by AJ Hampton
“You’re blushing.” His thumb brushed over her cheek, his hand rough against her face. It felt like her skin was on fire.
“And you’re a jerk.” Just two more days until she could rip off his pants and make her fantasy come to life.
She reached behind her, and his gaze tracked her hands. The movement forced her chest against his. Her nipples puckered at the sensation. What would it feel like to have his hands moving her bra to the side? Teasing her nipples with a graze of his knuckles against the sensitive buds? Her stomach tightened, and heat blossomed between her legs. She pulled at the band holding back her hair. Dark, wavy tresses tumbled against her shoulders, tickling her skin. She shook her head, and the strands fell into place. Hunger flared in his eyes.
“Right,” he croaked out in a husky whisper.
Without another word, he stepped in front of her and strode toward the bar. The few people in his way moved. She couldn’t say she blamed them. Bottle in hand, he made his way back to his table before pulling out a chair. Lounging back in the seat, he pushed the chair opposite him out from under the table with his foot. What a gentleman.
Twisting the offered chair around, she placed the back of it against the table before straddling it. The slats pushing against her breasts helped alleviate some of the pressure. With a grin, she grabbed the whiskey. The weight of the bottle felt as familiar as the stickiness of the floor beneath her shoes. Three generations of witches had grown up in this bar. If everything went well, someday there would be a fourth.
She topped off two shot glasses, the potent smell of the whiskey blurring her vision. It smelled like oak.
“When’d you get your hair cut?” Trent rolled the shot she gave him back and forth between his hands.
After a second, he threw it back and hissed at the bite. Taking his cue, she poured the liquor into her mouth. Warmth moved down her throat and settled in her stomach. She sucked in a deep breath, and the rich wood-and-fire taste watered her palate. She loved the sting of fine whiskey.
“I didn’t think you’d notice,” she stammered, still trying to catch her breath.
His arms scraped across the table until he was close enough that she could smell the alcohol on his breath. Reaching up, he pushed her bangs to the side, uncovering her eyes.
Slowly, his caress moved over the curve of her cheek. He thumbed the moisture on her bottom lip. “I’d notice if you cut one hair, let alone a bunch of ‘em. It looks nice.” His hand fell to the table.
The act of filling another round covered how much the compliment meant to her. The spot where she kept rubbing her necklace back and forth was starting to get sore. She wasn’t normally this fidgety. Then again, she didn’t normally ask a man to take her virginity, either. The whiskey burned her stomach, and she shook her head to get rid of the sting. She poured another.
Trent raised his eyebrow. “You’re trying to get me drunk, aren’t you?”
“No.” She downed another and drew in another breath. More than she was accustomed to, this particular whiskey packed quite a punch. “I’m trying to get myself drunk.”
Before she could pour another, he snatched the bottle away from her.
“Hey!” she shrieked. He had quicker reflexes, a higher tolerance for liquor, and the bottle was safely out of her reach before she could grab it.
“I’ve seen you drag grown men out of the bar by their hair. You aren’t the shy type. What do you need liquid courage for?”
She gave one last lingering look at the bottle before she sighed and rested her chin on the top of the chair. Why was this so hard? “I feel stupid.”
Trent leaned back in his chair to study her from afar, just like he had the first time she met him. He brought the bottle to his lips and licked the rim. Tease. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the way his tongue trailed over the opening. Her legs parted. She pressed her hips against the chair and stifled a moan. How would his tongue feel trailing along her pussy?
“I’ve never seen you so—” He swigged and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. In the dim light of the bar, the moisture trailing over the ridge of his knuckles shimmered. There was another scar there, one she’d never noticed before. Before she could stop it, magic trailed from her fingers. Like an extension of her hand, she used it to finger the old wound. When he finished his sentence, his voice cracked. “—nervous. Damn it, Sam, will you stop doing that?”
Heat rushed to her face. “Maybe I should come back later,” she blurted, standing and holding out her hand for the bottle.
