Magick Men: A Shot of Magick
Rhyannon Byrd
Chapter One
Lachlan McKendrick awoke in an agony of sensation—his tall, powerful body shuddering with the lingering memories of mind-blowing sex.
He had dreamt of her again last night.
Not one of those fleeting dreams, like the whisper of a butterfly’s wings that hovered at the nebulous edges of your consciousness. No, this had been a white-hot, raging blast of physical sensation that had tormented him the whole night through, scraping down his nerve endings like a vicious force of nature.
She’d come to him in brutal, sweet visions of flesh, lust and need—an angel from hell who had tortured his senses—and last night had been particularly painful.
No sooner than his eyes had closed, his cock already hard from thinking of her, had he heard her husky voice whispering in his ear, the sound ethereal and far away, although her breath was sweetly erotic against his hot skin.
“Is this for me?” she’d drawled, her slender hand wrapping around the wide base of his cock, not afraid to grip him with a strong, tight pull as she’d milked the long length, wringing rough shouts of pleasure from his throat. He’d bucked beneath her, his big hands biting into her flesh, desperate to keep her where he could fuck her to his heart’s content.
Her fingers had tightened, her thumb stroking across the broad head of his aching cock, smearing the salty moisture streaming there from the slit, driving him insane. “You’re a witch,” he’d gritted through his clenched teeth, the guttural words being torn from his soul. “And if you’re not careful, I’m going to be fucking you like one.”
She’d given a throaty laugh, moving against him in a delicious press of flesh against flesh, and he’d felt the slippery sweet cream spilling from her cunt, dripping down the insides of her strong, lean thighs as she’d wrapped herself around him.
“You don’t scare me,” she’d murmured thickly. Her tongue had licked a line of fire from his ear to his collar bone, taking gentle nips from his warm flesh, her wicked hands holding tight to his throbbing cock. “Do with me as you dare, Magic Man. I can take you. All that you ache for—whatever you need—I want to be the one who gives it to you.”
The seductive words had cut loose his tenuous control and he’d eagerly swallowed down her sharp gasp of surprise as his mouth had taken ownership of her own. His tongue invading like a sword, he had deftly flipped her beneath him.
“Now!” she’d cried into his mouth, her nimble tongue tangling with his, her desperation just as needy, just as violent in its quest for satisfaction. She’d spread her legs wide, lifting her hips, trying to take the too long, too thick mass of his cock within her hungry pussy, but he hadn’t been ready to ease her ache so soon.
Ignoring her snarling groan of frustration and pulling hands, Lach had licked his way down her shivering length, feasting upon the taste of need riding her so high. He loved that he was the only man who could make her burn. The only one who could make her scream her pleasure. She didn’t need to tell him he was the first lover who’d made her come—her pleading body told him all he needed to know.
He’d sucked gently at the soft skin just above her sexy little patch of blonde curls, the honey swirls of hair already glistening with the juices creaming from her delectable, sopping cunt, assaulting his senses. “Oh shit,” he heard her moan, and he couldn’t help but smile against her fevered skin. She was such a pleasure; one he longed to gorge himself on over and over in an eternity of forevers.
His hands had held her silky thighs spread wide as he’d shifted to look down at her. His nostrils flared as he’d devoured the beauty of her drenched flesh. He’d never known a woman who appealed to him more, as if she’d been made just for him, from the demure pink lips, wet with cream, to the tight bud of her clit, berry red and ripe to bursting. And the tiny hole he loved best of all. The intoxicating taste, like warm melted sugar and strawberries. The way it gasped like a little mouth, aching to be ripped open—fucked till she shouted and screamed and writhed in the throes of ecstasy. The way cream spilled as he had lapped it into frenzy and then had dribbled down his throat with the first plunge of his tongue as it dug deep inside.
He had teased her, eating at the pulsing flesh until she’d pulled his hair, shouting, “Now, damn it! I said now!”
“Such a bloodthirsty little bitch,” he’d laughed, covering her trembling body with his own. He’d nestled the huge round head of his cock within the sweet, cream-covered lips, pinned her grasping hands high above her head, and taken her as hard as he dared, knowing in his dreams he could not harm her.
He’d pounded—slammed her with his cock, forcing himself through the delicious clench of her tight pussy, nudging her womb. He’d ridden her writhing body with all his power, reaching between them to spread the puffy sweet lips of her cunt farther apart, holding them wide, wanting her to feel every inch—every slide of his engorged penis. Over and over he’d buried himself to the root, cramming her full of cock till she was blood red and gasping, the rhythmic clenching of her pussy pulling feral, beastly sounds from his throat.
The orgasm had gathered in the roots of his soul, blazing through his blood, scorching and urgent and full as he’d ground against her soft womanly body, praying for the release he knew would never come.
It never did.
And last night was no different.
He had woken up alone and aching. His throbbing cock standing tall and angry, furious at fate for teasing him with a taste of the one woman he couldn’t have.
“Fuck!” he’d roared through the silence of his room, throwing off the sweat-soaked sheets that had still smelled of her cream and grabbing the nearest clothes he could find.
