The Seven Year Witch: That Old Black Magic, Book 2

by Jodi Redford

  Eventually the quakes subsided and she slumped on the couch, boneless. She heard Logan whisper something that sounded like beautiful before he rose to his feet. His fingers traced the curve of her spine in a gentle, almost-reverent caress. He came into view as he walked toward the pine coffee table. Her climax hadn’t left her so shell-shocked that she couldn’t appreciate the spectacular visual of Logan’s sculpted chest covered with a fine sheen of sweat. He’d removed his T-shirt, but his jeans remained in place. Although it looked like he’d unzipped them at some time to relieve the pressure on that mouthwatering hard-on.

  He flipped open the lid of the decorative metal box resting on the coffee table and reached inside, extracting a condom packet. A mix of contradicting emotions raced through her. Excitement over the prospect of finally having his cock buried inside her and disbelief that she was about to engage in sex with someone who kept an available stash of condoms on their coffee table. For goddess’s sake, where else did he hoard them? The cookie jar in the kitchen?

  All of her doubts took an inconvenient siesta the minute Logan rucked his jeans down and his cock sprang free, all rosy and engorged. A single drop of precome glistened from the plum-shaped cap. Her mouth dry, she watched him kick free of his clothing and rip the foil packet with his teeth. It was then that she noticed that the lower portion of his face was glossy with her wetness.

  He caught her stare, and she licked her lips. “Can…can I put the condom on you?”

  “No, shug. You touch my cock, and I’ll come before even gettin’ to feel your pussy grippin’ me.”

  “That would be a shame.”

  He offered a lopsided grin. “You’re tellin’ me.” Unfolding the condom, he smoothed it onto his shaft. The responding quiver of his washboard abdominals fascinated her, as did the intriguing way his biceps flexed with his motions, drawing her eyes to the barbed-wire tattoo encircling his upper arm. For as long as she could remember, she’d harbored a secret fantasy about licking that damn tat. Now was no exception.

  Truthfully, she also wouldn’t mind licking his beautiful cock like it was a tasty popsicle, either. But judging from his confession regarding his thinly leashed control, that pleasure would have to wait for later. She tried to shove from the cushion and grimaced when her wobbly legs refused to cooperate. “As much as this pains me to admit, you’ll have to carry me to your bedroom. I don’t think there’s any possible way I can walk yet.”

  Logan’s smile turned wicked. “That’s because I totally annihilated you with my oral warfare. Your pussy didn’t stand a chance.”

  “Annihilated?” She wrinkled her nose. “Just when I think you can’t possibly get any cruder…”

  “You weren’t complainin’ while you were comin’ like crazy on my tongue.”

  “On second thought, don’t carry me. I don’t need that ego of yours swelling any more out of control than it already is. You might rupture something.” She struggled to get up, but before she could do anything more strenuous than lift onto her elbows, Logan boxed her in from behind.

  “Got news for ya, shug. My ego isn’t the only thing swellin’ out of control.” He rubbed his latex-sheathed cock between the cheeks of her ass, and she whimpered. His fingers slid between her legs and skimmed over her clit. Despite having just experienced the most mind-blowing climax of her life, a hot flush of need trembled through her. Logan’s cock slipped lower and teased the entrance to her slit. “The wolf in me wants to fuck you like this.”

  “You mean doggie style? Sweet goddess, you truly are a walking cliché.” The tremor in her voice destroyed any shot she had of him taking her sarcasm seriously.

  “Yet somethin’ tells me you won’t complain this time either.” The thick head of Logan’s cock eased inside, stretching her. He groaned. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  Speech was impossible. Gnawing on her lip, she settled for giving a frantic shake of her head instead.

  “Good, cause I’ve gotta move.”

  “Sweet goddess, yes. Give me more.”

  “Mm, I like the sound of you beggin’ for my cock.” Logan’s adroit fingers slicking over her clit, he thrust deeper.