“Sit down.” He pointed to the chair.
The rude sound she made forced a rich, deep chuckle from his throat. “I’m sitting only because I want to, not because you just so rudely told me to. I wish you’d stop that.”
“I don’t know how you do it, but you’ve managed to pack about ten feet of pain in my ass into a beautiful five-foot-four package. Boggles the mind.” His voice was soft, affectionate. It made her heart skip a beat.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
His hands opened, making a sweeping motion in a gesture for her to go right on and ask away.
“I want—” she started and then stopped.
Her lashes batted against her brow, and her mouth opened and then closed. It was now or …wait a really long time for the next window of opportunity to arise. The full moon was in two days. This was what she’d been saving herself for. Halloween was the one night a year when the bridge between the living and the dead dissolved. There were a select few things a witch needed to inherit her magic: a full moon, a bridge to access the powers of her ancestors, her familiar, and most importantly, giving her virginity to her familiar.
If it didn’t happen this time around, she wouldn’t die. She had options. Right. She could, of course, wait another nineteen years. That was so not going to happen.
Now or never. The next time she blinked, she kept her eyes closed and went for it. “Trent, I want you to be my first.”
Chapter Three
The sweet smell of Brenda’s perfume made Trent’s stomach roil. He hated perfume. The closer she got, the more distracting it became. His head turned, nose tracking the scent so he could avoid it.
Sam started to talk. “Trent, I want you to be my first.”
“First what?” he asked.
He was no longer looking at her. No, he was watching the way Brenda swayed through the room. Where she went, people stared.
There was something about her besides her breasts and god-awful perfume that commanded attention. She wasn’t even that attractive, not to him at least. Coming to a pause at his table, the waitress flashed a full smile. She bent ever so slightly. If he wanted, which he didn’t, he would have been able to see down her low-cut leotard. The sharp, angry press of Sam’s magic forced his head in her direction. Using only her eyes, she tried to convey to her sister to go away. The point wasn’t taken. As Brenda set a longneck in front of him, full, round breasts pressed into his arm.
From his forearm up, Brenda’s ruby nails trailed toward his neck. Back and forth, his jaguar paced. The longer he was exposed to her scent, the more agitated he was becoming. Before she could caress his throat, he grabbed her wrist. She hadn’t earned that right. He tightened his fingers around her arm.
What was meant to deter her only turned her on even more. Her scent took on a very faint, musky aroma. Without waiting for an invitation, she slid onto his lap and wrapped an arm around his neck. He was going to throw up. When Brenda breathed against his ear, her breath was warm. The hand she placed on his chest felt as hot as Sam’s glare.
Leaning close, her lips brushed his lobe. When Sam had done that, it had sent a spark straight to his groan. Brenda didn’t render the same reaction. If that bothered her, it didn’t show.
“You know I love it when you get all aggressive,” Brenda purred.
He gave an uneasy chuckle and unthreaded her arm from around his neck. At least this way he could breathe. “You know I adore you, Brenda, b
ut you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
Flashing a pout that would have made a weaker man beg, she turned her head to Sam. He’d never seen Sam look so pissed. This time, though, the anger was directed at him. What had he done?
“Run through your own species already?” Sam bit out, grabbed the whiskey, and took a long, suffocating swig. She was going to be sorry in the morning.
When Brenda laughed, her curves shook against him. Quirking an eyebrow, she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Jealous?”
Trent looked back and forth between them, like he was watching a ping-pong match. Only the look in his eyes said he was hoping the ball would fall onto the floor and they would wrestle for it. Brenda was bigger, but his money was on Sam.
“Jealous?” The sharp tone of Sam’s voice betrayed her words. “Trent doesn’t belong to me. He’s free to sleep with whomever he wants. Cat, dog, gopher. I don’t care.”
