by Shara Lanel
Her chest heaved. “Don’t stop. I’ll be quiet.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He knew she wouldn’t be able to keep that promise, but it was fun to torment her. In place of moans and squeals, she writhed on the bed under him as he sucked her other tit into his mouth. He pinned it with his teeth and laved it with his tongue, just the tip.
Once both of her nipples were glistening wet, cherry red, and standing tall, he moved his mouth lower until he found the drawstring on her pants. He pulled the fabric away with his fingers and kissed each bared inch as it was revealed. The curly hairs on her mound tickled his chin and he could smell her arousal—musky, heady.
“Holt?” Something about her voice sounded vulnerable, nervous, so he stopped and looked up.
It pained him to say it, but he tried to be a gentleman like his Gran had taught him. “We don’t have to keep going. Do you want me to stop?”
“Can we talk for just a minute?”
Well, that was unexpected. His dick protested by aching more than usual. “Sure, we can talk.” He pulled himself up the bed until he could see her face. There were tears on her lashes. Well, damn. What had he done? “I’m sorry.” For whatever it was.
She cupped his chin. “No, I totally love it, all of it. It’s just … I’m scared. Well, more nervous now. It’s stupid, I know, but…”
Okay, now he was scared. Was she a virgin? Holy shit. He didn’t want to take her virginity. She’d seemed experienced—hell, she’d made him come yesterday. “Um, okay.”
She smiled sadly. “I’m not a virgin, don’t worry.”
“Oh, thank the Goddess.”
“But my only time was a very bad experience. It really hurt, nothing like what you’ve been doing to me.”
“Your only time?” His voice sounded like it had when he’d been going through his voice change in the sixth grade, squeaky. “You’ve only done it once?” Maeve had said Diera was twenty-five. How could she be so inexperienced?
She took a deep breath and he found himself watching the movement of her breasts, which were still bare. The tank top was bunched up just under her arms. “I was raped.”
“Oh, shit.” Holt sat up quickly and scooted to the other end of the bed. What kind of a jerk was he, bringing back bad memories, forcing her to do…?
“Holt!” Now she really sounded upset. “Are you upset with me? It wasn’t my fault!”
“Oh, damn. Honey…” He took her hands in his. “…That’s not it. Shit. I was just … I shouldn’t have made you…”
“Come right back here.” She pointed to the place on the mattress he had just vacated. “I don’t want to stop. I don’t.” She hung her head, sitting silently. Then she looked up, an expression of wonder and joy on her face. “You’re not him.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I just got scared. And that’s what’s stopped me in the past, too, with other guys. They’d start groping me on our first date and I’d freak out.”
“Just like me.” No way was he going to resume groping her.
“Nothing like you.”
She sat up, pressed her naked chest against the skin of his back and proceeded to grope him instead, peeling the denim away from his groin so she could play with his rapidly deflating cock.
“It’s all right, Holt. In fact it’s much better than all right.”
She took a deep breath, pushing her breasts into his back, sending shivers of desire through him.
“This is all new to me. I just wanted to warn you, and I wanted to make sure you have protection and all that. I’m on the pill for cramps … not that you want to know that.” She grinned and squeezed the interest back into his dick. “But that’s not the same.”
“But now I’m scared … shitless.”
Chapter Four
Holt ran his fingers through his hair restlessly. “I might hurt you. You might think I’m just like that guy.” He tried not to picture the scene. Lacking the details only made it worse in his imagination, some guy throwing her down and ripping off her clothes, hurting her. His fingers flexed with the urge to strangle her attacker. Had she reported it? Had she fought back? Was he in jail?
Diera squeezed his balls a bit too hard for comfort to get his attention. “No way!” She laughed, a trill of delight that filled the room. “You’re not the monster, Holt, and I’m not the girl I was either. I’ve waited so long to feel this way. I want us to fuck, okay? Like bunnies, very quiet bunnies.”
“I can do that.” Actually the picture of bunnies going at it was not a turn-on, so instead he concentrated on her fingers trailing along the ridge of his cock. The blood had rushed back in, so now the happy head peeked past the zipper of his jeans. “But … are you sure this is what you want?”