At six-five, he was tall and mean and muscle-honed from all the long, grueling hours he spent training other Magicks—Warlocks and Witches—in the arts of combat and self-defense. He had thick, reddish-brown hair that he normally kept trimmed much shorter than his outrageous cousins, light green eyes, and golden skin. He was well-dressed, always in control of his strong, passionate emotions, and wealthy enough to afford any luxury he wanted, from houses to cars to women. Though sex was one thing he’d never had to pay for.
He’d always had a look of danger, but now that look took on a more sinister character. His hair was longer, shaggy around the strong bones of his face, jaw dark with auburn stubble, big body wrapped up in ragged jeans, a black T-shirt, and big black boots as he left his house to pace the early, fog-filled streets of Edinburgh.
He looked like the kind of man you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, and he felt like one as well. And to be honest, he didn’t know how much more of this he could take.
You’ll take as much as you have to, man, his Warrior’s pride warned. Because you canna let those blasted fools win. Not this time! You’ve pledged them your bloody loyalty, but they havenna any claim on your cock!
Yeah, well, too bad the governing High Council of Magicks—made up of his five outrageous uncles—thought otherwise.
They’d put a bloody curse on him, the well-meaning fools. One that changed his women into fucking animals every time he shot his blasted load. And the only way around it was to find his bith-bhuan gra—his soul mate.
His uncles, it seemed, had taken it upon themselves to ensure that he stopped sowing wild oats and began planting a few instead.
In the belly of the right woman, of course.
It was intolerable. He was so full of sexual frustration his skin felt like it was about to burst. Hot, tight, and disturbingly prickly, like an itch beneath the surface that remained just beyond his reach. He’d tried alleviating the painful pressure on his balls himself, taking matters into hi
s own big hands, but ended up putting his fist through his shower wall when he’d been unable to bring release.
That was apparently yet another one of the Council’s twisted concoctions. According to their sadistic curse, he could only achieve an orgasm with a woman. And if he didn’t want to find himself shooting his cursed load of magic in front of another friggin’ furry pet, he had to find the true woman—whatever the hell that meant.
It means we’re royally fucked, man, his pride chimed in again. Completely screwed.
“Shut up, will you,” he growled, wondering when he’d become crazy enough to argue with himself.
The Council Leader, his Uncle Seamus, wasn’t seeing him or taking his calls, which left him to rely on his cousin Kieran for information.
There wasn’t much. And looking back on it, Lach could only thank Saephus he hadn’t actually been inside any of the five Witches he’d bedded, or Cailleachs as his people called them, at the time of release or he’d probably be sentenced to death right now for assassinating his elders. So far there’d been a cat, a monkey, a goat, then a goddamn smelly sheep (he was Scottish, but he wasn’t that bloody Scottish), and finally a foaming at the mouth Rottweiler. That particular occasion had turned out even worse than those before it. Becca was a big enough bitch on the best of days, and it’d cost him a tetanus shot and five stitches for the fucking bite she’d put in his leg.
Because the wound had been made by another Magick, he hadn’t been able to use his own power to heal it.
And the dreams, well, they were their own kind of torture.
The whole situation was ludicrous, especially for one as powerful as he. Why not Kieran or Dugan, Mal or Blu? One of his wild cousins who would laugh it off and go with the flow, or at least not kill themselves thrashing against it.
And to make matters worse, he was beginning to believe there wasn’t enough magic in the world to save him.
“If there was,” he snarled beneath his breath, “I’d have bloody found it by now. I’d be fucking myself blue, instead o’ wasting my time lusting after a woman I canna have!”
He’d been walking the barren streets of the city for hours now, searching for answers, huddled within a black leather jacket, the biting cold of the wind stinging against his face as it whipped around his head. And yet, a part of him—a part he didn’t want to admit was there—knew he was waiting for the hour of seven to roll around once again. Then he’d find himself standing in the doorway of The Wicked Brew, his eyes hungry for just a glimpse of the one thing that brought him even a glimmer of peace these days.
He’d found her three weeks ago, when he was on a walk just like this one. And he’d dreamed of her each night since.
There was only one problem.
Well, one on top of the fact that his uncles had plagued him with a freaking curse on his cock and he couldn’t screw without shooting a load of magic that turned his women into angry animals, leaving them craving a piece of his ass to chew on.
His balls were blue, his time was running out, and instead of searching for the true Cailleach—his bith-bhuan gra—he’d become obsessed with her. She was goddamn fascinating, beautiful and intelligent and spirited as hell. So different from any woman he’d ever known before.
There was just that one minor, somewhat unfortunate detail.
The woman who haunted his sleep and every waking hour was not a Magick.
She was not of his kind.
No, the woman of his dreams was a fucking mortal.
Chapter Two
Lach stood before the door of the café undecided, longing to go in every bit as much as he wanted to run like hell in the opposite direction. It was an internal struggle mired in lust and fear and the strange need to protect the little mortal from a power that was far too dangerous to risk her with.
And, of course, he couldn’t discount the unfathomable fact that he was unequivocally scared shitless of her.
He didn’t understand it, this bizarre effect she had on him.
