Heart Mates

by Mary Hughes

  “You smell amazing.” He buried his lips into her neck, kissing the delicate skin. “A rosebud opening.”

  Her trembling turned into delicious shudders.

  “Sweet, on the cusp of heady. Lickable.” His warm, rough tongue lapped her neck, her collarbone.

  She started purring like a cat, a tiny portion of her mind wondering insanely if he was turning her into a shifter. “But if the hex is trying to distract us… Oh.” She gasped as his probing finger hit her sweet spot. Lightning need streaked through her. “It must be the hex.”

  “What?” He slipped a second finger into her, stretching her with warm wonder. He began rocking against her, their hips pressing together deliciously.

  “This. So fast. Magically fast.” She let her head fall back against his chest, raising her chin to give him better access to the skin of her throat. Her brain squealed it was a sign of submission to an alpha wolf, but she only wanted his hot, talented mouth on more of her skin.

  “And ‘this’ is…?” He ground his hips into her buttocks. His erection pressed huge.

  She shuddered. This was hot, potent arousal. This was wildness. Abandoning planning, thinking, throwing out anything but hot reckless feeling. “I want you,” she whispered, delighting in his hot slick licks down her throat.

  He revved a growl that came from the pits of his belly. “I’ve never heard words so beautiful.”

  “But so hot…so fast…”

  He nipped her neck with a growl. “It’s not the hex, it’s you and me. It’s us. Look, see what I’m doing to you. Acknowledge it, acknowledge us.” He drove his fingers deep inside her.

  She gasped, her eyes popping open, and looked.

  His eyes blazed silver behind her, his hands working her hard, almost brutally. Every muscle in his body stood out as he held her fused to him. His face was hard, concentrated on her. On giving her as much pleasure as he could. The intense focus of his gaze, of his being, told her the shocking truth.

  He meant it. It wasn’t the hex doing this to him. He wanted her too.

  And her… She was flushed and visibly trembling. Her skirt hung loosely from her hips. Her legs were spread wide, and the rougher he worked her the farther they spread. Her back was arched, her breasts thrust forward, and she was grinding into his hand. Grinding her butt into his hips, feeling his erection grow.

  It stunned her how powerful the desire was. Their desire. He was right. It wasn’t just him doing her, or her doing him. They were doing it together.

  Grabbing the hem of her camisole, she tugged it over her head and threw it away. She felt more than heard his sucked breath. She seized his hand and slapped it back on her breast, felt the nut of her nipple rasp his palm. In the mirror, his eyes were glowing so brightly they practically burned.

  She wanted them on fire.

  Her skirt was already unbuttoned and her writhing had worked the zipper halfway down. She opened it all the way, almost botching it because she was trembling so hard. The skirt slid down her thighs to crumple around her ankles, leaving her clad in nothing but panties, thigh-high stockings, four-inch heels and him.

  His hand was as gorgeous squeezing under her bikinis as it was on her breast. It felt even better. His big thick cock, pressing urgently against her panties from behind, would feel even better yet, skin-to-skin.

  It might have been the hex’s fault to start. But this was happening and happening now, and it wasn’t the hex’s fault any more.

  She wanted it. And if she were honest with herself, she’d wanted it from the moment she figured out Noah Blackwood was loyal, brave and sexy as hell.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She snagged the inch-wide elastic of her bikini panties in either hand and pulled down. She only managed ten or so inches, but it was enough to uncover Noah’s hand and a whole lot of her private skin.

  He let out a low rough howl. Dropped to his knees. Grabbed her hips in both hands, tilted her back, and pressed a kiss to her sex.

  His mouth was searing hot. She screamed. He lapped at her roughly, beating her with his tongue until she whimpered her need. Until she grabbed the frame of the mirror to keep from being shoved into it headfirst. It tingled under her hands but her whole body flushed with a more powerful fever. Sensing she’d found purchase he only lapped harder, thumbs spreading her for his onslaught.

  She saw herself in the mirror, face flushed, breasts heaving. His fingers dented her hips, his skin dark against hers. She saw flashes of his chin, moving savagely against her.

  She felt nothing but bliss. Intense pleasure built, higher and higher the faster he worked her. Then he slowed and ground and ravaged with his mouth until she absolutely ached deep inside, a hollow needy ache that she knew had to be filled by him. “Please…Noah…take me now.”

  He stood and lost his pants in one fluid motion. Seizing her hips in his big hands, he tilted her up.

  She was too short. But instead of crouching to fit, he wrapped one arm under her breasts, one around her hips, and lifted her off the ground.

  Her pumps fell off her feet and hit the floor with a clatter. She dangled from his arms, naked but for her thigh-high stockings and the panties banding her knees. His lips moved to her nape, his breath hot enough to scorch. The edge of teeth took hold. And just nudging her sex…

  Her eyebrows rose. Heavens, he was big. Instinctively she grabbed the mirror frame—just as he drove himself in.