She nodded. “Now strip.”
Holt complied, standing to slip his pants off. He’d only put them on when he’d heard Diera’s door open and close earlier, not wanting to freak her out again. He watched with shallow breaths as Diera pulled her tank over her head and tossed it to the floor. Her boobs bounced with her movements, as she stood and rid her slender legs of her PJ pants. Holt reached into his nightstand drawer for his rarely accessed box of condoms and a matchbook without taking his eyes off that tempting triangle of red fur at the apex of her thighs. Just as he’d imagined it, tight little curls neatly trimmed, framed by alabaster skin. She was a luscious fertility goddess, and she was offering herself to him.
He turned away from the awesome vision for just a moment, so he could light two candles on the dresser. Sunlight filtered through the curtain, but since this window faced west, the room was still fairly dim. The candles were more for cleansing and blessing than for ambience, though.
“Can I put it on you?” Diera asked, referring to the condom, which surprised him since women usually seemed to find the latex icky.
He handed her the foil pack. “Sure. Just roll it down.” She did, slowly, carefully. Holt watched her fingers on his cock and savored her touch.
Then she smirked. Damn woman.
“Okay, laughing at it is not going to help my ability to perform.”
“But it’s a funny thing, don’t you think? I mean, look at it.” It bobbed and Holt blushed, but then she drew her nails under his testicles. He inhaled sharply. “Is that better?”
“Yes.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her playing with him. “Not to ruin the mood, but did you want to talk about … what happened to you?”
“Not now. I just kind of felt dishonest not telling you, especially if I suddenly start bawling. Don’t take it personally.”
“Yeah, right. That’ll give me confidence in my sexual prowess.” He backed her towards the bed. “Okay, remember the no noise rule.” He liked the idea of making her ache and writhe without allowing her the release of a good scream.
Once he had her stretched out on the bed, this time completely naked, he decided to taste her from toe to head with long, slow strokes of his tongue. At first she responded as if she was getting a full body massage—her muscles grew lax and her eyes closed, but then she started making little movements and sounds that gave away her growing arousal. Wetness glistened on some of the curls atop her clitoris. He spread her labia apart with his thumbs.
*
Holt’s mouth settled on her clitoris, and Diera was quite sure she’d been given an IV of tequila. Pleasure flowed through every inch of her body. It didn’t matter where his tongue was. She tingled and sparked through every synapse. And warmth flowed through all of her cells. She didn’t know how to describe it, and was too busy enjoying the sensations to worry about it, but it was more than simple arousal. She’d felt arousal before, of course, from reading non-fiction sex books and erotica, and she’d rented quite a few shoddy porn flicks, which had turned her on without satisfying her. She also had a very creative vibrator that filled her and massaged her clit at the same time. It was only with men that she shied away from real sexual experiences.
&n
bsp; But no amount of reading could prepare her for the feel of Holt’s warm, wet mouth on her pussy, drinking in her juices, circling and pressing her clit with his tongue. The texture of his tongue seemed to vary depending on whether he used the tip or the flat center of it, and when he did that, he pressed her nub against the roof of his mouth, making it ache.
More wetness leaked from her hole, coating the juncture of her legs, and embarrassment burned her cheeks for a moment, but the wetness was part of the experience as was the strange warmth and the suction sounds Holt made as he pleasured her. It was earthy and real. Good, so good.
When he eased his way back up her body, kissing her stomach, breasts, and neck as he went, Diera found herself relaxing again. There was an ebb and flow to making love. Some of it was urgent, some was playful, some gentle.
“Diera.” Holt’s lips vibrated against her cheek.
“Hmm?” She smiled as his breath tickled the tiny hairs on her skin.
“I want to fuck you now.”
“Good idea. Condom still in place?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good boy. You may fuck me now.”
Holt chuckled as he levered his body atop hers in the classic missionary position. “We’ll stick to the basics for this go ‘round, okay?”
