by D. G. Swank
“If she was kidnapped?”
“Or if they did convince her to join the Dark Set… she could have broken the bond so you wouldn’t put yourself in danger by trying to find her through the connection.”
I cried even harder, because if she’d actually turned to the Dark Set, she would have likely done that very thing.
Why? Why would she turn to them? But the answer was so clear, I’d been stupid not to realize it sooner.
What if the Dark Set offered to help her with her expression magic? What if they’d given her the peace she so desperately sought?
I’d failed her. She’d been acting out, needing help, and I’d failed her.
I turned to Brandon. “If she agreed to help them, I don’t think she realized what she was doing. If they offered to help her, that’s likely all she was thinking about. They must have tricked her, coerced her. She’d been… tired lately. I think she wanted to use the Book of Sindal to help her better control her magic. We wouldn’t even help her open it. If the Dark Set promised to…”
Brandon lifted his hand to my cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb. “We’ll find her, Phebes. I promise.” He placed a tender kiss on my forehead, a gesture that was meant to give comfort, but it made me acutely aware of how close he was and how much I wanted him.
I pulled back and stared up into his face. He eyed me with a gentleness that stole my breath, but his expression changed when he saw the hunger on my face. His gaze shifted, his eyes becoming hooded with lust.
He tried to pull away, but I locked my arms around his waist, keeping him close.
“This is a bad idea. I need to walk away before I do something I regret.”
“What if I want it?” I asked, my voice going husky. If I did this, it would be the first time I’d kissed a guy first, rather than him kissing me. Realizing that sent a flush of pleasure through me, and I knew then there was no other path I’d rather take. I reached up and brushed his lips with mine.
He released a groan and tried to pull away, but I held on tighter, leaning back to study him.
“Phoebe” he said, my name sounding painful on his lips, “you have no fucking idea how much I want you—how long I’ve wanted you—but now is not the time. I refuse to take advantage of your vulnerability right now. The last thing I want to do is make you hate or resent me.” He placed his finger under my chin and lifted, his eyes pleading with me. “I meant it when I said you’re the type of woman who makes a man want more. I don’t want to fuck that up.”
Maybe I was a fool, but I believed him. In that moment, I believed he wanted a shot at happily-ever-after with me and not just happily-for-now, which was why I only let go of him so I could straddle his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck.
He held his breath, as though scared to move. “What are you doing, Phoebe?”
I shifted my right hand to cup his cheek. “For the first time in my life, I’m thinking about what I want, not what’s best for my sisters or for the damn Book of Sin. I want you too, Brandon, and I have no idea where this might go—I neither expect nor want any promises from you, other than that you’ll show me the best night of my life. Tomorrow, we’ll get back to finding the book and my sister, and when this is all done, we can sort this out.” I gestured back and forth between us. “But for now, I want to just live in the moment, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt I want to do that with you.”
His mouth crushed mine and his arm slipped around my back, hauling me closer so that I was seated over his erection.
We both groaned, and his tongue prodded my parted lips, then plunged into my mouth, exploring and demanding more.
I reached for the hem of his shirt, jerking it up and over his head, our mouths breaking contact for a second before he captured my lips again. Without pulling away, I slid my hands from his shoulders to his pecs, then down to his abs, reveling in the feel of his firm muscles beneath my touch. His stomach was hard and ridged, mouthwatering and thrilling. Even in my daydreams, I hadn’t imagined his body would be this gorgeous.
He groaned again, breaking our kiss so he could yank the cami over my head.
Leaning back, his gaze fell to the swell of my breasts. “Gods, you’re beautiful.”
I gave him a shy smile and glanced down, but he lifted my chin and held my gaze.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Phoebe Whelan. I intend to make sure you know just how beautiful you are before tonight is over.” His chest rose and fell as he reached for my breasts, cupping both in his hands, then brushing my nipples with his thumbs.
I sucked in a breath, his touch awakening a deep need that had lain dormant for years. I needed Brandon in every sense of the word and that scared the crap out of me. I’d never needed anyone but my sisters before, but they were the last two people I wanted to be thinking about right now.
I slid off his lap. A look of disappointment filled his eyes, but he quickly covered it and said, “If you’ve changed your mind…”
I didn’t answer, just slid my pajama shorts to the floor, leaving me standing in front of him in only my underwear.
Brandon tugged me closer and placed a kiss on my panties, right above my pubic bone.
I pushed out a soft breath of pleasure.
Wrapping a hand around the small of my back, he placed kisses over my thin panties, trailing down until I felt his warm breath over my nub. A deep ache filled my core. “Bran…”
“Bran, huh?” he said, looking up at me with a wicked gleam in his eyes. Call me Bran, he had said once in high school, all my friends do. But I had been far too shy back then to call him anything at all.
“Bran,” I said again, trying to pull him back up to me.
“Patience, my little witch,” he teased, tugging my panties to the floor.
“I thought we’d discussed little witch?” I asked, laughing. It sounded so different now that we weren’t arguing. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to argue with that nickname again with the way he said it now, so full of lust.
He led me to the bed and pushed me down on my back, then buried his face between my spread legs.