  Her eyes flew open, wild. Her mouth dropped open too, red and wet in reflection.

  He thrust. She gasped. He thrust again, harder. She clenched wood. He set up a steady, strong rhythm, holding her firmly with arms and hands and teeth, and she closed her eyes and gave herself over to the cascades of sensation. Her ears filled with the thwack of tight muscular belly hitting smooth buttocks, almost drowning out her panting. Her heart raced in her chest, thudding so hard she could feel it. Her skin prickled as moisture rose. Her ears rang.

  Her eyes slit open to see steam clouding the mirror, her breath, misting and clearing in rapid succession.

  “Sophia…my heart…you’re incredible.” He circled his hips, thrusting deeper. He was the incredible one, smooth and slick, filling her to bursting. She whimpered her pleasure. He groaned and drove himself in to the hilt. Her pussy clenched.

  He adjusted her in his arms to slide two hot fingers onto her clitoris.

  He redoubled his driving dance. She screamed as her swollen clit bounced and rubbed against his fingers. He groaned and crushed her to him, held her so tightly that they fused.

  His thrusts slowed, deepened, until each scoured her to the core of her being. One. Winding so tight with pleasure it was pain. Two. Pushing to the very pinnacle of rapture.

  “Sophia,” he groaned. “Now, love.”

  Love. It triggered a powerful release. She came with eyes closed and a keening cry. As wave after wave plowed through her, he buried himself and came with a shout. They shuddered together, her contractions seeming to lengthen and reinforce his, his tugging cock adding to hers, going on and on, rippling out into joined pleasure that was deliciously sweet.

  Wildly sweet.

  The ripples eased. He set her gently into her shoes. Her eyes opened. In the mirror they looked sated, tired and satisfied.

  Behind her, the sweep of Noah’s black lashes rose in the mirror. She prepared herself for the burning silver of his piercing stare.

  But his eyes were softly glowing. Sated, like hers. Satisfied.

  And gold.

  “Noah? Come help Mommy with the cookies.”

  The small boy ran into the kitchen, his second-favorite room. Four-year-old Noah’s favorite place was the book room, where his mommy had her big loom and the hard man had the soft reading chair, smelling of leather and paper, warmth and love. The boy adored crawling into the hard man’s lap for a bedtime story. His favorite stories were about
princes and princesses who wielded wands and skin-prickles, or what the man called magic. “How can I help, Mommy?”

  His mother held out a cookie. “Taste this.”

  He loved helping but especially with this. He took the cookie and tasted it thoroughly. Seriously. He wanted to do a good job for her. “It’s good. Even though it’s oatmeal.”

  Her smile was the sun coming up for him.

  The hard man swept into the kitchen. The man always swept, his purposeful stride unfurling his long star-and-moon covered robe. Noah’s mommy had made the cloth on her loom. She worked for the hard man, and she and Noah lived with him.

  She held out a cookie to the hard man. The man smiled and Noah’s mommy smiled back. It was a different smile than she gave Noah, smaller, more adult. Promising things other than hugs and cookies. Noah didn’t like that smile because it meant his mother and the hard man were going upstairs where Noah was not allowed.

  Noah thought about pouting, but his mother’s smile turned to him. She handed him another cookie, this one chocolate chip.

  He tasted it with the same seriousness, but his mouth couldn’t lie. He smiled back. “This is great!”

  His mother wasn’t listening. Her nostrils flared. “Simon.”

  A bad feeling rolled over Noah, bitter like weeds.

  The hard man’s head came up. “I hear. They’re coming from the front. Take the boy. Go out the back.”

  Wrapping Noah in one arm, she clutched the hard man’s robe with her free hand. “Simon. You come too.”

  “I must hold them off. Take the boy, Hayley. Quickly.” The hard man pushed Noah’s mother toward the door, gently, but Noah still growled. The man paid no attention to Noah, his gaze locked on Noah’s mother. “Go. For the boy’s sake.”

  She blinked shiny eyes. Noah was angry with the man for making her cry. She gathered Noah and urged him outside.

  They ran down the garden path leading to the big woods. Suddenly Noah realized someone was missing. “Raven! Mommy, we have to go back for Raven.”

  “Not now, honey.” She tried to tug him along but he dug in his heels. Raven was his pet, his friend.

  Suddenly a cyclone of star-spangled wind whipped around the corner of the house—headed straight for them.

  Magic. Noah could feel the skin-prickles from here. His mother stopped tugging on him, knelt and pulled him into her arms. Her heart was drumming and she trembled against him.

  The hard man popped between them and the magic cyclone, his star-and-moon cloak snapping in the wind.

  He raised a hand. Noah saw a greeting.

  The wind died, revealing three black-robed men. Noah’s skin buzzed, bad, wrong, like nasty wasps. His hackles rose. The hard man had shoved his mommy away and was now meeting bad men.

  Caw, caw. A blue-black bird flew around the corner of the house.

