The Sorceress Screams

by Anya Breton

  Maximo bravely set his hand to my leg just below my skirt’s bubble hem. I’d freaked out the last time he’d tried the move. Tonight I once again fought with my desire to rip his clothes from him. I had a far better idea of exactly what was pressing insistently against my back through the thin layer of his linen pants and my silky skirt.

  His fingertip slid beneath the fence net thigh high’s edge. I thought I’d go out of my mind. He groaned in my ear, sending a shot of desire straight through my core.

  “So warm. Dios. Your skin is soft.”

  Maximo traced his fingers around the elastic, grazing gently over my skin until he made it to my inner thigh. I drew in a sharp gasp because he was closer than ever to the warmest spot on me. I let my head fall fully against him because I no longer had the strength to hold it up. Not when I was simultaneously fighting my urge to straddle him or put an end to our foreplay.

  Maximo adjusted me so that my head rested against his shoulder. The shift brought my pelvis closer to his. I held my breath in anticipation. One of his hands smoothed through my hair while the other continued its caresses. Bravely he drew his fingers beyond the thigh high. I released a quiet whimper.

  He crooned into my ear. “Let me touch you. Rebecca. I vow I’ll go no further than a touch.” He properly read my hesitance. “My clothing will stay on and fastened. I promise you.”

  Pushing out a ragged breath, I drew in the courage to nod for him.

  “Gracias a Dios!” He pressed a small kiss to my temple.

  Permission granted, Maximo didn’t move any faster than he had originally. I was torn between relief that he would ease me into it and the need for him to hurry.

  He brought my temperature back up with the fingers playing along my thigh highs. “These are sexy. Rebecca.” Squeezing my thigh he said, “Feminine, naughty, and just the right amount of punk. They’re perfect for you.”

  A desperate laugh escaped me. He cut it short by slipping his hand further beneath my skirt. I inhaled a sharp breath and then exhaled with a moan.

  “Sí,” he whispered. “Make noise for me. Rebecca.”

  The next noise I made was a whimper for the fortitude not to shove my hand between us. I no longer noticed his skin’s cool temperature against mine, too focused was I on how he made me fraught with unfulfilled desire.

  Maximo’s fingers made it to the edge of my silky panties. My lungs halted, unsure if he’d slip beneath or torture me from above. He chose the latter. Quietly he cursed in Spanish when he found I was warm and moist. He teased me with a gentle caress of his fingers over my mound, edging down to the folds only to return up and away.

  I moaned at the pain he drew—not because he was touching me but because he wasn’t. “Maximo.”

  “Max.” His teeth snapped beside my ear.

  “Oh!” Those teeth … so near my neck. I gasped from the zing of adrenaline that shot through me. “Max, you’re driving me crazy.”

  “Good.” His voice grew rich with satisfaction. He rubbed his fingers a hint lower. “It’s only fitting because you’ve driven me crazy for weeks.”

  Days of foreplay and minutes of steady arousal generated a wicked reaction when his finger finally grazed over my oversensitive bud. Pure pleasure flowed through my body in a hot wave. My back shot off of him as I hissed to the ceiling. He laughed in a low rumble behind me even as his hands brought me back down to endure more of his wonderful torture.

  I was too mindless to note when he’d pushed his hand beneath my panties’ lace band, but I definitely recognized the sensation of his finger slipping into me. Max’s temperature was noticeable now. But not disgustingly so. I writhed despite the curiosity of it, pleading wordlessly with punctuations of his nickname.

  His fingers soon set a tempo of steady thrusts I met with my pelvis. And then his body joined in. He was stiff against my back, proving he wasn’t unaffected. My whimpers quickly mingled with his ragged groans.

  Max broke into a Spanish monologue of how he’d like to replace his fingers with himself, to bury himself to the hilt in my warmth, and hold me against him until I fell asleep. I clamped my lips shut to keep from giving him permission for the first two. We were going slowly. Really, we were.

