01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin

by Susan Squires

  Maggie frowned, but at least she was silent. Lanyon glanced over to her and heaved a sigh. “Okay. Slow-dancing music it is. But only for Maggie. Not for Mister ‘Big Brother Who Ruins a Guy’s Chances by Calling Him Over at the Worst Possible Moment.’ Does she know what she’s getting into?” He stomped over to the piano and threw himself onto the bench. Then he looked down at the keys, and his face smoothed. He smiled.

  Tris stood and extended his hand to Maggie as the strains of a song Tris didn’t know wafted out over the terrace in the summer night. Whatever it was, it was definitely prom slow-dancing material.

  “Are you sure?” Maggie asked, her eyes big. “I’ll step on you.”

  “I’m sure.” He wanted her in his arms so bad his bones seemed to hurt.

  She took his hand.

  They both gasped. Then Maggie smiled at him and she looked so... sure. She was right. Nothing and nobody else mattered. He felt good. Really, really good. He pulled her into his arms.

  And that was it. Life was perfect. She put one bare arm around his neck, and he clasped her other palm, and they were moving together as if they were one. Her head didn’t even reach his shoulder, so she put it on his chest. He liked that. Her eyes were half-closed. Her body melted into his as they swayed with tiny steps to the music. He was fully erect and he didn’t care that she knew, or who else might see. Her dress floated around her like the scent of roses floated over the garden. This. This was what he had waited for all his life. He’d never felt so alive, so... whole.

  But it still wasn’t enough. Holding her in his arms didn’t satisfy so much as pour gasoline on the fire of his desire for her. All of her. That’s what he needed. Then... then he’d be whole.

  They stopped and stood, locked in each other’s arms. Her green eyes were burning. The music swirled around them. Other couples were dancing now. Okay. That’s good for camouflage. Less likely his parents would miss them.

  “Let’s go,” she whispered, taking him by surprise.

  He nodded convulsively and led her through the French doors. He refused to look back to see if anyone saw them go. What would he do if they did? Take her back out to the terrace? Not likely. They made their way through the living room filled with guests. Some looked like they might greet Tris, but then they blinked and let them pass. Good. That way he didn’t have to just push them out of the way. They hurried upstairs away from the party.

  Tris pushed open the library door, revealing a group of revelers clustered round the fragment of manuscript passed down to his father across the ages, now mounted under glass.

  “Is that vellum?” an older woman was asking. “I can’t quite make out the writing.”

  Right. Which is why it could be displayed. His family believed the manuscript prophesied the gathering of Merlin’s magic. Easy to say if no one could read it. Should he just throw them all out? He didn’t have time for an argument. His mother wouldn’t like it if he used his fists to convince them. He pushed on down the hall. “Your room,” he whispered.

  Maggie nodded and trotted behind him. He pushed through the door to the darkened guest room Maggie and pulled her in after him. He didn’t have to drag her into his arms. She was already there. Her hands moved up under his jacket and over the muscles in his back as her face turned up to his. He bent to her mouth while he fumbled with the lock on the door behind her.

  When it snicked into place, she lost all control. Her mouth demanded, her tongue snaking into his and licking there as she pulled him down with both arms around his neck. He lifted her easily with one arm and carried her to the bed, never breaking the kiss that was searing a brand into his brain and flicking electric charges over his body like a divine whip. Tris was having trouble putting two thoughts together, and Maggie seemed single-minded.

  Apparently, she wanted his clothes off. She pulled at the ends of his tie.

  He was happy to oblige. He shrugged out of his jacket. Then apparently she was too impatient to manage the studs. She just pulled the shirt apart. The sound of tearing fabric fueled the flames between them. He pulled his shirt off. She made short work of his belt buckle.

  “Turnabout is fair play,” he whispered and slid her zipper down the back of her dress. She shrugged out of it. It pooled in frothy waves on the floor. She kicked her shoes off. That left her in her panties: plain, Maggie-style panties. She wouldn’t be needing those. He must have pulled harder than he thought, because they ripped. “Sorry,” he murmured.