“Hmm.” She agreed. As long as the basics meant his long, stiff rod filling her aching hole, she was quite happy. He eased into her slowly, carefully, and her body stretched to accommodate him. She gasped at the feeling of fullness and the unfamiliar connection with another human being.
And when he began to move, she savored the friction. His cock, with its bulbous head and thick, smooth length, stroked the sides of her vagina, sometimes with a strong pressure that bordered on pain, sometimes gently. When the head tipped against her G-spot, she broke their vow of silence and moaned long and low.
“Uh-uh, no sound,” Holt whispered, stilling his body.
“Oh, my God, Holt, do that again. Do it a lot.”
He concentrated for the next several moments on repeating the motion that she’d liked so much, and she concentrated on not moaning, screaming, or calling out his name.
Holt straightened his arms, lifting his chest above her, thrusting deeper and faster. “I’m going to come.”
“Gotcha.” Diera smiled encouragingly, looking forward to Holt’s release.
And he did come. Warmth filled her vagina while his body bucked above her. His face contorted, as if in death throes, but it was obviously pleasure taking over his nervous system. All of this sent Diera over the edge with him. She dug her nails into his steely forearms as contractions wracked her body and she yelled his name.
Oh, shit—on that part—she hoped Aunt Maeve had lost some of her hearing in her older years. Hadn’t she gone to a lot of rock concerts in the 70s? Diera giggled.
Holt slid out of her and relaxed onto his back, eyeing her curiously. “Okay, you warned me about tears, not laughing. Should I be crushed?”
She turned on her side and stroked the stubble on his chin. “Wasn’t that marvelous?”
He grinned. “Now there’s the way to boost a man’s ego.”
“Not just you.” He frowned, so she punched his shoulder playfully. “The whole thing. It was nothing like … Fear is such a waste of time, don’t you think?”
“Well, fear in healthy doses can prolong the life span.”
“But what good is a longer life span if you don’t really live?”
“Good point.”
* * * *
Holt found himself wanting to talk to Diera about Wicca, about circles of power, and sex magick. She seemed so open, receptive, but he sensed that if he reminded her that he was a witch, her whole mood would collapse.
And had she felt the power rise between them? He’d been shocked at the sensation, something like his cells in a microwave, irradiating from within. The description was inadequate, but it would do for now. He couldn’t remember ever feeling the power rise outside of a circle. His first thought was to discuss it with Rowena, but he didn’t kiss and tell, so better not.
He pulled Diera into his arms and settled them against his pillow. He must’ve fallen into a doze, because when he awoke, his arms were empty.
A loud tattoo on the door had his heart racing. Had Maeve ventured to the third floor to tell him to get out since he’d had sex with her niece? He yanked on his jeans so fast that the zipper pinched hairs in his groin. Ouch! He opened the door…
…And there stood Diera, pleased as punch.
“Why the hell did you knock like an army drill sergeant?”
She was fully dressed in jeans and two layers of tank tops, the bottom one red and the top one turquoise. “Sorry.” She didn’t look the least bit sorry. In fact, she wore a shit-eating grin. “You said you’d help me, right? Plus it’s time for breakfast. I can already smell Aunt Maeve cooking bacon.”
“How long did I sleep?” He glanced at the moon/sun clock on his wall. It was almost ten a.m.
Holt dressed in a hurry after agreeing to meet Diera downstairs. He spent breakfast feeling guilty and looking for signs in Maeve’s face that she knew what he’d done, but her face remained placid as she chatted with Diera about the different fundraisers her group was working on.
Once he was in the car with Diera, with her driving like a maniac in and out of city traffic, he directed her to Rowena’s tiny store off Midlothian Turnpike. It was in a modern shopping center that had a couple of restaurants in it, a craft store, an electronics store, and a Kohl’s. Rowena’s New Age shop was easily overlooked, since it had a small sign out front showing a bell, book and candle but no name. And No Name was what she called the place, The No Name Shop. She said it had to do with the belief that knowing the true name of something gave you power over it.