  I lost track of time and space when the orgasm hit. A wordless cry caught in my throat while my body surely broke apart. Only his hands on me and the cool frame beneath me kept me together. Brilliant gold filled my vision more beautiful than any firework I might see tomorrow.

  Max took the liberty of pushing my hand between us. He formed it over his rigid organ above his pants. Then with one guided squeeze, he let out his own wordless cry.

  Seconds later we lay slumped together, panting from our foreplay as the Western on the big screen reached the showdown portion of the action. The last things I remembered hearing were gunshots, horses neighing, and Max’s soft laughter.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Somehow I woke in my own bed. Though I regularly slept like the dead once I fell asleep, it was disturbing that someone had brought me all the way home without rousing me. The untouched state of my tank top, skirt, and thigh highs was small consolation. My mary-janes, however, were off my feet.

  I stretched out my limbs, noting that I felt more relaxed than I had in a while. That was most likely thanks to Max.

  Hera, help me. I was thinking of him differently now, wasn’t I?

  He could have killed me yesterday. But instead he’d given me an orgasm without insisting upon sex. How bad could he really be?

  I hissed at myself for letting down my guard. He was a vampire. He was Wipuk’s city ruler. He had an ulterior motive. I simply hadn’t worked out what it was. But I suspected it had something to do with my ring. After all, it’s what I’d do if I were an evil vampire bent on world domination.

  Still, I noted my skin’s glow when I stepped in front of the bathroom mirror. As well as the dopey smile.

  So he was using me? I was using him, too. It was a horrible basis for a relationship, but it didn’t make the sex any worse. For all I knew, it made it better.

  I stuck my toothbrush in my mouth, lazily scrubbing along my upper gums while dreamily recalling the night before. That’s when I realized what had woken me. Someone was knocking.

  I glanced at the alarm clock on my bedside table. Three minutes past ten. I shot across the apartment and then wrenched open the front door before my visitor could pound again.

  Desmond took in my bed-head and the gauzy tank top twisted around my torso. His hooded eyes narrowed. A midnight blue shirt wrinkled beneath his black jacket from his angry jerk. “You aren’t even ready.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said over my toothbrush. “I forgot to set an alarm.” I hadn’t even been awake when I’d gotten home, but I wouldn’t tell him that. “Come in. Have a seat. I just need to change.”

  Kore’s seeds! I wasn’t even going to get a chance to shower. This was going to be an uncomfortable day.

  I hurried into the bedroom, kicking the door shut. It bounced, reopened, and then settled in a partially closed position. It would have to do because I’d already torn off my skirt.

  “You wear skirts to bed?” He called out almost angrily. The position of his sharp voice hinted he stood between the living room and the kitchen facing the bedroom.

  I kept quiet because I suspected the answer would make him worse.

  “Fuck me.” I quietly hissed when I realized I needed a fresh pair of panties on the other side of the room. Darting across as fast as vanilla humanly possible, I hid behind the bed so I could open the dresser drawer without revealing too much. But when I turned back to make my way to the closet, Desmond was visible through the crack in the door.

  He’d been watching.

  I sent him a glare tinged with embarrassment. No sense running back to the closet now that he’d gotten an eyeful. I moved with a sedate pace. Desmond finally turned away.

  I made quick work of tugging on a pair of fishnet tights, and then my favorite pair of cropped
jean shorts. One of my many V-neck T-shirts, this one in pumpkin, completed the look. Then it was off to the bathroom to salvage my hair with some styling gel. I finished my morning ritual with lacing up my Doc Marten’s.

  Desmond didn’t budge as I breezed through the apartment past him. I paused just long enough to grab my purse.

  “I hope you got coffee,” I said as he slipped past me so I could lock the door.

  “I got two lattes with extra cream.”

  My attention snapped to his face. The delivery had been stilted, a match for the displeasure darkening his expression, but the words were of note. I’d never told him my coffee preference. And the one time I’d had coffee in his presence, I’d tossed it in his waste bin.

  I made myself speak lightly as I stepped off the porch. “How did you know?”

