by Rede, Lily
Fuck, I have to get home.
Nicole smiled at him, her eyes roving his shoulders and his perfectly tailored suit.
“I must say, I am looking forward to having sex with you. I’ve heard you’re quite good …and exceptionally well-endowed.”
Trent struggled not to react, though heat crept up his neck.
“I hope it’s enough to please you. Would you like to find out for yourself? Perhaps tonight?”
Perhaps in the bathroom or the coat check or anywhere as long as it’s in the next ten minutes before I just blow?
“Sweet, but why don’t we wait until after the engagement announcement, for propriety’s sake, of course.”
“Of course.”
Trent didn’t make it home. Holding his jacket strategically, he escorted Nicole to her car, accepted his own keys from the valet, and drove five minutes until he found the nearest deserted parking lot. There, he pulled out his cock with shaking hands, leaned back in the seat, and let the images flood his mind.
Long lashes over gray eyes, dark with heat, pouting lips worshiping the head of his dick, luscious, creamy breasts with dusky nipples bouncing while she rode him, her curls tumbling around her, her wet pussy gloving him as she took everything he had to give.
Trent came with a groan, warm come coating his fingers as blessed relief overtook him.
He sat there panting, dizzy with satisfaction.
But it only lasted a minute.
Just as it had for the last two days, he’d no sooner used a handkerchief to clean himself up than his cock started swelling again to throbbing fullness, hungry and hard for the witch who was ruining Trent’s life.
He blamed his building’s management company. Of course.
ISABELLA FIERO DRAGGED THE last box from the elevator and crammed it in beside the others in her chain-link storage space in the basement of the building.
“Done! Margarita time.”
She flicked her fingers and the cage door slammed shut, the lock clicking of its own volition. For good measure, she popped a little magical shower of sparks to celebrate her victory. After three weeks of unpacking, everything in her new apartment was where it should be.
Of course, that will last for five seconds, but enjoy the moment, she thought, and headed back to retrieve the elevator.
Finding a building open to both human and magical habitation in the city was tough, and this one, a lovely old thing with exquisite moldings and high ceilings, was a true treasure. It had just switched over from human-only, and Isabella had snapped it up. Most of the city was still oblivious to the idea of witches and monsters, goblins and fairies, but there was a gradual acceptance, and since Isabella had been invited to show her sculptures in a prestigious human gallery to great success, she had decided that it would make sense to live in both worlds. If only the whole building could get on board with the new arrangement.
Isabella smiled sweetly at the old couple huddled in the corner of the elevator, staring at her as though she had horns and feelers coming out of every orifice.
“Nice weather we’re having, right?”
Nothing.
Isabella knew it would take time, but come on, it’s not like she ate small children or bathed in the blood of virgins. She was just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill witch, and not a terribly powerful one at that. Most of the magic she did on a daily basis was by accident.
She let herself into her place on the eighth floor, sparing a glance for the door across the hall, wondering if he was home.
Trent Langley.
Even his name was high class. Isabella freely admitted to herself that she had developed a teensy-weensy crush the size of New Jersey on her new neighbor. He’d lived in the building for years, and upon learning that he was a big shot businessman, she wondered why he didn’t upgrade to one of those glass and steel monstrosities. In between getting her studio set up and unpacking, Isabella had gone out of her way to gather information about the fine, fine specimen of mortal manhood living across the way. The pixie lesbians on three had been no help, but the techie elf roomies down the hall had informed her that Trent didn’t do magic. The whole idea of interspecies relations freaked him out.
Which is a damned shame.
Isabella had finally won over the widow on the second floor, a human schoolteacher who plied her with homemade cookies and dished about all of her neighbors. Trent worked hard, and he used to be something of a ladies’ man, but that had finally stopped. Now the gossip around the building was that he had been seeing some rich businesswoman and it was getting serious.
Even worse, thought Isabella.
She’d fallen for him hard when they first met, and he joked around with her as he helped her carry boxes up from the moving van. The man was walking sex – tall, dark, handsome, and edible, his soft chocolate brown eyes incongruous with the hard muscle and supreme self-confidence evident with every move he made. He was like a tiger, all sleek power and strength. Since Isabella’s career had kicked into overdrive, she’d taken herself off the dating scene, devoting her time to work – far more interesting than the soulful, poetic warlock types she thought she preferred.
Since meeting Trent, her “type” had taken a dramatic shift. Forget sonnets and jazz fusion, Isabella was suddenly more interested in a strong, confident male who wouldn’t be shocked when she voiced some of her naughtier fantasies, and who wasn’t afraid to get dirty with her. She sensed that in Trent, and for the past few weeks had tossed in bed at night, unable to satisfy herself by magical means or fingers, plagued by the strangest, hottest fantasies she’d ever had. The worst was a couple of days ago, and she’d been all hot and bothered ever since.
They were on a main stage at a strip club, the audience full of men, eager for a show, the footlights blinding.
“Hold still, Isabella,” he ordered, his voice low and stern.
Trent tightened the belt that bound her arms behind her back and stroked her arms, then down over her ass to where the tight dress ended at the tops of her thighs, biting into the flesh as Trent nudged her legs wide.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” he said.