The modern glass front showed fountains, chimes, and sun catchers. There were brochures about Reiki massages and chakra classes. She sold the Carlos Castaneda books right along with Marianne Williamson’s Return to Love, but if the shopper was brave enough to round the corner to the room behind the cash register that’s where the real treasures were hidden. Rowena stocked everything for the modern witch: hazel, oak, and crystal wands; scrying mirrors and crystals; resins for making incense and charcoal; candles, pendulums, and altars; bunches of dried sage as well as cast iron cauldrons of all sizes.
Holt had explored the store many times, finding new treasures, as he was ready to learn about them. Rowena had told him once to trust that he would find what he needed when he needed it, whether it be ingredients for a spell or an old Book of Shadows to bring him a new perspective on the Craft. He remembered Rowena’s words as he watched Diera nervously poking around the front of the shop. She wasn’t ready to make those discoveries. He’d be lucky if she hadn’t bolted before Rowena attempted to scry for them.
The High Priestess wore a flowing white gown belted with a multi-colored sash and embroidered about the hem and collar. She wore such clothes to enhance the image of her shop as much as for comfort, she’d told Holt. Her flaxen hair was tied back with a strand of raffia and her face was unadorned by make-up, but was pretty just the same. She didn’t mind the crow’s feet about her eyes—she said she’d earned the right to wear those lines.
Once the customer was taken care of, she came out from behind the counter and reached her hands out to him. “Holt, blessed be! I’m surprised to see you escaped from the job today.”
“Blessed be, Rowena. I’m playing hooky, but for good reason. I have someone in need of your help.”
Diera stood a foot behind Holt, almost like she was hiding. Rowena greeted her with a welcoming smile. “Blessed be, child. I know who you are. Your aunt has told me so much about you.”
“Really?” Diera accepted her hands in greeting, but her expression remained wary.
“Oh, yes. Maeve asked for my counsel many times during those bleak years. I’m so glad to see your heart is strong. The darkness did not tarnish you too badly.”
Di
era yanked her hands away and shoved them in her pockets. “Well, Aunt Maeve didn’t tell me about you or about being a witch.”
“Don’t be angry, child. She did it out of love.” Rowena glanced at Holt and her expression changed to a knowing one, one that had Holt blushing. Geez, he was a grown man, and obviously hanging around way too many women lately.
He cleared his throat. “Diera and I seem to be having connected dreams relating to her boss’s daughter. The girl came to Richmond to join a coven.”
“What is her name?”
Diera answered. “Kim Jacobs. My boss wanted me to locate her, make sure she’s all right. He wants to be able to talk to her, but I’m beginning to think something’s really wrong. These dreams…” She let the thought trail off and stared into space, biting her lip.
Holt wanted to kiss that lip and run his hands through her soft hair, but he continued filling Rowena in on the situation. “We were hoping you might have a list of covens in the area. Diera’s boss only remembered that the name has the word ‘night’ in it. Also I wondered if you could help us interpret these dreams. Diera dreamed that Kim was buried alive, while I dreamed that I was the one in the coffin.”
“Very interesting.” Rowena walked to the door, turned the deadbolt, and adjusted the clock sign to say she’d be back in an hour. “Come to the back. I’ll look into my crystal and you can pull up the coven list on my computer.”
They followed Rowena to the back room. Holt sat down in a straight-backed chair that looked like it had been swiped from an English country house, and clicked the keys on Rowena’s computer, quite familiar with her erratic filing system. He found the list of area covens inside the folder marked “Circles.” There were three other covens with the word “night” in their names. Coven of the Night Watchman. Interesting name, but he had no idea who the Night Watchman was meant to be. Night Moon Coven was the second one, and the third sounded the most ominous, Nightshade Coven. But an ominous name did not necessarily make for a coven up to no good. It quite often equated to teenagers trying to sound bad, experimenting with spells and black magic. Luckily these experiments rarely worked. If they did work, Rowena was often called in to assist with restoring balance. She thrived on lecturing these witless teens on the true path of Wicca, and sometimes she referred them to a tutor from one of the more reputable area covens, if they were interested in learning more.