  Desmond lifted his shoulder in an irreverent shrug. He walked into place beside me. “The barista chats me up daily. I merely maneuvered our chat onto a useful topic for a change. The girl with the blue hair is easy to remember.”

  “It’s cerulean.”

  “I know it’s cerulean.” He pronounced the word perfectly. “She doesn’t.” He sent me a sidelong look. “Should I have corrected her?”

  “No. That would just be weird.”

  He nodded.

  Ryan Steele hurried around the corner, his hair a mess and his clothing half fastened. He looked like I had ten minutes ago. The shapeshifter kept his head down until he noticed who was walking toward him. His feet stalled.

  “Kora,” he called out. “Mornin’.”

  “Hi, Ryan.” There was only one reason he’d pause his walk of shame for a greeting. “You know Desmond Marino?”

  Ryan shook his head. A neutral expression had taken up residence on his face. He must be far older than the twenty-five years he looked because the ability to hide emotions was something that came with decades of practice or mental instability. He’d seemed stable to me.

  “I don’t think we’ve actually been introduced,” he said.

  Desmond let out one of his martyred huffs. But he quickly adopted his own neutral expression. He politely offered his hand. “Hello. You are?”

  “Ryan Steele.” He strode forward and gripped Desmond’s hand. “The only shapeshifter left in Wipuk.” His latest words edged on confrontational.

  “I’m sorry your clan left,” Desmond said in an appropriately remorseful tone.

  “They weren’t my clan. But thanks for the apology all the same. This town needed them.”

  Desmond sent another sidelong look at me. “So I’ve been told.” With a tight smile he said, “We’ll let you get back to your morning.”

  Ryan lifted his eyebrows as if to ask what we were doing together. I shifted my attention away from them both with a barely perceptible shrug.

  “Thanks.” Ryan turned toward his apartment.

  We made it to Desmond’s BMW without running into anyone else. I took hold of the tall latte in the cup holder that didn’t have a coffee-stained lid. A quick sip turned into a full-on gulp as I settled my tush into the seat and fought with the seatbelt one-handed. Beneath the radio on the center console was a bag printed with the coffee shop’s logo. The scent of warm yeast floated in the air beneath Desmond’s crisp mountain stream smell.

  Turning on the engine with a smooth move, Desmond said, “I understand your distaste for me if you’ve had him for a neighbor and Miss Kranz for an employee.”

  I let out a quick laugh. “Oh no. My distaste for you was established long before I heard any of that.”

  A glance over at him showed him to be discomfited but silent. Maybe he now questioned his behavior. He’d apologized for being an ass once and said he’d done it all for Wipuk. I doubted he’d apologize again. Desmond Marino struck me as a man who rarely apologized.

  “I was wrong,” he said a second later in a soft cadence.

  My hand stilled with the coffee cup centimeters from my lips.

  What in Hades was that for? He was wrong? About what? About helping me with Nadir and the women?

  Desmond’s attention remained on the windshield though we were stationary. “I should have given you a chance to make your case before I tried to eject you from Wipuk, and I never should have accused you of murder.”

  My jaw went slack. He wasn’t apologizing for being an ass. He was admitting he was wrong! Men like Desmond didn’t do that!

  No, men like Desmond probably did because it would win them friends and influence. I forced my mouth shut so I could take a sip from my latte and look at something other than his pretty lips. He turned his head toward me. Desmond released a long breath and then put the car in drive, focusing again on the road ahead.

  I didn’t care if he was irritated. It was going to take more than an admission of error to influence me.

  ****

  The Massive Attack CD was once again in Desmond’s car stereo. The music was welcome because we’d lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

  Max’s classical Spanish guitar soundtrack popped into my head. Inevitably it reminded me of his pool, and him in his pool. My skin heated at the visual of him nude on the ceramic-tiled patio.

  I could have given in then. Though I’d have missed what happened later. That was the most fun I’d ever had with my clothes on. Sighing dreamily, I settled back into car seat.

  Desmond shifted in his spot. I didn’t look at him because I didn’t want him to note the heat in my cheeks and ask why I was blushing. He didn’t like Maximo, that much I’d gathered. I’d rather avoid the topic of the vampire today.