  “I don’t care,” she whispered and kicked them off. She had eyes only for his swollen groin. The button on his fly popped as she worked at it, and she pulled the tux trousers down over the brace. She stood back and grinned as she took in the sight of his erection. He was so hard it was almost painful, bobbing with need.

  “Maggie,” he whispered, his voice raw. She was a sight, just as taut and slim and soft and perfect as he’d remembered from the night before.

  “You denied me last night what I wanted most,” she accused. “You won’t tonight.”

  He’d do it however she wanted, as long as she wanted it now. “Your call.”

  She grinned again and put both hands on his chest. She pushed him over onto the bed. He couldn’t help but smile. He hoped she’d ride him like one of her bulls. “Condom in the pants pocket,” he managed.

  She tossed his trousers over her shoulder. “No need.”

  He pulled at the Velcro on the damn cast. He wasn’t letting anything between them. He saw her eyes widen and put a hand over her mouth. “It’s okay. I swear.”

  She took a breath and nodded, then leaned over the high bed and pushed his knees farther apart. God, was she going to...?

  She was. She took his length in her one hand and cupped his balls in the other. “You’re going to kill me,” he said hoarsely.

  She licked up his shaft from bottom to top. He couldn’t help but shudder. “Mmmm,” she murmured. “A little salty.” Her tongue flicked over the tip and the bead of clear fluid there. She swabbed it around the head of his cock with her tongue, producing a groan he couldn’t suppress. The feel of her breasts against his thighs only made things worse. Or better. He wrapped his fingers into her hair.

  Then she began in earnest.

  *****

  Maggie was so wet between her legs she was probably dripping on the bedspread. At some time or other in her life she would have cared about that. But now, all she cared about was the lovely sounds of pleasure she could evoke from Tris as she worked over him with her mouth and her hands. This wasn’t so hard. It was just like romance books. Well, the racier ones. Flick across the tender underside. Suck his big shaft as far inside her mouth as she could. Work the base by holding it firmly and going up and down in unison with her mouth or even counterpoint. She could do this forever. She was driving him wild. His hips bucked uncontrollably. His breathing was a series of uneven gasps. When he wasn’t growling against his will.

  And then she couldn’t do it forever. Because he couldn’t. He was obviously getting close to climax. And she wanted the other experience she’d been denied last night. She wanted to feel him fill her. It was a call so urgent she couldn’t refuse it a second longer. She raised herself, leaving him fighting for breath, and crawled up onto the bed. She settled her knees on either side of him.

  “Condom,” he gasped. “Pants pocket.”

  She couldn’t imagine waiting to paw through his pockets and tear open the packet and roll it down over his penis. “No time.”

  She took him in hand as she scooted up over his hips. Tilting his cock, she eased herself onto it. They both breathed out slowly as the satisfaction of filling and being filled overwhelmed them both. This was what she needed. She settled herself. Tris breathed in, just at the moment she did. He was very still as she took a moment to adjust to his width and length. There. She fit him. She rocked a little, forward and back, and managed to get him even deeper inside her. Their loins were pressed together, as she felt a shudder go through him.

  He wasn�
�t actually coming yet. But he seemed as overwhelmed as she was. She put her hands on his chest and moved off of him, then slid back down. He reached for her breasts, kneading them as she backed off and settled down again. He gave a low growl. She tried rocking forward and down, back and up, just like cantering a horse. Yeah. That was it. His pubic bone rubbed her clit every time she rocked. So she rocked faster. Her nipples in his palms were showering her with feeling. She’d never felt anything like it. The surges of sensation between her breasts and her clitoris and her vagina stuffed full of Tris’s cock were like some lost Devil’s Triangle, where she would hang forever in waves of pleasure so intense it was almost pain. Tris’s eyes squeezed shut. He was trying to suppress his orgasm.

  “Don’t you dare hold out on me, Tristram Tremaine,” she gasped. And then she couldn’t say anything, because the Devil’s Triangle made thought impossible. She was grunting or something and she didn’t care. She rode him harder.

