Realms and Rebels: A Paranormal and Fantasy Reverse Harem Collection

by C. M. Stunich

  “No.” She walks over to me and grabs my throbbing cock, using it to lead me into the kitchen. I follow, all thoughts sucked out of my head like marrow from a bone.

  At the kitchen counter, she hikes her skirt up and turns to face away from me. Leaning over the shiny quartz, she guides my prick toward her entrance and I gasp. The woman is already ready for me, her drenched pussy practically vibrating with need. I drape myself over her and plunge my cock inside.

  She screams and presses her ass back into me.

  Hard.

  I wrap my arms around her and play with her exposed breasts and nipples while I make love to her. I want to go slow but she pulls at me until she’s set a pace between fast and frenzied. Her hand drops between her legs to rub herself but I bat it away and replace it with mine. Her head falls back onto my shoulder as I start to rub her clit.

  The woman is a dream. Her jet-black tresses fall over one of my shoulders and I grind my dick into her, trying not to come yet. I drop a kiss to her exposed neck, the light brown skin spicy under my tongue. Her body writhes and she bucks into me, overtaken with small spasms.

  She screams and howls, pushing hard into me, and her entire body convulses.

  I can’t hold back a second longer and let my come flow. Our bodies rock together and explode. I can almost see fireworks as my hot seed pumps out of me. Starbursts go off behind my eyelids as I squeeze them shut, trying to contain the pleasure from making love to this woman. The woman I love more than myself.

  “I love you, Sydney,” I cry out.

  21

  Sydney

  Jerome and I are cuddling on the couch, almost like a couple. He’s spooning me while we watch the rest of the movie. It’s weird and it’s nice. I get that he thinks he loves me and if I ever let myself feel that emotion or even accept that I am capable of it—I could love him too. But I’ve lived my life firmly telling myself that instalove is bullshit. Isn’t it? He was merely in the throes of passion when he screamed it. Luckily, I’m a professional and can count on my fingers and toes and several cocks how many times that’s happened. I shake my head to clear those thoughts because maybe for five minutes I can let myself believe . . .

  “Are you mad at me?” He brushes my hair out of my face.

  “For what?” I know for what.

  “For saying I love you.”

  I roll over to face him. “Of course not.” I kiss his nose and he smiles so wide his newly grown whiskers tickle my face.

  “I’m sorry I told you like that. I’d rather say it while looking into your eyes.” He cradles my face in his and holds eye contact. “I love you, Sydney Flores.”

  So he keeps saying. I stretch my arms above my head. “It’s late. Let’s get some sleep.”

  We each go to our rooms. Jerome wanted to sleep together but I said no. Not only would that confuse him with mixed messages, I’ve never actually slept with a sex partner before, not even Connor. Okay, so I did briefly fall asleep next to Niall but that hardly counts, it was a mere postcoital nap. At the whorehouses, we often slept in one big room together but that is not the same thing either.

  I thought about slipping some money under his door after I knew he was asleep but the truth is I can’t afford half the rent here. Jerome wants a mistress so really, what’s the harm in it? I’ve been so busy priding myself on never accepting a sugar daddy but what’s the difference between sleeping with one man for money and sleeping with a stable full? It could be argued that they’ve all been my sugar daddies. And not only would Mamá be proud that I’m choosing this route, if I do choose it, I could quit hooking altogether if I wanted to. I could stop running and settle down. Or, if I’m not ready to quit just yet, Jerome didn’t seem to have a problem with it. On the contrary, if tonight’s any indication, it turned him on.

  I peel off my clothes and take a quick shower before climbing into bed. Pulling the clean sheets up to my neck, I snuggle down under the comforter. What the hell did I do to deserve this? I’ve never lived in such decadence before. My mother truly would be proud.

  My mother.

  I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t cry for her. She was achingly beautiful and yet so foolish, never able to take her own advice, which is probably why she was so adamant about giving it. Even without proper education, she tried to protect me from her mistakes. The main one being that she fell for every man and his lies. She was a tragic, hopeless, helpless romantic who held out for love until the very end, even while she was in the hospital dying of AIDS.

