by Belle Aurora
“For fuck’s sake, give the woman a real kiss.” Someone yelled from behind us.
“All right with you?” Thomas asked. I nodded and gave him the okay with my eyes.
He placed the microphone on the table and took my other hand. He lifted me from my seat and pulled me into his arms. I wrapped mine around his neck as he wrapped his around my waist, bringing me into him. I smelled the scent of his skin as my cheek made contact with his chest. All musky male and divine.
I raised my head and met his eyes. He looked down at my lips before he descended. When our lips touched, I melted into him. He pulled me tight against his body and we kissed like no one else was in the room.
My fingers weaved through his hair and traced the strong lines of his neck. I could feel the flexing of his muscles under my fingertips.
“All right, all ready.” I heard from the right.
“Get a room you two.” A voice said to the left of us. But I wasn’t going to pull away from his kiss. I wanted it to never end.
Thomas broke the kiss slowly and gave me one last, quick scorcher. “I didn’t want to stop.”
“Me either,” I whispered with my arms now embracing him at the waist.
“Really you all. I think every woman in this place needs to change her panties after watching that kiss.” Mel said under her breath as she grabbed the microphone off the table.
“Thanks again for coming out tonight ladies. Check the silent auction items before you leave to see if you’re a winner. Until next year.” Mel said into the microphone.
“I promised Mel I would help her with cleaning up.” I was sad to have to break out of our little bubble. The feeling inside it was beautiful.
“Funny thing. She asked me to help with clean up too.” Thomas shook his head. “That sister of mine is a schemer.”
“True, but she means well and this time I think she might be right.” He smiled after I exposed my true feelings, and I sighed in relief. I wasn’t used to placing everything out on the line with men. But with Thomas I felt safe.
“Let’s get this place cleaned up. Whatta ya say?” Thomas asked.
“Lead the way.” I motioned with my hand.
We started in the kitchen area, mingling with the hired wait staff. I think we were more a hindrance than a help, because they told us to go stand by the freezer.
“I think we just got kicked out of KP duty.” Thomas said with a chuckle.
“We are sad,” I laughed.
Thomas reached his arms around me and I saw a glint of silver in his pocket.
“Are those handcuffs?” I pointed to the metal.
“Yes, a cop can never be too prepared.” He reached in, took out the cuffs, and let them dangle from a finger. “I think I might have to make an arrest tonight. I heard there was some lewd kissing going.”
“Yes, very lewd. Filthy as a matter of fact. My mother would’ve been shocked.” I giggled and held out my wrists in surrender. “Are you going to take me back to your jail?”
“I’m off duty and would rather take you back to my bed.” The silver metal was cool against my skin and I knew I was in trouble when I heard the cuffs click together. “But I’ll settle for a date first. Tomorrow night I’m taking you out for dinner. Then maybe later, we can put these cuffs to good use.”
“Sounds perfect. I’m in need of a thorough forking after your kisses.”
Epilogue
Here’s Tommie…
A year has gone by since I arrived in town. The trip here was a freaking nightmare. I was trapped inside a plastic box for eight hours, and no amount of screaming made my owner have mercy on me.
But things have become more normal since we moved. We live in an old place with tons of mice. They keep me rather busy. Caught a big bad one this morning.
A tall man started coming around after we settled in. I think he lives here now. He has this strange notion we are buddies, and always tries to pet and hold me. He brings me awesome treats, so I put up with it.
The tall man keeps my owner busy playing games all day and night in the big bed. I have to jump on their heads in the morning to wake them up so I can get some food.
Jumping on heads is my favorite trick. I always get their attention when I pull that move.
I’ve been sprawled out in the middle of the hallway waiting for them to finish shaking the bed. It seems to be taking them longer than usual today.
I give up and stroll into the room across the hall from them. This room has the best smell in the house. They’ve been moving new things in here about every day.
Yesterday it was a bed with tall bars. It reminded me of my box but it’s way bigger. There’s a chair in the corner with a curved bottom that makes it move back and forth.
Sometimes my owner sits down in the chair while the tall guy sings to her and rubs her feet. I do like his singing. It might be his one good quality other than the treat giving.
I hear a creak in the floor by the shaking bed. I think they’re up. I waltz into the room and see my owner easing out of the bed with the tall guy’s help. I’ve noticed she doesn’t move like she used to. She’s grown this big thing around her middle. I’ve seen the tall man talking to it. Very odd.
Well, I am going to see if they will fill up my food bowl, then I’m taking a nap. That’s how I roll.
About the Author
Thanks for reading Peckers. I hope you enjoyed it. I never thought I would write anything from a cat’s point of view!
If you would like to check out more of my books ,visit my website for store links. I have a completed series, Touch of Tantra, and with the exception of the novella, the series is in the man’s point of view.
I’m brewing up more books in my cauldron, so please sign up for my mailing list to keep up-to-date on my tricks and treats. I promise to never spam your inbox.