I cried out, instinctively reaching for his head.
He pushed my feet up onto the bed, spreading me even wider for him. His mouth and tongue coaxed and teased me until I was panting and begging.
“What do you want, Phoebe?” he asked. Then his tongue flicked my nub again.
My back arched. “You. I want you.”
“Not until you come,” he said, “and then I’ll make you come again with me deep inside you.”
His promise, along with his skilled tongue, pushed me over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over me, and Bran lapped up every bit of it.
My breathing came in rapid pants as I watched Bran get to his feet, unbuckle his jeans, and shrug them to the floor, bringing his underwear with them. His erection sprang free and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. He was definitely bigger than my last two boyfriends. I had never been fully appreciative of the fact that witches didn’t need to use condoms—we used an array of charms to prevent any undesired illnesses or unplanned children.
He lifted me up higher on the bed, then knelt between my legs. I expected him to enter me, but instead he leaned in and captured my mouth with his. I tasted myself on him and my heat rose again. I instinctively lifted my hips off the bed.
Grinning against my mouth, he said, “Not yet, my little witch. Not until I drive you mad with wanting.”
I gave him a mocking grin. “Someone seems full of himself.”
He laughed. “I don’t promise what I can’t deliver.”
His mouth skimmed down my neck to my breast, licking and sucking my nipple while his hand gave my other breast equal attention.
I squirmed underneath him, the tension in my core winding tighter.
His hand slipped between my legs, sliding through the wet folds. His fingers entered me as his thumb found my nub, and I became lost to everything but his touch. His mouth and hand pushed me higher and
higher until I heard myself plead, “Please, Bran. I need you.”
“Say it again,” he whispered huskily before he gently nipped my breast.
“I need you.”
He rose up, a satisfied look filling his eyes as he grabbed my hips and lifted me, his erection prodding my entrance.
I arched my back as he plunged in deep.
He groaned, leaning his head back. “By the gods, Phoebe Whelan, you were meant to be mine.”
My head was too addled with lust to fully process what he’d said, but part of me knew he was right. He was mine and I was his.
At least for tonight.
He took his time, thrusting in slowly, withdrawing, and then plunging in again. He leaned over and fondled my breast, bringing another gasp of desire from me.
That made him pick up the pace, finding a new, more urgent rhythm.
My body responded by joining him, my pelvis lifting to take him deeper.
He leaned over me, resting on his forearm. His mouth covered my nipple, sucking hard as he flicked the tip with his tongue. His hand slipped between my legs, his fingers swirling and probing as his thrusts became shorter.
I cried out in frustration. I was climbing higher and higher, breathless and desperate for Brandon to give me what I needed.
As though sensing my thoughts, he lifted his face, his mouth capturing mine as he plunged in deep, his tongue mimicking the action.
His hand slid under my ass and pulled me higher off the bed, his thrusts becoming shorter and deeper, harder than before.
“Oh, Bran…,” I moaned.
“Give yourself to me, Phoebe. Give me all of you.”
I wrapped my legs around his waist, desperate to be filled by him, while he readily gave me what I demanded, until I felt myself on a precipice. Then I fell, crying out over and over while Bran pounded into me and then finally found his own release.
When he finished, he lay down at my side, engulfing me with his arms and holding me close. I couldn’t help thinking that while I would never be sorry for tonight—Bran had given me the best sex of my life—this could never last. But I knew I’d be okay.
What a pretty little lie.
Chapter Thirteen
I dozed off in Bran’s arms, and I woke to him picking me up.
“What are you doing?” I murmured, relishing the feel of his naked skin against mine.
“I need to take a shower,” he said, gently lowering me onto the other bed, the covers downturned. “You sleep. You need it after those two shifts this morning and everything else. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Something about what he’d said sounded off, but I was too sleepy to figure it out. Instead, I burrowed into the covers. “You’re gonna sleep with me, right?” I asked.
“Phoebe, from this moment on, I won’t miss a single opportunity to have your naked body pressed to mine.”
I smiled with my eyes closed. “Then hurry.”
I started to drift off as I listened to him moving around in the bathroom, but I realized I needed to pee. Since the water hadn’t come on yet, I got up and started to knock on the door to ask Bran if I could go to the bathroom before he took his shower, but the sound of his voice stopped me.
“Are you aware of what’s going on?” he asked in an insistent tone. He paused for several seconds, likely listening to the person on the other end of the line, before he said, “That’s not good enough.”
Who was Brandon talking to and did it have anything to do with my sister?
My phone started to vibrate on the nightstand, but I wanted to listen to more of Brandon’s conversation, even if I felt guilty for eavesdropping.
“Why are you making this difficult?” he asked in a demanding tone.
Who was Brandon talking to? One of his agents? Lucia?
My phone stopped vibrating, then immediately started again. What if it was Rowan? Frustrated, I walked over to my phone, leery when I didn’t recognize the number on the screen. My usual policy was to let unknown callers go to voicemail, but with so much up in the air, I pressed accept and said, “Hello?”
“Phoebe.”
My breath caught in my throat and I sank onto the bed. “Celeste?”