The only thing he did know with any degree of certainty was that if he’d had his way, he’d have fucked her at that first intoxicating smile, regardless of the obstacles. And there were plenty. His family, this infuriating curse, and that whole mortal thing.
He didn’t do mortals.
At least he never had before. His power was formidable to most Magicks, his size and strength overwhelming to even the strongest of the Cailleachs.
But to a human?
Well, he’d always known he could be damn near deadly.
So he’d never traveled down that particular sexual road before, and to be honest, he’d never really cared to.
Until now.
But he couldn’t do it. Only Saephus knew what the load of magic erupting from his cock these days would do to a human mortal if he tried to fuck her.
And the worst part of all was that she wanted him too. She wanted to be ridden just like in his dreams, crammed so full of cock she could barely breathe.
The first time he had ever set eyes on her he’d known. He’d smelled her erotic scent, seen it in the heat of her eyes and the sensual curve of her lips the moment they first came face to face. He’d been out prowling the early morning streets when he’d wandered into the quirky shop and found her standing behind the counter, laughing with another customer. He’d been longing for some relief from this continual nightmare, his leg burning with stitches and his cock on the verge of implosion, and there she was.
It’d been an instantaneous reaction, from the physical surge of his pulse to the emotional clenching of his heart. Something inside of him had recognized her on every level as a man, and he’d been back every goddamn day since.
Yeah, his pride grumbled. Because you canna stay away.
She’d become an addiction, and at this point, despite the incessant need for her ripping at his insides, she was the only thing that gave him a moment of calm. He was hooked, craving that warm feeling of belonging she invoked in him like a junkie hungered for his fix.
All he had to do was see her and it was as if a shroud of contentment fell over him. Something steady and comforting, like home. And yet, at the same time it was as volatile and raging as the molten belly of a volcano, twisting him with physical need.
It was fucking pathetic. Here he was, the most powerful of the Magicks, and he’d been reduced to hovering on the doorstep of a mortal café, afraid of entering the world of the gnach because of one puny little female.
“Fuck this,” he growled beneath his breath, shaking off the dramatic musings of his over-exhausted mind. He may not have figured out a way around the fucking curse, but he could sure as hell handle a woman.
With that thought in mind, Lach squared his shoulders and walked inside, hoping to inconspicuously disappear into a dark corner, but for a man of his size and bearing, not to mention his rugged good looks, it was impossible to go unnoticed.
He hadn’t taken two steps past the threshold before she looked up at him, smiled her siren smile, and murmured, “Hey, Magic Man.”
She’d called him that from the first, though he wasn’t sure why. There was no way in hell she could know what he really was, or how true a nickname she’d chosen.
Despite his resolve to remain unaffected, the mortal’s smile hit him like a flash of heat spilling through his cold bones, beating against the rhythm of his heart.
Without warning he had a sudden flashback to one of his dreams. “Mmm,” she’d drawled, her wicked tongue taking hungry licks of his throbbing flesh. “I love your taste, your shape, your size. You’ve a beautiful cock, Lachlan McKendrick, and I want it to belong to me, as does your heart.”
Then she’d stuffed her mouth full of him, swallowing down his shaft till he could swear he’d hit the back of her throat. But it wasn’t just the amount of cock she could swallow when so many women could barely take half of a man his size. No, it was the way she sucked at him so greedily, as if she took as much pleasure as he did, her pink tongue rooting into the slit, al
ways eager for his taste.
And the little hum in the back of her throat drove him wild. He fantasized about what it’d be like to be able to fill that humming little mouth full of scalding come. To feel her cheeks and tongue and throat working as she swallowed him down with greedy satisfaction.
Saephus, it’d be so good it’d probably kill him.
“What can I get ya?” she asked, ripping him back to the present, and his cock demanded he answer, “You.”
He only just managed to resist the dangerous impulse. Or better yet, push her to her knees, pull out his monstrous hard-on, and let her show him just how much she loved swallowing. Instead, he mumbled, “Colombian. Black. No sugar,” and stalked off to the corner table by the window.
He faced the street, trying to ignore the shudder of need her husky voice sent through him each and every damn time she spoke to him. Of course, he was no more successful today than at any other time over the last three weeks. His cock grew long and hard and thick within the confines of his jeans, and he wondered for the thousandth time how he was going to survive never having this woman beneath him, her legs spread wide, delectable cunt open—wet and aching, just waiting for him to fuck the shit out of her.
The image was so clear in his mind he could almost taste the juices spilling sweetly over his tongue, sliding down his throat, filling his belly. Behind him, she gave a throaty laugh at his usual cranky reply and there was an answering twitch in his jeans, his cock insistent in its demand for satisfaction.
“Goddamn traitorous body part,” he grumbled beneath his breath, knowing the fucking thing was going to be the death of him. She set his steaming cup before him, making his head spin as her teasing feminine scent hit him hard, assaulting his already bruised senses.
Against his will, he looked up at her reflection in the window, the hazy picture in no way diminishing the impact of her face and figure on his aching body. She was beautiful, yes, but he’d had beautiful women before and they’d never had this kind of effect on him.
Magick Men: A Shot of Magick Page 1