Enjoy the rest of the anthology,
Liv
Connect with LIV MORRIS
Website: http://www.livmorris.com
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Other Books by LIV MORRIS
THE COMPLETED TOUCH OF TANTRA SERIES
Adam’s Apple (Book 1)
Temptation (Book 1.5)
Adam’s Fall (Book 2)
Love in the City (The Complete Collection Boxed Set)
Bewitched by Daisy Prescott
A crush. A love spell. What could go wrong?
Copyright © Daisy Prescott 2014, All rights reserved.
eBook edition
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Daisy Prescott
Front Cover Photos: Edyta Pawlowska; Elnur Amikishiyev
Edited by There for You Editing/Melissa Ringsted
Proofed by Proofing Style, Inc./Marla Esposito
First Digital Edition October 2014
One
“Hester Pryne was a slut.”
“She was not. You’re a Neanderthal asshat!” My chair scraped across the worn wood floor as I stood and shouted. I was shouting in my New England Fiction seminar lead by a man in a tweed jacket with elbow patches. What was wrong with me?
“Miss Bradbury, please sit down,” Professor Philips scolded me from the head of the long, mahogany table.
I crossed my arms and my chest heaved as I stared down the tree troll known as Luke Hamilton, aka self-proclaimed ‘Big Man
on Campus’ and golden-boy. “Professor Philips, how can you just let him spout off all that bull— nonsense about Hester Pryne being a slut? She didn’t have sex with herself.”
“That’d be hot,” Hamilton snorted from a few seats away. His golden-boy blond hair drooped over his forehead as he doodled boobs with A’s on them in the margins of his book.
Disgusting. I couldn’t figure out why he was even in this class. Reading didn’t seem to be his thing. The only things that appeared to interest him were boobs, keg parties, and himself.
“It takes two people! Two. Hamilton and his hand don’t count as two people. Argh! He’s missing the point. Hawthorne wasn’t slut shaming Hester.” I flailed my arms around in some sort of awkward orangutan mating dance.
A cough at the opposite end of the long table drew my attention, and the spell of my frustration dissolved. The sound came from Andrew Wildes, resident brooding, quiet, serious, handsome, slightly dangerous man of mystery. Or maybe he was just quiet. There was something about him I found fascinating, like the dark hero in one of the Brontë sisters’ novels. Blushing, I sat down in my chair, straightened a stack of note cards and my post-it note filled copy The Scarlett Letter.
“Do you have something to add to the discussion, Mr. Wildes?” Dr. Philips asked.
Andrew stared at his fingers, which tapped on the table in a patch of dust dancing in the mid-September sun. The rest of him remained in the shadows, making his thick dark hair and pale skin stand out in contrast even more. He never spoke in class unless Dr. Philips called on him, and his answers were often so odd, the majority of students ignored him. This would be interesting.
“Madison is right. Hawthorne wasn’t shaming Hester. The Puritans were. Hawthorne was more interested in sin and knowledge, exclusion and fear of the unknown.”
My jaw dropped open. Andrew defended me. He made my entire argument in two sentences. I didn’t think he knew I existed even though it was only a class of twelve students.
“Well said, Andrew,” Philips praised him. “You and Miss Bradbury are on the right track with your thinking.”
Hamilton scoffed and leaned back in his chair, letting the front legs rise a few inches above the floor. Under his breath he muttered, “Slut.”
Andrew’s head jerked in our direction. Behind his glasses, his brown eyes flashed to mine before they settled on Luke’s smug expression.
I wanted to wipe the stupid frat-boy grin off Hamilton’s face. My fingers twitched as I concentrated on resisting the urge to hurl my book at him. For once I would’ve loved to see him fall flat on his smugness. Clouds covered the sun, darkening the room’s only source of light. I scrunched up my nose and narrowed my eyes as I imagined him crashing to the floor. Luke’s chair tipped further back, past the point of balance. His arms flailed, struggling to stop the inevitable, but with a loud clatter, Luke and his chair smashed to the floor.
“Ha!” I looked around to see who heard my outburst. Most of my classmates were failing to stifle their own laughter as we stared at the empty spot at the table where Luke had been sitting. My eyes once again met Andrew’s. He dipped his head and pushed his glasses up his nose with his long, slender fingers, but his lips twitched and a dimple flashed in his cheek.
“Fuck, I think I hurt my head,” Luke moaned from the floor.
“Mr. Hamilton, remove yourself from the floor, please, so we can continue class.” Dr. Philips’ salty grey beard appeared to frown with his annoyance.
Luke grumbled and exhaled a few creative expletives as he regained his seat at the table. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling with glee.
Class continued with other students piping in with their thoughts on Puritans and sex. I zoned out, remembering Luke’s fall and wondering if I’d wished it to happen hard enough to make it so.
After all, we were in Salem. Accused Witches were killed here, but today the streets were filled with shops selling magical potions, cauldrons, and books on Wicca to modern witches and tourists. Not that I believed in witches. Or magic.
“Next week we’ll be discussing The Crucible, Arthur Miller’s take on the witch trials that made Salem famous, or infamous as it were.” Philips stood and gathered his things.
“Great, more prudes and bitches,” Luke mumbled.
I shot him a look. “Seriously?”