  The fullness of him filling her superseded all else—even taking him to task for his arrogance. Besides, it’d be damn impossible to challenge his claim when she was bucking against him, mewling worse than a cat in heat. The head of his cock prodded her G-spot, and she jerked, nearly biting her tongue as a fierce wave of pleasure crested toward a dazzling peak. Logan retreated slightly before nailing that sweet spot again. And again. On his fourth pass she thought she would die from the ferocious flood of sensation building inside her.

  It was too intense.

  Too earth-shattering.

  Too everything.

  She tried to escape it, but Logan held her firm, neither his cock nor his fingers relenting in their quest to drive her over the edge. “Come for me, Rissa. Now.”

  The excruciating pleasure erupted, and she opened her mouth in a silent scream. Dimly, she heard Logan’s strangled shout as he came with her. She could feel her magic break through its barrier, and it physically manifested a second later in a radiant shower of lavender shimmers that sparked from her skin.

  Her last coherent thought before passing out was now she knew how a freakin’ overworked firecracker felt.

  Chapter Six

  The screech of a nearby gull snapped Logan awake. He blinked at the ceiling, the lingering remnants of his incredible dream slowly disintegrating like a spider’s web caught in a downpour. But even as the dream dissolved, his senses returned in a rush as Clarissa’s sweet, intoxicating scent reached out to him. He rolled onto his side, his hungry gaze devouring her.

  Who needed a dream when the woman he wanted above all others was lying beside him all warm and naked?

  Clarissa sighed in her sleep, her palm curling next to her cheek on the pillow. She looked so peaceful. And vulnerable. The hidden layers she was reluctant to expose called to him on a deep, primal level. He hadn’t been entirely surprised when she’d responded so well to his dominance. It didn’t take a PhD in psychology to figure out that a woman with as many responsibilities as Clarissa shouldered might secretly long to hand over the reins in the bedroom. No, what had thrown him for a curveball was his response.

  He’d played the dominating alpha with his fair share of women. Plenty of females got off on it, and he’d been more than happy to accommodate their fantasy of being fucked by the big bad wolf. But with Clarissa, he hadn’t been role-playing.

  It hadn’t been so much about bending her to his will—or over the arm of the couch, as it were. Though he’d certainly enjoyed that part. But at the core of it was something more elemental. He craved her trust, her willingness to let him take care of her. For now, she might only consent to both when it came to sex, but that would change. He’d bide his time and be patient. Seven years of waiting proved he possessed a mammoth storehouse of that particular virtue.

  His attention drifted from Clarissa’s face, down to the perfection of her creamy breasts. Her nipples were pebbled. Much as he liked to think it was because she was having her own sexy dream about him, he reluctantly acknowledged that the sea-soaked breeze ruffling the curtains was probably the culprit. Still, that didn’t keep his wolf from salivating in anticipation. A few things in their relationship he didn’t mind waiting for. Savoring those luscious nipples wasn’t one of them.

  Inching forward, he blew a stream of air across her breasts. Clarissa murmured in her sleep before arching her back like a saucy kitten. It was all the invitation he needed. Swirling his tongue over her nipple, he sucked the distended nub into his mouth. Her eyelashes fluttered before she blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

  He released her nipple and worked his way toward its mate. “Havin’ my breakfast.”

  She glanced toward the window. “What time is it?”

  Not trusting the flash of worry that clouded her expression, he swung
his leg over hers, keeping her pinned in place. “It’s time for you to stop frettin’ and let me enjoy the next course.”

  “I’m not fret—” Her lips pinched together when he gave her a stern look. “I’m supposed to join my father for breakfast.” Her cheeks took on a pretty pink flush. “The real kind, I mean.”

  He traversed the slope of her breast and licked her nipple. “This is the real kind too. A Rissa meal. My favorite.” She snorted, and he grinned before tracing her areola with his tongue. “You told me the nursing home never keeps on schedule. Which means it’ll be at least another hour before your pops gets his tray delivered. I promise you’ll get there with time to spare.”

  “Is that your way of telling me you’re going to rush through your breakfast?” Her eyebrows arched. “Not exactly much incentive for me agreeing to your plan.”

  “Nah, just means I have to work extra hard at givin’ ya a dozen orgasms in thirty minutes.”

  “Only a dozen? Slacker.”

