Shock jolted through Moira’s system and she was rendered speechless. Another flick of Boone’s fingers scented the water with jasmine, and yet another lit the wicks of the soft wax candles that were scattered throughout the room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the sapphire of the lamp glowing as if lit from within; when she frantically tilted her head back to meet Boone’s gaze, she realized that his eyes were doing the same. But he chose that moment to rise from his knees, to step into the water with her, and the sight of his engorged flesh mere inches from her lips had rational thought flying from her mind, to be replaced with sheer lust.
Clambering to her knees, she opened her mouth wide and allowed Boone’s flesh to fill her mouth. Her hands reached up to toy with the muscles of his ass even as he groaned and grasped her by the back of the head. Drunk on the tang of salt and man, it took her a moment to realize that he was tugging on her hair, trying to disengage himself from her lips. For a moment she was unsure of herself, wondering if she had perhaps done something wrong. Instead Boone pushed her backward until her back rested against the wood of the tub and she was pinned between it and his body. Bending her knees, he spread her legs wide, and she arched her hips, desperate for the touch that she prayed was coming.
Drawing in a deep breath, Boone ducked under the surface of the slick water. His golden hair waved in the wet, and Moira closed her eyes to better enjoy. But instead of the expected sensation of the rough pad of his tongue, she felt a curious tickle, followed by a tightening of the muscles of her thighs. Her eyes flew open and she looked down, through the whispering water; as she watched, a steady stream of silvery bubbles frothed to the surface, but not before tickling at her incredibly sensitive flesh.
They gasped at the same time, she at the erotic sensation and him for air. She meant to beg him for more—for the concrete feeling of his lips and teeth on her clit—but he had submerged himself again, and Moira found that she could do nothing but writhe at the exquisite tease. The touch she so craved did come, however, and after a scant few minutes of Boone’s tongue intimately exploring her innermost crevices, Moira gasped and tensed, her tortured flesh rioting with a pleasure, the intensity of which she had never before felt.
The orgasm left her wrecked and blinking with surprise; her lax flesh forced her to comply when she was turned and bent at the waist, the heavy globes of her breasts hanging over the edge of the tub, their nipples tightening in the cool night air. She expected that her cunt was about to be filled with thick cock, and she stiffened when instead two fingers probed into the pucker that rested between the curved swells of her ass cheeks. She tried to move her body forward, away from the foreign invasion; she wanted the ache in her cleft assuaged, not this. But as she struggled, she incited arousal in nerves that she hadn’t even known she possessed, and by the time the fat head of Boone’s cock pressed against her she was whimpering, short, sharp cries that demanded that he fulfill her wish.
She had expected him to enter her slowly, to torture her by pressing himself inch by inch into her waiting flesh. The single thrust that sheathed him to the hilt caused her to cry out on a strangled breath; when he began to move in the same way, she found herself holding on to the edge of the tub for dear life.
While initially she was aware of the bite of the wood against the soft flesh of her belly, of the slap of Boone’s flesh against her own, pleasure soon overcame reality and her world narrowed— narrowed until all she was aware of were tiny, pleasure-induced spasms. And of the glow of sapphire in the lamp that sat right before her eyes. She didn’t need to turn around to know that Boone’s eyes would look exactly the same.
The familiar tremble in her thighs that always accompanied an impending orgasm began to make its presence known. When the world began to go bright, Boone pulled Moira tightly back against him, impaling her fully on his flesh, and quickly moved his fingers from the sweet curves of her buttocks to her clit, where he strummed a melody that Moira couldn’t hear but that she certainly enjoyed.
Gasping, she finally stilled, acutely aware that, despite the violent motions of her backside as she met Boone thrust for firm thrust, he was still as hard as iron within her—he had yet to come. She forced her deliciously lax flesh to wiggle experimentally against his, and was gratified to hear him exhale on a moan that sounded desperate.
“Turn around.” His voice was husky, raking over the rough gravel of unslaked lust. It caused the still smoldering embers of arousal that simmered low in Moira’s belly to burst again into full flame. With a murmur of agreement, she pushed herself away from the rough edge of the tub, from the hypnotic glow of the Lamp of the Sapphire, and turned so that she was again settled with her back to the wood. Boone ran firm fingers down the entire length of each of her legs as she settled, making her shiver. After a slow, sensual caress to the bottoms of her feet, one that had her purring with delight, he rested a bent knee on each of his shoulders; Moira floundered in the simmering water, digging for purchase on the slick floor of the tub.
She needn’t have worried, however, for as his fingers expertly opened the swollen lips of her labia, allowing his slick cock to enter her once more, she found herself cradled so tightly between wood and man that she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. Widening the space between her legs, she allowed her gaze to become riveted on his eyes—eyes that flashed with every thrust that filled her all the way to her womb.
They came together, she on a breathy sigh and he with a loud shout that issued out of the depths of his throat. When the quaking in her muscles had died down to tiny shivers, she went limp, as he did, and they lolled in the water that was still, miraculously, steaming. The air was silent but for the raggedness of their breath as it left their lungs.