He met my eyes and a slow, sinister smile spread across his beer bloated face.
“What are you smiling about?” I sneered.
“Prudes and bitches. This class could be about you.”
“Shut up, Hamilton.” I moved around him toward the door.
“If the names fit.”
I flipped him the bird over my shoulder without turning around.
“Aww, don’t be Mad. Oh wait, I guess you don’t have a choice,” he called after me, laughing at his stupid joke about my name.
“Argh!” I stomped down the hall. Outside of the glass doors large raindrops splattered the brick walkway. “Could this day get any better?” I asked myself out loud.
A pale hand with long, familiar fingers held one of those tiny collapsible umbrellas in my line of sight. “Here.”
I looked up to meet the dark eyes of Andrew. His lanky frame towered over mine. From his black Chucks to his almost black hair, he could have been a hipster, but he was too nerdy, too cool, too something, to be that trendy. Maybe it was the glasses; the thick black rims were not exactly stylish. His messy hair hinted at a lack of combing rather than bedroom shenanigans. He looked smart, if intelligence had a facial expression. Too-smart-for-his-own-good smart.
Andrew cleared his throat.
“Oh, thank you. I have my hoodie.” I reached behind to pull my grey hood over my hair. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” He held my gaze as he stuffed the umbrella into his backpack. “No problem.”
Something about him made me tingle. He unsettled me, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I hesitated before I gave him a small smile, and dashed out the door.
The rain sputtered into a mist a few yards down the path, and I pulled down my hood. Maybe my day had started to turn around. Smiling, I searched for Andrew in the doorway or on the steps behind me, but he’d disappeared.
Two
Sam sat at our usual table inside the campus cafe.
“I bought your favorite… a pumpkin spice latte,” she greeted me. Today, her long blonde hair was in two braids, which were wrapped around the crown of her head. She looked like a milkmaid with the figure of a German beer garden girl.
I inhaled the steam. “Thanks. I need this.” The rainy day called for the warmth of fall in a cup. I shook out my damp hoodie and ran my fingers through my newly bobbed hair.
“Rough day with the Puritans?” she asked.
“Rough day with Hamilton.”
“He’s a flaming toadstool.” Sam never swore. She never used typical curse words, but the intent was the same.
“He really is.”
“What did newt brain do now?”
I explained his comments in class and we laughed over the karma of his fall.
“Maybe it wasn’t karma. You wished for him to shut up and it came true.”
I gave her a sidelong glance. “Sam.”
“Maddy.”
“I’m not a witch. No magical powers.” I wiggled my fingers in front of her face.
“You don’t know that. You’ve never tried.”
“My ancestors might have been from Salem, but we all know those witches weren’t witches.”
“Maybe not the innocents who were killed, but that doesn’t mean magic doesn’t exist here.”
I rolled my eyes. “I think you’ve spent too much time downtown at the tourist shops.”
Sam mirrored my eye roll. “Such the skeptic. Where’s your sense of imagination and wonder?”
“I must have lost them when I stopped watching Disney princess movies.”
“My mom never let me watch those.”
“Ah
, that explains it all then. More Snow White and less Wicca.”
“Speaking of Wicca, will you come with me to The Spelling B after classes? I need to buy a new set of Tarot cards.”
“What’s wrong with the set you have?”
“I think Lucy’s bad energy ruined their mojo.”
“Lucy Lucy?” I stared at my roommate.
“I know, I know. Yes, that Lucy, but she paid me twenty bucks for a reading.”
Lucy was Hamilton’s girlfriend. She swam in the same shallow pool he did, and believe me, they deserved each other. I frowned at the thought of the two of them procreating and creating more obnoxious humans.
“Her reading was terrible, just so you know.”
“That’s some comfort.”
“Maddy, would you still want to date Hamilton?” She teased.
I shuddered. “We never dated. I wouldn’t call what happened freshman year dating. What was I thinking?”
“You weren’t. You were a horny freshman.” Sam’s laughter sounded like delicate wind chimes, until she snorted. “I still can’t believe you kneed his crotch in the middle of the dorm lounge.”
“He grabbed my boob in front of everyone.” I crossed my arms to protect my chest from the memory.
“I still don’t know what you saw in him.”
“Neither do I. Yuck.” I shuddered. “Let’s chalk it up to hormones. Can we talk about something besides Too Much Tongue Hamilton?”
“Maybe you need some sort of cleansing. We can get you smudged! Or maybe find you a love spell.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“Smudged?” My skepticism reared its head.
“With sage. We can buy some downtown.”
“Uh huh.” I furrowed my brows. “Won’t I smell like a roasted chicken? I’m sure that will attract all of the boys to my yard.”
“At this point, what do you have to lose?”
Nothing. It was the beginning of junior year and there wasn’t an eligible bachelor in sight. I sighed. Pickings were slim these days. Decent guys had girlfriends or were gay. Even the not-so-decent-guys like Hamilton were paired off. Brown eyes behind black frames flashed in my mind, and I instantly wondered if Andrew had a girlfriend. She was probably a theoretical math major, or some esoteric French poetry focus, which required imported cigarettes and red lipstick.