Free to fuck whomever he wanted? The hell he was. She might have said that, but she didn’t mean it. Sam didn’t belong to him; they both knew it, but that wouldn’t stop him from tearing apart the bastard who tried to touch her.
Brenda gave Sam a soft, affectionate smile that made her eyes crinkle. It was the most attractive he’d ever seen her. The redhead gave him a slow wink.
“Sam must have inherited her claws from her father. You two have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
With one last look between them, Brenda walked off. Her hips swayed back and forth to a beat that was all her own. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. A skirt as short as the one she wore left nothing to the imagination.
“You know what!” Sam yelled. It snapped his head back in her direction. Her chair scraped away from the table, and she stood. She tugged hard on her necklace, and he worried she might rip the damn thing right off.
“You’re an asshole.”
He loved the fire in her eyes, the way her cheeks lit. She was sexy when she was pissed. It was almost worth doing it on purpose. For as much alcohol as he’d drunk, he was surprised at the speed of his reflexes. Before she could turn, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to the table. Heat moved from where they were connected. For just a second, it felt as if their souls connected. As if it was a living, breathing object, all teeth and claws, her magic snapped at him. It was a clear message to back off.
He fought back. His jaguar pounced. Although he remained human, he could see the outline of his feline lurking around her like a mist. Teeth nipped at her neck, pinned her in place. She sucked in a startled breath. His message was clear: sit down. He could tell by the look in her eyes there was no thought when she obliged.
Digging her teeth into her lower lip, she gave him a nasty look. Sam wasn’t the submissive who liked being manhandled. Being an alpha and an enforcer made him top cat. In her world, that meant nothing. When she finally released her lip, it was swollen and full.
“I’m sorry, Sam. You know how distracting Brenda is. I’m listening.” He wished he could just drag Sam out the door, push her against the wall, and fuck her until she couldn’t walk. After that, he would carry her to his bed and screw her some more. Never in his life had he wanted anything more. But they were too different, and too similar, for things to work out.
“I’ve tried to tell you for months that I was an asshole. Not my fault you just figured it out. You’ve got my full attention. Go for it.”
“I do not.” She pointed in the general direction Brenda had run off to. “You’re thinking about her ass. You’ve got that look on your face all men get when they’re thinking about getting a woman naked.”
A slow, predatory grin lifted the right side of his mouth. He had been thinking about sex. Leaning in close, he dropped his voice. “I’m thinking about getting you naked. You want me to be the first what?”
That got her attention. The first subtle scent of her arousal hit his nose. One day he was going to bury his face in her pussy and smell nothing but her. Rich, sweet. He couldn’t wait to find out if she tasted as good as she smelled.
It took only a few seconds for the anger to fade. The light, airy tone of her voice that was so damn addictive made his heart beat faster. “And to think I defended you when Miah told me you were a moron.”
She never could stay mad at him. Grabbing his beer, he tipped his chair back so it rested on two legs. It took balance and concentration, neither of which he had at the moment. That was where the appeal lay. He took a long drink from the bottle.
That was the moment she decided to sucker punch him.
“Iwantyoutotakemyvirginity,” she blurted.
If it was one word or an entire sentence, he wasn’t sure. She spoke it so quickly, it took him a few seconds to translate. The light bulb inside his brain clicked to life, and everything else went dark.
“Wha...” His stammer turned into a choking fit. Talking and drinking, it turned out, were hard to do together.
He coughed, sputtered, his eyes watering, and he pounded his chest. At the sudden movement, his chair gave out. He flipped backward; his arms flayed in circles. Crack. The back of his head slammed against the ground and stole his breath. For the second time that night, he’d caused the room to grow silent.
It was his brother’s laughter that spilled out first. It spurred on a cheer, some clapping, and a few hoots and hollers. He stared up at the ceiling, breathless. The paper ghoul he’d watched earlier that night stared down at him with two black, uneven eyes. Even it was laughing at him.
Sam was a virgin. She wanted him to rectify that. Jesus, he was a moron.