  “Alejandro will come back, you’ll see. He’ll kiss me and hold me and tell me he loves me.” Those were the last words she said to me. Not “I love you, Sydney.” Not “I’m sorry.” Not “I’m scared.” Nope, until the bitter end she held out for some asshole who stiffed her a hundred bucks and left her bleeding in the gutter.

  Mamá always put men before me. Always.

  “You’re named after Sidney Poitier because I grew up crushing on that man,” she told me.

  “But why would you name me a boy’s name?” I asked.

  “Because I wanted a little boy so he’d take care of his mamá and look at me with unconditional love.”

  She must have been so utterly disappointed when I was born. She never said so, of course. And she was never abusive or mean to me. Some could argue that training me in the art of sex and letting her sell my virginity to the highest bidder when I was fourteen was abusive, but I don’t agree. She taught me a valuable skill, the only one she knew. And I will always honor her for that. Mi madre.

  Midmorning I get up and leave the house before Jerome wakes. The day is pleasant and the spring-blooming jasmine fills the air with its sweet candy fragrance.

  The walk along Discovery Highway is pleasant enough and I stop in a local coffee shop to grab two cups. Aroma Coffee is a tourist spot but now that we pretty much live in tourist central, there aren’t a lot of choices. I hug the ocean as long as I can, watching the surfers ride the waves, and then turn at the appropriate street corner to slowly ascend the hill. When I reach my destination, I balance one cup on my knee while I ring the bell.

  Maggie opens the front door with reddened eyes, takes one look at me and starts to close it. I hold the coffee cup out. She wipes her face with the back of her hand, takes the coffee and holds the door open, blinking hard. Even faced with a potential enemy, the woman maintains her grace. I enter, put my own cup down on her kitchen table and sit on the edge of a chair.

  “Why are you here, Sydney?” Her voice is shaky and clipped but not harsh.

  “We need to talk.”

  She sniffs. “Why?”

  “You know why, Maggie. There’s something not quite right about what’s going on and I think you may have an idea what it is.”

  Still standing, she crosses her arms across her chest and narrows her eyes at me. “All I know is that you screwed my boyfriend and now you’re living together.”

  I push my cup away, sliding it across the blond wood of the table. “How long have you known Jerome?”

  She huffs. “Apparently not long enough.”

  “You two were together for three years, right?”

  “So?” She juts out a hip and taps a finger against her arm.

  “So the way he’s been acting, especially the night he spent with me at the brothel, is out of character for him, is it not?” I tilt forward in my seat, willing her to see past her anger and think.

  “I don’t know, do I? I wasn’t there.”

  “Well . . .” I pull the cup back toward me and take a sip through the plastic top. Maggie does the same and then sighs and drops into the chair across from me.

  “Why are you really here, Sydney? To assuage your guilt?”

  “You’re a witch, right? Like your mother?”

  “Yass.” She snorts.

  “And you have a crystal ball?”

  Maggie freezes, eyes widening as she finally catches my drift. Then she puts down her coffee and stands. She disappears into the back room and ret
urns with a ball and a stand. She places both on the center of the table. Then she freezes again. Time for another nudge.

  “Can you look and see what your mother was doing before Jerome showed up at Ichor?”

  She blinks at me, then sighs. “If I do this, you’ll shut the heck up and get out of my house?”

  I nod.

  She goes back into her room and returns with four candles, placing them around the table. Lighting them, she walks in a circle and recites Latin while tracing symbols in the air.

  When she sits down again, she cradles the ball in her lap with one hand and passes her other over it. “Show me Eleanor last Saturday night at . . .” She looks up at me.

  “Eight o’clock?” I shrug. I don’t know when to look back. Here’s hoping the thing has rewind and fast-forward.

  “Eight at night,” Maggie says.