  The craggy landscape sailed by on the trip to Flagstaff. I ought to be getting ready to go into work. But it was Independence Day. And yesterday Nell had sold the expensive glass vase to the Canadian tourists I’d talked up days ago. I could afford to shut down for the holiday. That didn’t make the guilt any less.

  We pulled into a hotel parking lot at quarter to eleven. It was then that Desmond snatched up the bakery bag.

  He let out a quiet curse. “I bought us scones. But I forgot. Do you want one? I was going to suggest we all go to lunch before heading to the airport.”

  “Lunch is fine.”

  I was uncomfortable, but I wasn’t quite sure why. Had it been because he’d bought scones or because he’d forgotten he’d bought scones? We’d sat in silence for twenty-five minutes. Shouldn’t he have remembered at some point during that time? What was on his mind to keep him that occupied?

  Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I opened the car door. Desmond took the bakery bag with him. He reached over his shoulder to click the locks on the car with his key fob. And then he dropped the bag into the trashcan outside the hotel.

  Such disregard for food stuck in my craw. Maybe it was because I was on a budget. And maybe it was because I’d seen starving villagers that would have convulsed in ecstasy for a mere crumb of one of those scones.

  Desmond motioned for me to go ahead inside and to the nearby elevator. He joined me in the small metal box, hitting the button for the sixth floor. I crowded into the corner away from him.

  He stepped out as soon as the double doors spread open. His assured stride down the corridor made me wonder if he were confident in truth or if like me, he merely pretended to be. My cheeks flushed when I realized I’d been watching for glimpses of his ass between his jacket’s part.

  Charon, take it. What was wrong with me? I’d assumed my interest in his body had been born of sexual frustration from months of abstinence. But that abstinence had basically ended last night. I shouldn’t want to see Desmond’s ass.

  Shaking myself once again, I hurried to where he’d stopped in front of a specific door. He knocked twice and then settled two steps back.

  The door burst open before I reached it. Inside a high-pitched voice rang out. “Dessy!”

  I recognized Veronika’s voice long before I saw her. Twin pink spots formed on Desmond’s pale cheeks.

  He cleared his throat, nodding in greeting. “Good mornin
g. Are you ready to leave?”

  The young woman crooned. “Come inside.”

  Desmond cast me a pleading look. I leaned against the corridor wall several feet away, giving him the full measure of my amusement.

  “I have Ms. Walsh with me,” he said as if that were an excuse not to join her in the room.

  “She can wait with Jacqueline.” Veronika’s pitch lowered sensually. “It’s only been a few hours since you left me last night, but it feels like ages. Come inside, Dessy.”

  My amusement faded into a neutral expression. I had no interest in witnessing a lovers’ goodbye. I gestured toward the elevator, a sign that I’d go wait with Jacqueline, wherever she was. But Desmond called out the moment I turned.

  “No. We’re going to lunch. And then we’re going to the airport.” He adopted his head-dick-in-charge tone. “Set your luggage outside the door so I can take it to the car.”

  Desmond started down the corridor to the next door, knocking exactly as he had on Veronika’s. The door slid open a moment later. Jacqueline’s quiet voice greeted him. “I can carry my own luggage. Send her in. I want to talk to her.”

  He motioned me to go in and then backtracked to Veronika’s. The younger woman hissed something at him as I stepped into Jacqueline’s hotel room. The door clicked shut behind me.

  Jacqueline’s dark eyes were tight with worry as she stood beside the neatly made king-sized bed. “Can you check me please, Kora? I don’t trust that doctor. I won’t put my husband in danger by going home unless I’m completely clean.”

  Though I trusted Dr. Yates, I understood Jacqueline’s reluctance to put the people she cared about in harm’s way. I let my eyelids slide shut, ignoring the shrill notes of Veronika’s voice beyond the wall as I called on Healing. This time I made sure my test subject felt the Healing link so she’d know I’d done what she’d asked.