  Chuckling, he scooted backward, his mouth blazing a trail down her stomach. He dipped his tongue inside her bellybutton briefly, before continuing his trek south. Coaxing her thighs wider to accommodate his shoulders, he settled in place and inspected his treasure trove. A thin landing strip of fiery red curls covered her mound. He already knew from prior exploration how downy soft they were. Actually, she was soft everywhere. And silky. Recalling where she was silkiest, he lowered his focus. She was already wet, dripping honey for him. His mouth instantly pooled with saliva.

  “You know, I get a less thorough examination from my gynecologist.”

  Ignoring Clarissa’s breathless, albeit dry tone, he slid his thumb through her wetness. Holding her gaze, he sucked his finger clean.

  Her breath stuttered. “Dr. Freeman doesn’t do that, however.”

  “Good. ’Cause I’d rip his fuckin’ balls off.” Ducking, he licked up and down her slit until she was undulating against his mouth and panting. Working his way north, he found her clit swollen and slick. He swirled his tongue across the sensitive nubbin, and she cried out, her hips arching. Holding her steady, he sucked on her throbbing flesh with soft, rhythmic pulses. Her fingers sifted through his hair as she gasped his name, over and over. A fierce tremor ripped through him. Groaning, he raised his head and retraced his previous path with his lips until he reached her mouth. He glided his tongue over hers, sharing her taste. Some women hated that, but Clarissa only caressed his chest and allowed him to deepen the kiss. Her thighs parted, her wetness bathing his cock. Another scalding frisson of pleasure washed over him. He slid inside her pussy and indulged in the three most blissful strokes of his life before realizing he hadn’t donned a condom.

  Sonofabitch. Unprotected sex sure as shit wasn’t the way to go about earning her trust.

  Pulling from the snug heaven of Clarissa’s pussy proved to be one of the toughest things he’d ever done. Particularly since her inner walls hugged him tight, almost as if they were reluctant to release his cock.

  Balancing himself on one arm, he tugged at the drawer pull on the nightstand and snatched a condom. Clarissa blinked before staring in the direction of his cock. He quickly sheathed himself. “Sorry. I swear to you, though, I’m one hundred percent clean. You don’t hafta worry about catchin’ an STD from me.”

  The tension eased from her body. “I wasn’t worried.”

  “Liar.” He stopped her protest with a lingering kiss. His palms slipped down to cup her ass as he sank back inside her. “In this day and age, you’d be foolish not to insist on a guy usin’ a condom.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me there.”

  He pumped deeper, his eyes almost crossing at the tight squeeze of her inner muscles. Moaning, he buried his face against her neck. “That bein’ said, I’ve gotta admit the thought of ridin’ you bare again is all I can think about. Any chance you’re on the pill?”

  She shook her head. “No reason to be, since I haven’t had sex in over two years.”

  Her frank admission caused him to lose his rhythm. “Uh, what?”

  Clarissa’s gaze slid from his shocked one. “Can I help it if I’ve been a little too busy for sex lately?”

  “For two years? Shug, nobody’s that busy.”

  “It isn’t like I was completely depriving myself.”

  His head spun from the possibilities inherent in that provocative statement. “Vibrator?”

  “A drawer full. My favorite is a sparkly blue one that has a little dolphin-shaped attachment that I use to buzz my—”

  A massive groan escaped him, and he shuddered. “Darlin’, there are certain things you shouldn’t say to a man when he’s balls-deep inside you. Not unless you want him blowin’ too soon.”

  Her fingertips danced along his spine before smoothing over his tensed glutes. “Hm, then I guess you don’t want me mentioning how good your cock feels.” She massaged his ass. “So thick…and…hard. Mmmm.”

  He growled. “You’re messin’ with the king of tease, baby. Sure you wanna take me on?”

  “Definitely.” She arched her back, deliberately tempting him with those scrumptious nipples. “I’m ready for you, big boy. Give me your best shot.”

  Awarding her his most wickedly feral smile, he hiked her thighs over his shoulders and watched her eyes widen as he bumped against her cervix. “What do you fantasize about when you’re playin’ with your vibrator?”