  The typhoon tore across the Devil’s Triangle and sent her crashing through wind and noise and enough electrical surges to short all her circuits. But even through the mother of all orgasms, she could feel that big cock begin to spurt inside her, which brought another round of wind and noise, until she dropped forward onto Tris’s chest, exhausted. The silence that ensued made her realize that she might have shrieked. Tris had definitely yelled.

  He wrapped his big arms around her and clutched her to his heaving chest. They were both slick with sweat. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her head. Sometime in there her hair had come down.

  “That’s what I wanted,” she murmured, half-asleep.

  “Me too,” he said. Then she felt him tense. “We should have used a condom.”

  “My fault. I just couldn’t wait. I think it’ll be okay....”

  “Next time, for sure,” he murmured.

  She smiled against his chest. “Maybe tonight, if you’re up to it.”

  *****

  Kemble stared up at the window from which a shriek and a yell had just issued. Startled guests were looking around to see where the fire was. Kemble turned to his father who was looking as nonplussed as everyone else until he met his wife’s smile and sighed in resignation. But somebody had to say something. Kemble glanced around. Good. Lanyon was nowhere in evidence. He’d be a perfect scapegoat.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he announced to the group immediately surrounding him. “I suspect my youngest brother is up to his practical jokes. I only hope it doesn’t involve actual reptiles.” He strode into the house, making reassurances to the guests along the way.

  Well, this had been inevitable from the first minute Tris saw Maggie come out of the house in that purple dress. What had Jane been thinking to dress her so attractively? Tris didn’t have a chance. Or perhaps Maggie didn’t have a chance. But wasn’t that what was supposed to happen here? Tris and Maggie were meant to be one, and they were busy getting on with it.

  He ran up the stairs. The noise had come from her room. He tapped lightly on the door.

  Silence.

  “I know you two are in there. And so does the whole party.”

  He heard a murmured “Uh-oh” from Maggie.

  “It’s none of their damn business.” Tris was belligerent. Predictable.

  “True. But could you close the window so as not to frighten the more sensitive guests?”

  “Oh,” Maggie gasped.

  The window slammed on the casement. “Happy?”

  “Very.” But he wasn’t. Kemble turned away. Fools. Couldn’t they be more discreet?

  Maybe not.

  Lucky devils.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Tris had gone off to find leftovers. The man had a hollow leg. The house had been quiet for the past few hours. Maggie glanced at the clock. Four a.m. What they did tonight felt more right than she could say. It was magical. But it didn’t really change anything. Tris was still Tris. He had been drawn to Cinderella, made by a fairy godmother called Jane to look as though she belonged at the ball. And for a minute there she’d let herself think it might go on longer than just tonight. But her time was running out. He’d be back on the starlet circuit as soon as he returned to his shop. Or he’d be out on the road again. He wasn’t a “stay” kind of man. Even his family acknowledged that. She imagined him kindly setting her up with someone he knew. Tris was kind, she was sure of that. Or starting to “work late,” because he didn’t want to tell her that she’d become inconvenient and boring. How could she not be boring when compared to the people he knew, the kind of life he’d led?

  Suddenly, she could feel Tris moving around in the kitchen. No. Really feel him moving. Like some giant rubber band was pulling taut between them. He was opening the refrigerator, bending over, walking to the big butcher block island. She sat straight up in bed.

  What the hell is that?

  This was not normal. She shook her head, as if she could make the feeling go away. But it didn’t. Tris was going over to the dish cupboards. Now back to the butcher block island.

  Her heart began to pound. What was happening to her? First she did... something... out at the camp today, and now she could feel Tris like she was physically connected to him. So not normal. And come to think of it, the sex wasn’t what you’d call normal either. Normal sex was the kind she’d had with Phil the Rat. You did it. You had orgasms. But not orgasms like she’d had tonight. And she was pretty sure Tris had one just as earth-shattering as hers. “Rock your world” kind of orgasms only happened in books. Anyone who told you they’d had some life-altering experience in bed was lying to make themselves seem more important than they were.