“Me, too,” whispered Isabella.
“Look at all these men. You know what they want.”
“Yes.”
“They want what’s mine. They all came for a glimpse. Shall we show them?”
Isabella whimpered.
He didn’t wait for an answer, but grabbed the front of her dress and ripped, leaving her standing naked but for a tiny g-string tied with little bows at her hips, while the crowd roared its approval. Trent cupped her breasts, pressing a firm erection against her ass as he rolled her nipples for the benefit of the audience.
“See how they watch you? All those eyes eating you up, wanting to suck your nipples, waiting for me to pull off this little scrap of material so that they can see the pretty pussy I’m going to fuck for their entertainment.”
Isabella moaned, so turned on she was shaking as Trent slowly untied the bows at her hips and tugged the material away, baring her soaked folds to the lascivious stares of dozens of men.
And then they were in her bed, the crowd gone, and Trent was taking her with slow, deep thrusts, no less possessive, but love and wonder shone on his face as he filled her, again and again.
Isabella leaned against the closed door, blushing, as a nearby cactus abruptly decided to flower. She wasn’t an exhibitionist, but oh my God. She didn’t need a professional to tell her what it meant. Isabella wanted a man with a hard sexual edge, but one that was tempered by an emotional connection. And no matter how badly she wanted him, she wasn’t going to find that in Trent Langley.
Especially not after the incident in the lobby.
TRENT ENTERED THE LOBBY with trepidation, but everything looked normal. Still, he hurried to check his mailbox and press the button for the elevator, his stomach churning with anxiety as it had for the last three weeks, his cock still hard and demanding his attention. Three weeks ago, the manag
ement company had opened up the available units to members of a heretofore unheard of magical community.
It was shock enough that creatures from fairytales and nightmares actually existed and were running around the city, sometimes in disguise and sometimes not. It was worse that now they were going to be living in Trent’s beautiful, hundred-year-old building, the place he’d loved at first sight, with its Old World character and prime location. For the most part, the newcomers kept to themselves, and Trent had to admit that the techie elves down the hall seemed like good guys, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to become drinking buddies or swap recipes with them. He was still worried about the towering man with the greenish tint that had been referred to him as a “half-troll.”
WTF.
And of course, there was the witch.
She didn’t look like a witch, and he’d had no idea when he helped the voluptuous, raven-haired piece of dynamite move in a few weeks ago that she was in fact a witch. Isabella Fiero. She said she was an artist. She looked like a walking fantasy, her bouncy black curls framing a face that was almost too cute to be believed. There was nothing cute about the rest of her. She might be tiny, but Isabella Fiero packed a punch. There wasn’t a flat spot on her – she was all lush curves and a sweet little waist and hips a man could hold onto while he sank into her heat. Her breasts would bounce no matter how he fucked her. It was quite a pleasant visual.
It had Trent having guilty second thoughts about his practical arrangement with Nicole.
And then Trent found out what she really was.
And that’s when the trouble began.
He’d been checking the mail that night when the glass front door opened.
Lucky dress.
He’d only seen her in jeans before, but Isabella dressed to kill was something else, and the simple black sheath that lovingly clung to her curves seemed unbearably exotic. Trent smiled.
“Hot date?”
“Gallery fundraiser. All those stuffy people with too much money and not enough taste, complimenting me on the ‘importance’ of my work. Blech.”
She rolled her eyes, opening the little mailbox and extracting a pile of envelopes.
“And they never feed you anything edible. I’m going to go upstairs, climb into my PJs, and eat an entire pizza.”
Isabella rifled absently through the envelopes, stopping on a fat, purple letter.
“Oh crap,” she said, as the thing started to vibrate.
“What’s the matter?” asked Trent.
Isabella dove for the elevator button, trying to hide the bouncing purple envelope.
“Nothing. Fucking elevator. Come on!”
Suddenly, the letter surged out of her hands in a shower of sparks, nearly taking Trent’s head off as it zoomed by.
“Get down!” shouted Isabella, pushing him to the ground, as –
WHOOSH!
The letter exploded in a rush, and the lobby was suddenly festooned with flowers, sparklers, hundreds of balloons, and even little glowing butterflies that dropped glitter like rain.
Trent pulled himself to his feet, his jaw slack, his entire body covered in glitter.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Just my Aunt Minnie’s way of saying congrats on the new digs. It’s touch activated. She doesn’t understand human things like lobby mailboxes. I’m so sorry, are you okay?”
But Trent stumbled back when she tried to brush the glitter from his sleeve.
“What the fuck are you?”
He was shaken and shocked, but the hurt in her eyes still made him feel like a heel.
“I’m a witch,” she said quietly.
The elevator pinged open.
“Don’t worry about all this,” she continued, expressionless, “It’ll dissipate by morning.”
And she stepped into the elevator and disappeared.
Three weeks later, Trent was still finding glitter in intimate places, though the lobby was magically pristine the next morning. He’d avoided Isabella ever since, but they lived across the hall from each other, which made that somewhat impossible. Trent couldn’t stop thinking about her, worrying about what crazed witchy thing she was going to spring on him next, plagued with thoughts of broomsticks and toadstools.