  It took a moment for her glassy stare to focus on him, and he could tell from her dazed expression that she was trying to determine why their sexy talk had taken this particular fork in the road. “I-I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Tell me.”

  She bit her lip. “Sometimes I…think about you.”

  “Yeah?” The word came out husky as he circled his hips, brushing her clit with his pubic bone. The notion of her masturbating while she thought about him was a heady, massive turn-on. “Did you pretend your little dolphin buddy was my tongue while it kissed your sweet spot?” He increased the tempo of his thrusts, keeping pace with her quickened breaths. “Baby, you’re not the only one who’s been busy fantasizing. Do you have any idea the number of times I’ve jacked myself, wishin’ my fuckin’ hand was your mouth or pussy instead?”

  “Logan…” She gasped, her slick walls rippling around him. Closing his eyes, he basked in the pure pleasure of her orgasm. He managed two more short strokes before he came with a broken groan.

  Heart pounding from exertion and some other indefinable emotion he didn’t care to overanalyze at the moment, he slumped, rolling them both sideways so he didn’t crush her. He flopped his arm over her waist. “I win.”

  A derisive noise huffed from the back of her throat before she poked him in the center of his sweaty chest. “Only because you cheated with your sneaky hand-job confession.”

  “Never said I play fair.”

  After an admonishing sniff, she pushed away from him and sat up. “Now I really need to go take a shower.”

  “How about if I join you?”

  She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Right. I wouldn’t get over to the nursing home until dinner.”

  Licking his lips, he ogled her heart-shaped ass. “Good point.”

  She strutted to the bathroom, and he reluctantly abandoned the bed and padded into the kitchen. After pitching the condom in the wastebasket beneath the sink and washing up, he set about making coffee. With the rich, earthy smell of chicory filling the air, he scrounged in the cupboards for some of the flavored creamer he knew she preferred. Yeah, it’d probably prove how pathetically hopeful he’d been, keeping her favorite creamer on hand, just in case. Still, he’d take looking like a loser if it scored him some brownie points.

  Once the coffee was ready, he carried both of their mugs back into the bedroom. He spied Clarissa standing in front of the steamed-up mirror, trying to run his comb through her hair. Catching her grimace as the comb’s teeth caught in a snarl, he plunked the mugs down on the dresser and stepped into
the bathroom. He pried her fingers from the comb, earning her startled glance, and gently worked on untangling her wet strands. She remained unusually quiet during the process, her gaze darting away from his whenever he happened to catch her staring at him. Her obvious nervousness over the simple yet intimate act of him brushing her hair only verified his earlier concern. Apparently she was okay with him fucking her, but anything else and she was ready to run for the exit.

  Feeling like he was currying a skittish horse, he gathered a long section of her hair in his hand and dragged the comb through to the ends of her damp tresses. “Bet you didn’t know I sideline as a stylist when I’m not tending bar. Or you.”

  That last bit managed to return the color to her cheeks, and she nibbled on her bottom lip. “My dad used to brush my hair sometimes. He wasn’t always as gentle as you’re being, but I’d go along with it anyway. I think it gave him something to concentrate on, other than—”

  He eyed her profile, waiting for her to finish despite knowing she wouldn’t. When it came to any reference to her past, particularly the years leading up to her mother taking off, Clarissa always automatically shut down communication. He’d learned the hard way not to push her about it after suffering through a week of her silence the last time he’d unwisely brought up the subject of her mother. He released her hair, and she pivoted from him, nearly stumbling in her haste to escape the bathroom.

  An old feeling he was all too familiar with sank in his gut while he watched her yank on her bra and panties. Clarissa had retreated into her impenetrable fortress of solitude and pulled up the welcome mat. There would be no admittance for him any time soon.

  Chapter Seven

  The harsh fumes of antiseptic and industrial-grade disinfectant assailed Clarissa when she entered the lobby of the Lafayette convalescent home. Janet, the day receptionist, glanced up from her magazine and waved Clarissa over to the desk. “They just wheeled your father into the dining room. He’s acting unusually spunky today.”