  Something niggled at her brain. Something wrong.

  Like everything hadn’t been wrong today.

  She sat up with a jerk. Oh, my God.

  Tris had taken off his Velcro cast tonight and never put it back on. He’d walked out of the room without limping. Not even a little bit. And come to think of it, he’d lifted her up just like he didn’t have a broken collarbone and pinned ligaments in his shoulder. And... and where were the awful bruises? Not green and yellow even, but gone. She’d been so preoccupied with his cock, she hadn’t even noticed that he was....

  Good as new. After he was almost dead a week ago. Last night he was just out of the hospital, and he’d been having sex. Wouldn’t he still be laid up, like he was at Elroy’s?

  She gasped. Somebody or something had healed him. Under this Leave it to Beaver household perfection, there lurked a strangeness that might be... evil. Tris felt too right. And the fact that she could feel him, even now, down in the kitchen, meant she was being sucked into it.

  Yes! That’s why that horrible thing happened out at the children’s camp. Her connection to animals was perfectly normal, usually. This household was affecting her as well. Tris was affecting her. When had she ever jumped a guy’s bones like she did tonight? She just didn’t do things like that. She was Maggie, tough as nails. She’d fended off cowboys and promoters who thought she was more of a buckle bunny than a competitor, tourists in the diner looking for a one-night stand—and here she’d just caved the minute Tris Tremaine, starlet screwer and “leave when he wanted” kind of guy, crooked his finger and got a flattering erection. The last time she’d caved was with Phil the Rat, and look how that had turned out.

  She climbed out of bed, trying to ignore the pull toward the kitchen.

  Time to get out of here before she really got hurt, either by Tris Tremaine or by whatever spook-fest lived in this house. The very thought of leaving made her stomach heave.

  *****

  Tris felt her get out of bed. Of course he did. He felt every move she made. It was like he was connected to her somehow. Shit. He’d never liked tethers of any kind. Refused to return messages back when he’d had a cell phone. Didn’t answer email. And here he was obsessing over Maggie O’Brian so hard that it felt like he could feel where she was.

  And where she was, was moving quickly around her room. C
loset, bathroom, bed.

  He knew what that meant. She was gathering her things.

  She was leaving. He braced his arms on the counter and hung his head. What else had he expected? He wasn’t what she wanted and she knew that. No home, no family, no undying loyalty or true love for her if she hooked up with him. He was a drifter, an outsider in his own family. He fought the urge to go up there and grip her upper arms and kiss her until she was too breathless to move. He could make her want him enough that she’d tumble back in bed with him.

  Selfish bastard. Like that would be good for Maggie.

  He couldn’t do that to her. For her own good, he had to let her go. His gut wrenched at him. It was all he could do not to vomit all over his mother’s kitchen. He lurched over to the French doors and shoved them open. He’d wait out here until she was gone. For once in his life, he’d think of somebody besides himself and do what was right for her.

  But instead all he felt was anger. He pounded a fist on the post of the pergola. Couldn’t she even give him a chance? Had what they’d shared last night meant nothing to her? Damn her to hell for making him feel like this. She’d fucked him twice, for the hell of it, and was now getting out before he could leave her. It hadn’t meant to her what it did to him.

  The anger washed out. Maybe he was angry at himself. Last night... for a minute... true love hadn’t seemed like such a sad joke. But the joke was on him. He was getting payback for all those girls he’d left.

  He doubled over and retched into the azaleas. It felt like some cord was being torn apart inside him, something really important like a climber’s lifeline or a diver’s air hose. He gasped and retched again. Falling to his knees, he wrapped his arms around his gut, as much to hold himself in place as to stop the vomiting.

  He heard voices in the hall. And he knew at least one of them. He couldn’t go out there. Couldn’t. Sometime later he heard the front door slam, and in another few moments the sound of the truck roaring to life.