“You don’t know what you’re mixed up in.”
“Where are you, Celeste?” I whispered. “I’ll come get you.”
“No,” she said insistently, whispering herself. “Go home, Phebes. I’m scared for you if you find me.”
I wanted to ask her what had happened, to her and the book, but instead, I said in a hushed tone, “I can’t feel you through our coven bond.”
“I know…” Her voice broke, and she started again. “It was to protect you and Rowan. You have to let me deal with this, Phebes. Go home.”
“No,” I pushed through the lump in my throat. “Brandon Cassidy is the head of the Protective Force now. We’re coming to find you.”
“You can’t trust him, Phoebe. You can’t trust anyone in the Protective Force. This goes deep, much deeper than I even guessed.”
Her words shocked me. “What do you know?” I asked, keeping my eye on the door, worried that the water still hadn’t turned on. Was Bran listening to my call like I’d been listening to his?
“I have to go,” she said. The fear in her voice chilled my blood. “Go home and I’ll call or come to you later.” Then the call cut off.
Staring at my phone, I considered trying to call her back, but I suspected she’d stolen someone’s phone to call me. I didn’t dare risk getting her into trouble.
The shower started in the bathroom. I told myself the timing was a coincidence, but I lay back down and went over the conversation, trying to figure out what Bran might have overheard.
I still wasn’t certain if Celeste had left willingly, but her statement about this going “deeper” than she’d ever guessed made me believe she’d known something about the Dark Set before our last ritual. Had she gone with them to root them out from within?
Two things were certain—one, I wasn’t going to stop looking for her, and two, I wasn’t as sure about trusting Brandon Cassidy as I had been before, especially after overhearing part of his conversation.
There was nothing I could do about it now, but I struggled to shut my mind down and get the sleep I so desperately needed. When Bran emerged from the bathroom five minutes later, I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. I felt the bed dip, and then his arm wrapped around me, pulling my backside against his naked front.
We lay like that for a few moments before he asked, “Phebes, are you okay?”
I rolled onto my back and stared up at him in the dim light filtering through the crack between the curtains.
He lifted his hand to my face and lightly stroked my cheek with his fingertips. “I know it’s hard to know who to trust, but I swear to you that I will never hurt you.”
My mouth parted in shock. How did he know that I was questioning my trust in him? Did he know I’d talked to Celeste?
He placed a soft kiss on my lips. “Maybe I’m off base, but I realized that I left you alone right after we made love, and I know you’re worried about your sister.” His hand slid down to cup my jaw. “I wish you were near an ancestor who could read auras so you could see my heart, Phoebe. You can trust me. I promise.”
I placed my palm on his bare chest. He could have been lying to me, sensing my distrust and trying to rein it in, but somehow, I knew he wasn’t. He did care about me. “Thank you.”
He scooted closer, his front pressed to my side, and I felt him stirring again.
I couldn’t stop my chuckle. “Already?”
His face nuzzled my still-damp hair. “You underestimate what a beautiful woman you are.”
It suddenly seemed wrong to be feeling all this happiness and contentment while Celeste was gods knew where. How had she gotten to a phone? What if she was hurt but hadn’t told me?
That new thought filled me with guilt. How could I have considered she’d turn to the Dark Set? She knew
what they’d done before. She knew their capacity for evil.
“What if they kill her?” I whispered, a tear leaking out of my eye and running down the side of my face and into my hair.
“They won’t,” he said, shifting into a less intimate position. “If they took her, willingly or not, they want to use her magic. Killing her would serve no purpose. They might resort to torture, but they won’t kill her.” He paused. “Sorry. That was probably too brutally honest.”
I couldn’t suppress a shudder. “I can handle brutally honest. I need it.”
His face rested on the pillow next to my head. “Did you know I have a brother?”
“No,” I said, pulling back half an inch, trying to meet his eyes.
He hummed through a slight nod. “Donall,” he said. “Eight years older than me. I was a surprise,” he said, confirming my immediate suspicion. “My mom always said I was the best thing that could have happened to him. I learned to walk with him holding on to my hands. There’s video.”
The image made me chuckle softly, which a slight squeeze of his arms told me he liked.
“When I went to kindergarten,” Bran continued, “I got picked on. A lot.”
“Oh no.” Even as my heart broke for tiny five-year-old Bran, I struggled to imagine it. He’d always seemed so popular, so untouchable, and now he certainly didn’t struggle with confidence.
“I was a clumsy kid,” he said. “Tripping over my own two feet. Pudgy and awful at anything playground-related, which is pretty much half of kindergarten. My brother would pick me up after his classes let out, and we’d sit together while all the other kids’ parents were coming to get them. I’ll never forget, he’d ask me to point out which kids had made fun of me that particular day.”
“Kids can be mean,” I whispered, remembering how I’d endured my own share of teasing during those two years in middle school when I’d worn both glasses and braces.
“That’s what he always said. Girls bite with their tongues, but boys attack with their fists,” he added quickly. “Back then, it made me feel better. We’d just sit there and Donall would glare at every single kid who’d given me grief. Then we’d play basketball and he’d always pretend that I beat him.”