  The ball clouds and then clears. I lean in. Over Maggie’s shoulder, I watch in the ball as Eleanor stands in a kitchen surrounded by herbs and candles. Maggie leans in closer too, her brows creasing. “Licorice root, calamus root and . . . devil’s shoestring? But why? Those are all used to sublimate the will, or put someone in a trance, or make them do—”

  The girl is finally getting it. Then she gasps. Inside the crystal ball, Eleanor has propped up a frame with a photograph of Jerome taped to it. She recites an incantation and burns the herbs, along with the black and red candles around the photograph.

  Maggie wails.

  22

  Sydney

  The next day the four of us meet at Maggie’s house. Jerome and I arrive first. Maggie opens the front door without making eye contact with him and ushers us into the living room, where we sit together on the couch. Maggie’s eyes brim and she blinks rapidly, looking away as she goes into the kitchen. Silently, I slide to the other side of the couch, and when Jerome starts to follow, I catch his eye and give him a small headshake. He stays where he is. Maggie returns with a tray of waters and places them on the coffee table, letting out a small sigh of relief when she sees that we’re no longer sitting together.

  Kaden and Niall ring the bell a moment later and Maggie brings them in. Kaden sits on the couch between Jerome and myself. Maggie and Niall choose the two chairs.

  “Why are we all here?” Niall asks, looking at each of us in turn.

  “Maggie has something to say and she needs to say it to all of you.” I give her a nod, softly touching the gauze still firmly affixed to my cheek.

  Maggie takes a deep breath and holds it. Her eyes close and when she opens them, her gaze is soft. “My mother cast a spell on each of you.” She looks at each of the men. “Jerome got the worst of it though.”

  “A spell?” Kaden says. “That’s not possible, I would have known.”

  Niall leans forward and takes a glass of water. “Why?”

  Jerome leans forward, past Kaden, so he can see me. “What spell?”

  “First she took control of Jerome,” I say. “She sent him to have sex with me so she could show Maggie what happened using her crystal ball.”

  “And then she cast love spells over the three of you,” Maggie says, “hoping that you’d all get in a fight over her or something.” She juts her chin toward me.

  “Why?” asks Kaden.

  “So I wouldn’t marry Jerome.” Maggie’s brows crease and she shoots a sideways glance at her former fiancé.

  “But why make it affect us all?” Niall snorts. “And she’s not a very good witch. I’m not in love with Sydney.”

  “You’re not?” Kaden asks.

  “Fuck you,” Niall growls. “Mind your own fucking business.”

  Kaden nods. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Well, boys, it does explain the instalove.” I laugh but it falls short. No one laughs with me.

  “Are you saying that Sydney is unlovable?” asks Jerome. “Because I know what I feel, and it’s no spell.”

  “Look,” Maggie says, “I can show you all if you don’t believe me or I can just cast a nullifying spell.”

  The men look at one another and then back to me.

  “How do you feel about that?” asks Jerome, looking at me. “Because I like being in love with you.”

  Maggie winces.

  “It is nice,” says Kaden.

  “I’m not in love with anyone,” says Niall. “I’m going back to my hotel. This is ridiculous.” He stands up and places his water glass back on the coffee table. “Later, losers. I’ve got a race tomorrow. See you at the finish line.” He leaves while the rest of us remain seated.

  “Do it,” I say. “Just nullify the bitch, okay, Maggie?”

  “I agree,” says Kaden. “I don’t like anyone messing with my free will.”

  “I’ll need a photo of Niall. It’ll be easier for me if you’re all present, but a photo is the next best thing. I’m not as powerful as my mother.” Maggie gets up and starts rummaging around in the kitchen. “Everyone should move to the table,” she calls over the kitchen bar.

  The three of us take a seat at the dining room table.

  I pull out my phone. “I’ll text Niall and ask him for a photo.”

  “There’s no way he’ll send one,” says Kaden. “But I have one from the last time he came in with a severe injury. He always wants before and after pics. Crazy fuck posts his wounds on Instagram. His followers eat them up.”

  Too bad that doesn’t extend to whores. Imagine the amount of extra business I’d get with these injuries.

  Maggie sets out candles and herbs while Kaden thumbs through pics on his phone and finds one of Niall. In it, he looks far worse than I do. Kaden leans the phone on its pullout kickstand.