The sweat of hard sex glued Moira’s cheek to Boone’s shoulder, where she had rested it. As she inhaled the musk that sex had aroused on his skin, she tried to kick-start her hormone-deadened brain into examining in detail the enormity of the situation. Her perverse mind insisted, however, on remaining as it was, floating lightly in a pleasure-induced abyss. One thought did manage to drift upward, however. As Moira’s heart thumped, it made itself perfectly clear.
She had found her mate—of that she was certain. It explained their instant connection; it explained why she had trusted him when she had such strong feelings about magic.
But what, exactly, was she supposed to do with the fact that he had that magic—magic that wasn’t allowed in the havens, magic that was an insult to the memory of her family?
And even more…what should she do with the fact that he couldn’t stay with her once she had made her wish—for no longer than a day?
Chapter Three
Boone had been with many women in the years since the queen had imprisoned him in the lamp—his punishment for saving Moira when she was a child. He’d been with men, too, and his body had enjoyed them all, taking the comfort of physical pleasure, the only real comfort he’d had in a life that had been utterly out of his control since the day he’d first seen Moira Connor.
What had just passed between them had shaken him to the core. It was real.
He might not fully be a witch anymore, but he still knew—he had found his mate. He, a cursed witch, had found a mate in the human girl who despised magic, who was destined to save the world from his own kind.
He hadn’t had a vision, not a true one, since he’d first seen Moira’s face, floating in his dreams, so many years ago. But in that moment he knew that with more certainty than he’d ever felt that nothing good could come of this.
He hadn’t been entirely truthful with her when explaining the rules of the lamp—of his curse. He didn’t have to leave her once she had made her wish… not if she wished for his freedom. The problem there lay in the fact that he had no idea whether or not he would retain any of his magic once he was freed.
And humans never wished for selfless things, anyway. They all wanted wealth, comfort, beauty, sex.
The lamp and the curse didn’t consider a s
elfless wish to be an actual desire… it would grant a second wish if the first was truly from the heart.
But that had only happened once—in the moment he had been cursed. Moira’s mother had wished for her daughter’s life to be spared. Perhaps that was why Boone had actually been able to. Whatever the reason, as the curse had wrapped itself tightly around him, he had understood that he could grant one more desire to the woman, even through his own fear and confusion.
It had been too late, because the woman was dead. And he had never once told a master or mistress of this addendum to the rules of the lamp… because could a wish truly be selfless if the wisher knew they would get a second chance?
Boone shook his head to clear it of his thoughts. He had sworn an oath to protect this girl—and it had been her mother’s final wish. So though he wanted to lie in the dark of Moira’s hut and think over what had just happened—and what he was to do about it— instead he rose, splashed some water over his face.
And waited in the night.
* * *
The velvety dark of the desert sky cloakedMoira instantly as she slipped out of her hut, her movements as silent as she could make them, so as not to awaken Boone. As always, she took a moment to look up and to appreciate the beauty of the vast heavens that were always clearly visible through the pulsating dome of the haven. The years she’d spent hunting treasure out on the vast plains, bartering bits of junk for pieces of copper just to survive, had been long and harsh, and had left a mark on her soul. As such, she was mostly thankful for the peace she had found here in the sheltered village haven of Mavi.
She had thought that the nagging feeling of something being missing all these years had been due to the absence of her parents. But now she wondered if it was simply that she had been lonely.
She would be lonelier still after tomorrow. Because she would be forced to use her wish—and she knew she wouldn’t feel right wishing for something that wouldn’t benefit the haven.
A power greater than dark magic—greater than the science that had built this dome—had dropped Boone into her life, making her wonder if maybe there were shades of gray to things instead of just black and white.
She had thought she had all she needed. But now she understood some of those shades of gray.
She had the chance to help the unexpected hunger problem of this year, and that was a kind of magic in itself.
And yet all she could think of was herself.
Boone was a djinn. She fully believed that now; his magical tricks that night had wiped away her doubt. And so long as the lamp owed her a wish, he would be hers. But time grew short and she knew that soon he would disappear forever—off to do the bidding of others.
She couldn’t allow that to happen.
Despite the pressing need to use the wish for the good of others, what she wondered now was if a djinn could be wished free. It was a delicate matter, one that she feared had no solution. She could ask him, certainly; she had no doubt that he knew the answer. But in doing so she would reveal the feelings that she was trying so desperately to hide in the depths of her heart.
She hadn’t mistaken the mating bond, of that she was certain. Humans had developed it in recent years, an evolution to make sure that couples stayed together and had children. But he hadn’t acknowledged it. What if djinns couldn’t mate? That would be just her luck. After all, she’d never even heard of the creatures until today.
Worse yet, what if he could be released from his bonds, and she was to discover after the fact that he didn’t want to be with her, to live with her as her mate?
Or what if she wished him free and half the citizens of the haven starved to death because of her selfishness?
Moira sighed heavily and sank onto the stone ledge that surrounded the town pool. The soft swish and splash of the water as it trickled through the pond never failed to calm her; inhaling the crisp night air, she closed her eyes, willed her body to relax, muscle by muscle, and meditated on her dilemma.
