosts, hated slasher flicks, indulged in one glass of wine almost every night and fantasized about having sex outside beneath a starfilled sky.

  At last, with only two questions remaining, I grabbed one from the bowl, just wanting to get this game over with so we could move on. Frankly, I didn’t know how much more foreplay my body could handle. But I cleared my throat when I saw the question: “ ‘Do you want children someday? If yes, how many? If no, why not?’ ”

  He swallowed heavily. His body tensed and his shoulders stiffened. “No, I do not want kids.”

  His brusque tone startled me. “Why not?”

  A veil came down, effectively hiding the emotion in his eyes. His tension increased, and the vein in his neck pulsated. Knowing I was cheating but unable to stop myself, I sent a mental push toward him, wanting to hear his answer.

  He shook himself, drew in a breath and then said, “Kids require more than I’m able to give.”

  I sent another push. “What do you mean?”

  “They take too much time. Too much love. I don’t have enough of either.”

  I stared at him, trying to see inside of his head, wishing I could read his thoughts. No way did I buy his explanation as the full story, and seeing how I hoped to have children someday, his response shocked me. Saddened me, even. But rather than focusing on that, rather than using my magic to get more out of him, I set it aside. Whether children were in my future or not, I didn’t know. What I did know, thanks to Alice, was that Ben did exist in my future, as long as I played my cards right.

  I simply nodded and smiled. “You’re right. Kids do require a lot of energy and resources. So”—I dragged my eyes from him and planted them on the tray—“what are you hungry for now?”

  His tone became sexy, teasing…relieved. “I don’t know, Red. What haven’t I tried yet?”

  I shrugged. “I think you’ve tried nearly everything. Haven’t you?”

  “Turn over and lie down,” he ordered. “There’s one thing left.”

  Without saying a word, I flipped myself over and pressed my cheek into the pillow. I felt him shift on the bed. Then, something warm and sticky drizzled into the shallow depression at the back of my knee. I groaned.

  “Chocolate?” I asked.

  “Honey,” he responded. Pleasure whipped through me as his tongue once again burned into my skin. My leg flinched and clenched as the pleasure turned to spasms of delight. I gritted my teeth and clasped the pillow. And then, I groaned again.

  He stroked his tongue along the depression, and I had to work to keep my leg flat. With his mouth against my skin, he asked, “Do you know what this area is called?”

  “The back of my knee?” I said in a breathy voice.

  “Actually, this space here”—another languid glide of his tongue—“is called the popliteal fossa.”

  I gasped as tendrils of pleasure rippled out from my leg, through my body, tearing through my muscles. “How in the world do you know something like that?”

  “I did a stint in premed before becoming a numbers man. And—you might find this interesting, Red—for some women, the popliteal fossa is a highly erogenous zone.” Then, as if to prove his point, he suckled.

  Good God, who knew that such an obscure area of your body could be so extraordinarily sensual? Not me, that’s for sure! “It…um…feels pretty cleaned off back there now,” I whispered. “Not that I’m not enjoying this.”

  “Ready to finish this game of yours?” Anticipation and longing hung in his voice, churning my own into a near frenzy.

  “Yes. Are you?” I turned over and sat up, pulling my knees to my chest. My legs still trembled, my stomach dipped.

  He pushed himself away, retaking his place at the head of the bed. “One question remaining. And it’s my turn.”

  I knew what the question was, obviously, and again, it was one I’d hoped to ask him. “Go ahead,” I said.

  “Name something you’d change if you could.”

  “My relationship with my sister. We aren’t…haven’t been close for a while. I miss her, but”—I tightened my arms around my legs—“it’s too late. Or maybe it’s too soon. Regardless, now isn’t the right time.”

  He reached over and ran a finger down the side of my cheek, looked into my eyes. I let my face drop into the touch. “Do you want to talk about it? We can hit the pause button. I’m a good listener,” he offered.

  Rebound guy, my ass. He’d turned me on repeatedly that night, but this one little gesture gave me more hope, and sooner than I’d expected. But no, I didn’t want to talk about Sheridan. Not tonight. “I’d rather continue on. I’ve…ah…been waiting for this las
t question all evening.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Oh you have, have you? Feel like telling me why?”

  “Nope. I’d much rather show you. So, what I want you to do”—I placed the tray on the floor, but not before I grabbed my chosen food—“is to lean back on your pillows, but don’t lie down all the way.”

  Curiosity and desire battled in his expression, in the deep blue of his eyes, but he obeyed instantly. Once he was in place, I straightened his legs and straddled myself low on his hips. He was hard. So very hard. I wiggled my bottom, feeling him throb beneath me, and I grinned. He choked out a laugh, but his gaze remained firmly planted on the fruit I cupped in my hands.

  “What are you going to do with that?”

  I cocked my head and winked. “Let me show you.” And then, at a leisurely pace, as if I weren’t dying to feel him inside me, I unpeeled the miniature banana. “These,” I said with a heavy drawl, “are called Lady Fingers. Sort of appropriate, don’t you think?”

  He cleared his throat, a mix of danger and humor in his eyes. “What I think, Red, is that you’ve underestimated me.” In a purely male gesture, he drove his hips upward so that I could feel him pressing against my panties.

  A shiver of anticipation rolled over me. “Such ego,” I teased in a breathy whisper. “I chose this particular type of banana for one very important reason, and it has nothing to do with that.”

  “Then what would it be?”

  “Ease of use,” I replied. “Let me show you.”

  Leaning to the side, I dropped the peel into a wastebasket. Heat trickled into my cheeks, seeped into my body and made my hands tremble ever so slightly as I lifted the waistband of his boxers. Very carefully, in a slow and measured movement, I slid the minibanana into his waistband, leaving it at an oh-so-cute, if somewhat awkward, angle.

  My lips quirked when the muscles in his abdomen shuddered. I loved seeing this: the proof that I affected him as much as he did me. Resting my palms on the bed for support, I slid myself down the length of his body just a little, and then I tilted my head and broke off the tip of the banana with my mouth.