Boots echoed. He could feel the vibration of every step. With one leg on either side of his waist, Sam bent over him and came into view. Her necklace fell forward and into a beam of light. A sparkling facet hit his eye.
“You okay?” Her bottom lip was between her teeth. Laughter danced in her big brown eyes.
He reacted on instinct. Her wrist disappeared in his grasp. He pulled. Falling forward, she landed on his chest with a startled gasp. His hands caught her at her waist, steadying her fall. He adjusted her weight and, in the process, pressed his cock against the juncture of her thighs. A low, deep groan rumbled from his chest. Fully hard, he pressed against her clit. Need smoldered in her eyes. Heat jumped between them, and the only thing he could focus on was the scent of her arousal and the way her magic surrounded him.
His hands moved from her hips, up. Under her shirt, his calloused palm stroked along her back, tracing the slight texture of her tattoo. He passed the clasp of her bra and kept moving higher until he found the place where her neck melted into her shoulders. Touching her was like dipping into a cool lake on a hot summer day. He cupped her shoulders and pushed down. He wanted her to feel just how much he wanted her.
He glanced from her mouth to her eyes and back, and his heart started to race. Hot, erratic, his rapid breathing painted across her lips as he began to close the distance between them. All the reasons he had for pushing her away faded. The only thing stopping him was fear. Fear of her leaving him; fear of his getting hurt and leaving her. Everyone died; it was how you spent your time living that counted.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He’d never heard her voice so low, or so throaty. Using his hands as leverage, he pulled her down until there was no air between them. Her breasts were small, soft against his chest. It was a sharp contrast to the hard pebble of her pendant.
“This,” he whispered just seconds before he captured her mouth.
Teasing her lower lip with his tongue, he entered the warmth of her mouth. Whiskey and mint. She tasted like two of his favorite things. Her tongue tangled around his in a fervent kiss that spoke volumes of what pleasure they could bring one another. Their embrace deepened. She tilted her head, moaning.
Her hips moved forward and increased the pressure between them in all the right spots. She whimpered against him. If they weren’t in the middle of the bar, on a dirty floor, he would have rolled her beneath him.
His hands tightened on her shoulders. He tried to pull her closer.
When the pressure to breathe became too much, he pulled away with one last gentle nibble. Heavy eyelids dropped shut then fluttered open. The look in her eyes was dazed. In that second, he wanted nothing more than to corrupt her, to feel her writhing underneath him. His moan reverberated against her mouth, and he pulled her in for another kiss. The deeper they connected, the faster he felt her heart racing against his. Passion exploded. Magic moved through them, transferring from the places they touched.
With nothing more than a kiss, he’d managed to make her a quivering mess. She was wet. He didn’t just smell her arousal. He could taste it on the tip of his tongue. Tonight he’d be the first man to make her scream. That thought snapped the control he held over his beast.
Sam’s magic surged with the emotion, and she was there, harnessing him, giving him the control he needed to stay in his human form. The press of her magic was now familiar. Instead of pushing against it, he welcomed it. The passion between them morphed, spiraled out of control. Threading his hand through her hair, he cupped the back of her head and let every pent-up sexual desire he had for release into their kiss.
Gasping, they pulled apart. Like something was being pulled from him, the magic retreated. It left his cat alone in the wide, vast darkness of his mind. It was frightening how comforting it was to have her there.
Soft and damp, her lips drew across the stubble on his jaw. Slow, shy, she pressed her mouth against his neck. He tensed but didn’t push her away. She explored his chest, her nails scraping over the cotton of his shirt, dragging it up just an inch. He loved the slight tremble that vibrated through her.
From his neck, she moved to his ear. Her mouth pressed against the lobe, made his hips thrust upward. Through the layer of clothes that separated them, the heat of her was nearly his undoing. Her body shook harder now, humming with tension that was begging to be released. Oh, he’d release it all right.