She didn’t much like the answers that came. While freeing Boone to be her mate could mean eternal happiness for her, what about the numerous others who resided in the haven with her? The reason that they were all able to coexist so peacefully and in such comfort was because they all pulled together as one, putting the needs of the group before those of the individual. The old Moira, the one who had been taught to think of nothing but herself in order to survive, threatened revolt at the notion. What good would food in her belly or peace in the haven do her if she was miserable enough to want to die, the old Moira taunted. If she freed Boone, she could have the comforts of body and soul.
But Moira had sworn an oath to herself on the day she had finished building her hut in Mavi. It was an oath to revoke her former life and to give herself entirely to the new way. To look after those who needed it, as she hadn’t been able to look after her parents. And if she intended to honor her vow, then she knew what she needed to do.
With a heavy heart she rose from her seated position, unfurling her long, slim legs from where they had been curled up beneath her. She might have been gratified to realize that her absorption in her thoughts was a testament to this oath, for she was so deep into her meditation that she never sensed the attack coming.
The old Moira would have greeted it with a wicked-looking blade in each hand and a grin that could chill to the bone.
This Moira was caught unawares—unawares and unarmed.
A fat hand that reeked of onions was clamped tightly over her lips, effectively silencing her scream. She was still strong, but her muscles and instincts had weakened over the months from lack of use, and her captor had the element of surprise on his side. Though she managed a sharp kick to the tender instep of the man—for she was sure it was a man—the delicate kid slippers she was wearing caused far less damage than her heavy steel-toed boots of the past would have.
“Got you now, you uppity bitch.” Moira struggled to place the familiar voice, and as she did she caught the holder of it sharply in the gut with her elbow. His breath wheezed out, hot and sour, and he relinquished his hold on her as he stumbled backward, falling hard on his rear on the cobbled ground.
“Gale Grocer?” Moira’s voice held incredulity and a faint trace of scorn as she watched the rodent-like creature scrabble about on all fours on the ground. “Gale Grocer?”
Gale spat on the ground in anger at the clearly evident disgust dripping from her words. He opened his mouth to speak, likely to spew a stream of ear-burning obscenities, but the light tinkle of a female laugh stopped him before he could speak.
“That’s quite enough, Gale. You might as well scurry home now with your tail tucked between your legs, if you can’t even keep control over a small female.” Though the voice was melodious and musical, beautiful, even, something lurked beneath it that made Moira’s skin crawl. She looked around wildly, searching for the source.
Energy crackled, just below her skin. She could feel it…she detested it…
Magic.
“And aren’t you still the feisty little one?” Moira felt her lips part in shock as the speaker approached, walking…no, floating…over the cobblestones toward her. The translucent white skin, the vivid crimson hair, the radiating aura of power.
The crimson pentagram that marked the skin beneath the creature’s ear.
Moira’s brain worked frantically, sliding her back through time so quickly that she felt sick. The memory was wrenched out of her like a coal from a fire.
The woman who had been their quiet, calm neighbor before the witches had banded together. The woman who had looked after Moira once in a while when her parents went out to dinner.
The witch who had burned them to a crisp in front of five-year-old Moira’s eyes, laughing as she did.
“Shiloh?” Moira’s incredulity brought forth another tinkling laugh from the incredible female who paused, wrinkling her nose, at the feet of Gale Grocer.
“Didn’t I tell you to leave?” There it was, that creeping evil s
naking through the harmonious words, slimy enough to have Moira shivering. Gale heard it, too, for he visibly quaked as he groveled at Shiloh’s feet. He pulled at the hem of her robe and her features reflected disgust at his touch.
The crimson of her witch’s mark glowed, reminding Moira of Boone’s eyes. She felt sick at how easily she had trusted him.
Magic—it was evil.
His eyes.
“No.” Moira shook her head, fighting the memory away. But even as she did, the tendrils of magic wafting off the woman wound around her, caressing her skin with sensual promise.
“Oh, now you see.” Shiloh laughed, waving her hands in the air. And the memory that had eluded her for so many years formed fully in Moira’s mind.
Boone’s face. Boone appearing in the house that Moira had shared with her parents, deflecting the deadly magic from Moira.
And not doing a thing to save her parents.
She doubled over with pain. She had pushed aside the walls she’d built once, just once, and the man that she had let in was the one who had haunted her for her entire life.
She had let him inside her body.
He was her mate.
What did that say about her?
Though she wanted to fall to the ground, Moira forced herself upright. Forced herself to look into the witch’s eyes.
She might be about to die—to die as she’d longed to do for so many years. But she’d take this bitch with her before more innocents were harmed.
“But ya promised me copper for the information,” whined Gale, slobber trickling slowly from the corner of his lips. His tail twitched. “Promised to pay me if I reported back to you on the girl. I brought ya information, didn’t I? Good information?”
“Oh, very well.” Shaking away Gale’s clutching grasp as one would the bite of a mosquito, Shiloh pulled a small cloth sack from her robe. She tossed it far and looked expectantly down her nose at Gale, waiting for him to run off and fetch it as a dog would a bone. And he did, scampering after the coin, uttering sniveling gratitude as he went.
Awaken to Pleasure Page 3