But…his blood heated whenever he caught a glimpse of her, and two days ago, he headed out for a jog just in time to see her opening the door to find the paper, dressed only in a tight cami and worn little shorts. By the time he reached the elevator, Trent was hard as a rock.
And it wouldn’t go away.
How was a man supposed to concentrate on work, pre-nups, and marriage when he was basically a walking hard-on? It was all her fault. She’d obviously cast some sort of spell on him, maybe as punishment for him looking so horrified when she announced that she was an unnatural mistake of Nature. OK, that was harsh, but the only images he had of witches were creepy, vindictive, and fictional. And now he could add crazed glitter bombers to his list of characteristics, but whatever.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He couldn’t sleep. His only moments of relief came when he caved to the urge to jerk off to images of sinking between her thighs, into her mouth, or her hand. Dropping his jacket and mail on the front table in his apartment, Trent looked down at the bulge in his pants and frowned. This couldn’t go on.
She has to make it stop.
Before he even realized it, he was out the door and across the hall, knocking firmly. He winced at the sight of the doormat that read, “Life’s a Witch,” and looked down the hallway, anxious. Trent had left his jacket inside, and the last thing he needed was one of the neighbors to see him sporting enough wood to build a log cabin. Trent frowned at the softly lit hallway.
When you marry Nicole, you’ll have to move.
It had occurred to him before, but now that it was imminent, the idea left a sour taste in his mouth. But there was no way Nicole would agree to live in a building like this. Trent was surprised at how sad that thought made him. He’d always appreciated its warmth and character.
The door opened, and Isabella’s eyes widened at the sight of him.
Trent scowled. She was in another cami and a pair of sleep shorts, no bra. His cock jerked.
“Do you always answer the door half-dressed?”
She started to answer, and then noticed his big, throbbing problem.
“Yeah,” he growled, “You’re going to take care of that.
ISABELLA FLASHED HOT AND cold, confronted with a large, pissed off, hugely aroused Trent Langley standing in her doorway, determined to make her –
“What?”
Trent pushed past her and closed the door behind them.
“Whatever you did, undo it.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Trent pointed to the bulge in his pants.
“This is not normal.”
“Is it…bigger…than usual, or something?” Isabella ventured, unclear what the problem was.
It looks fine to me. SO fine.
“It’s the same size it always is,” Trent gritted out, “The problem is – ”
He stopped abruptly as Inkblot the black cat twined himself around Isabella’s ankles, keeping a wary eye on the intruder. Trent backed up a step.
“Just a cat,” she promised him, trying not to laugh, “Familiars are too high maintenance for me. They need lots of attention.”
She picked him up for a cuddle, and felt a curl of heat as Trent’s eyes lingered on the creature snuggled against her breasts.
Don’t forget, he thinks you’re a monster, Isabella.
Isabella sighed.
“What exactly can I do for you, Mr. Langley?”
“I’ve been hard for two days,” he growled, “I can’t stop thinking about you, and when I jerk off, I’m hard again in seconds. Seconds. It isn’t natural. So, whatever hex you cast, stop it right now.”
Isabella put Inkblot down to glare at her neighbor.
“Oh, you think just because I’m
a witch, I go around hexing people who act like bigoted jerks? I wish!”
“Lady, I am not fooling around! My engagement is about to go through, and you’re not going to ruin it with your witchy sex games. I don’t want to think about you, naked or clothed or at all.”
“Go through? Like a merger? How totally romantic. For your information, I haven’t cast a hex on anyone in years. So whatever you’ve got going on down there is all on you.”
She poked him in the chest.
“And I can’t help it if you’re thinking about me all the time. Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you that you shouldn’t be treating marriage like a business deal. And for your information, you may be hot, but I actively avoid men who think I’m a freak.”
“Then maybe your subconscious can’t keep its hands off me,” he retorted.
“That’s ridiculous,” snapped Isabella.
But she froze.
“Totally ridiculous,” she repeated, weakly.
“Isabella – ”
His tone was warning.
“Hang on, let me check something. Aunt Minnie!”
Trent edged closer to her as magic suddenly swirled around the room.
“Aunt Minnie? The glitter bomber?”
“Trust me, if anyone will know what’s going on, it’s Aunt Minnie. She’s nutty as a fruitcake, but she knows everything there is to know about magic.”
Trent sniffed her hair.
“Why do you smell like ginger cookies and dirt?”
“It’s sculpting clay, you idiot. And I was baking earlier.”
Trent sniffed again, this time nuzzling his nose into her hair, his warm breath making her toes curl.
“Incredible,” he murmured, and Isabella had to force herself to step away.
He wasn’t kidding about uncontrollable attraction.
“Aunt Minnie!”
“No need to shout, dear,” said Aunt Minnie, popping into the kitchen and calmly reaching for a teacup, “I heard you the first time.”
Trent eyed the plump little woman suspiciously, but Isabella hurried forward to kiss her on the cheek. Aunt Minnie eyed Isabella up and down.