  Maggie lights the candles and sets a large white one in the center. “Hold hands,” she says, sitting down. On the tabletop, we form a small circle with our linked hands. Then she starts reciting something in Latin, stopping occasionally to throw herbs on the flame. It fizzles and sparks, lighting up the room.

  I lean back when sparks fly out from the fire. We all do.

  “Let them touch you,” Maggie says. “They won’t burn.” Collectively we lean back in.

  A sense of calm washes over me as the sparks fly around the living room like fireworks. She’s right, they land in my hair and on my skin but I can’t feel them. I close my eyes and find myself back in Mexico with my mother, sleeping in the same twin bed together. I can see the scene as though I’m floating over our bodies. I’m about eight years old and fast asleep. She’s petting my hair and whispering to me. “I wish I was able to give you a better life, my child. I don’t want this one for you. Maybe when I’m gone you will find a man to love you and take care of you so you never have to sell yourself like me.”

  When I open my eyes again, tears streak down my cheeks and the room is dark. I want to let go of the men’s hands to wipe my face, but I can’t. They are clasping my hands so tightly they hurt.

  “You can all let go now,” Maggie murmurs but the men still hold on.

  I shake their hands loose and stand up, swatting at my face with the backs of my hands.

  “I don’t want any of this,” I yell. “I don’t want any of your love. I don’t want your handouts or your pity or your leashes. Thank you, Maggie, because I am so done with this bullshit.”

  “Syd, wait.” Maggie reaches out to catch my hand but I pull it free.

  “Don’t go.” Jerome stands and starts toward me but trips on something in the dim light.

  “We still love you,” Kaden says. But I’m already out the front door, slamming it hard behind me.

  I spend the next three nights sleeping in my old apartment in Imperial Beach. I ignore the phone calls from the men and from Miss Cheryl and from Mags. I’m not their fucking charity case.

  On the fourth day, I pack my bags. It’s time to go back to Mexico. I’m sure I can find someone willing to give me a ride for a blowjob. What the hell was I thinking anyway, coming to a Signum hotbed to try and fit in with a bunch of supernaturals? I’m a human,
and worse, I’m a whore.

  I need the money I’ve made at Ichor since my last paycheck, and I hitch a ride there first. Miss Cheryl’s office door is closed and I can hear muffled voices on the other side, the rising pitch of Eleanor and then Maggie.

  “Calm down and tell me what’s going on, please,” says Miss Cheryl.

  I lean in and press my ear to the cold wood.

  “My mother cast a spell to make Jerome—my boyfriend—Niall, and Kaden fall in love with Sydney. I nullified it, then she left, and now she won’t answer our calls.”

  “First of all,” Eleanor says stiffly, “I only cast a spell on Jerome to have him sleep with her and then fall in love with her. As for the others, why on earth would I do that? I wanted Kaden to ask you out.”

  “What the hell, Mother? There is nothing okay about any of this.”

  “Don’t use that tone of voice on me, young lady. I did this all of this for you.” Eleanor’s clipped voice rises.

  “Ladies!” Miss Cheryl’s shrill voice silences them both. “I called you here to find out what happened to my most valuable worker bee. Spell-casting is not allowed inside Ichor, Eleanor, and you know that.”

  “But you—”

  “Eleanor. I’ll let you off with a warning this time but you must leave my merchandise alone. Understand?”

  My hand clenches around the doorknob as Maggie screams, “Merchandise? Is that all she is to you? Sydney is a person. She may be royally screwed up but that woman has a good heart. She just needs a chance. A real chance, not another madam pimping her out to the highest bidder.”

  I remove my hand from the doorknob as if it burns. My mother’s words fill my head. Find your strength, child. Find your gift.

  My gift is whoring, Mamá.

  You are so much more, my daughter. So much more.

  I can’t believe I’m arguing with a dead woman. I whirl around to leave. Screw the paycheck. Screw these people who think they can help me. Screw this life I don’t deserve to have.