  “Raven,” Noah cried, and tried to rush for him. His mother’s arms tightened.

  Following the raven was a fourth robed man, but his silks were pale, and an ivory fur collar curled around his neck. He stood back, arms crossed, watching.

  The hard man pointed his wand at the black-robed men. Noah only cared about his friend. “Raven!” Noah struggled loose from his mother’s arms and ran toward him.

  Below Raven, the hard man’s face paled. “No!” One palm shot out toward Noah, the other at the bird.

  A wall of wind slammed into Noah. He pushed against it, churning his legs as hard as he could, but he couldn’t get any closer to his pet. He called, “Raven, come.”

  The ivory-collared man pointed at Raven and started chanting. Raven began to win through.

  The hard man turned white. His palm still flat toward Noah, he spun up his wand.

  Pointed straight at Raven.

  The bird shot into the sky like a missile. He got smaller and smaller, a bird, a blotch, a dot, gone.

  A single black feather floated to the ground. Noah, face wet, struggled toward it.

  The hard man aimed his wand at the feather. It exploded. Noah shrieked.

  Noah’s mother wrapped arms around him, picked him up and ran.

  Over her shoulder, Noah saw the black-robed men bookend the hard man and shoot horrifying magic at him. The hard man, after a final glance toward Noah and his mother, jerked as if he’d been hit in the back.

  He fell. He did not get up. Noah felt his sparkles disappear, and for a moment was frightened.

  No. The hard man had destroyed Raven, Noah’s friend. He’d pushed Noah and his mommy away to meet the nasty robed men.

  Noah was not, could not be sorry for the man.

  The ivory-robed man motioned toward Noah and his mother. Bad feelings bit Noah’s tummy. His mother crashed with him through the outer thickets, still too far from the deep woods to hide.

  The black-robed man ran after them, wand pointing ominously.

  “Mommy!” Noah beat his mother’s shoulder. “The bad man.”

  Noah’s mother slashed a glance back. She whispered the word Noah was never to say, so viciously that winter stormed in his chest.

  She set him down and threw her daggers. They thunked into the man—but his wand had already spewed fire.

  Magic snapped like a whip into Noah’s mother. She cried out and fell to one knee. Her hand slapped her ribs.

  Blood dripped between her fingers.

  “Mommy. Your wolf!”

  She shifted. Bright red streaked her fur. It scared him.

  But when she nudged him with her muzzle, pushing him toward her shoulders, he mounted as she’d taught him. He didn’t know what else to do. The hard man was gone. Raven was gone. He dug his fingers into his mother’s fur and held tight.

  She ran. She ran so fast the wind slapped his face. If Raven had been flying with them, it would have been fun. But now…

  He didn’t understand. Why had the hard man made Raven go away? Why had he pushed Noah and his mother away?

  Noah clutched his mommy, sad and angry and scared. No, being scared was for babies. Angry.

  Noah’s mother ran for days. The bright red on her fur never dried. More leaked out. It smelled funny; it felt wrong. It buzzed like the black-robed men had.

  Days and nights blurred passed. Four days later Noah’s mother stopped outside a tiny shack in the forest.

  She turned human. But her skin was gray like a wolf, and her breath came in gasps. The gash on her flank was fiery red.

  Noah was frightened. Turning wolf had always taken care of his own owies. He reached to touch his mother’s wound.

  She took him by the shoulders, stopping him. “Noah, listen to me. You must never again use the skin-prickles, do you understand? No magic from now on. Can you do that for me, honey?”

  She was so serious, so gray. Even the gold of her eyes had gone dull. He would have agreed to anything she asked, but especially this. Skin-prickles reminded him of the hard man. Noah used a big word he’d heard but never understood before now. The hard man had betrayed them.

  He never wanted to think about the hard man again.

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  “Good.” She seemed relieved. “Now wipe the magic away, as Simon…wipe the magic away as you’ve been taught.”

  Noah closed his eyes and didn’t think of the hard man. He pictured the squeegee his mommy used to wipe down the showers and scraped the skin-prickles off himself. They trickled down his body into a pool at his feet. He was about to shake them from his toes when his mommy spoke again.

  “Good. Here.” His mother drew a thong over her head. It was attached to a medallion the size of his palm. Her black wolf. She’d let him play with it before, but she’d never taken it off.

  She kissed the wolf and whispered a single word. Hide.

  She looped the thong over Noah’s neck. The wolf fell onto his tummy.

  As i
f the wolf called the skin-prickles, they rose like a rope of water. They spun through the medallion into his belly button like they were sucked in. He watched the tail of magic disappear. “Mommy, why are you giving me your wolf?”

  “You’re a big boy now, Noah. A brave boy. The wolf will help you remember that I love you.”

  Two days later she was dead.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Noah opened his eyes, dazed from the most spectacular climax he’d ever had, and was immediately riveted by the sight of Sophia’s eyes in the mirror. Magic, irises like a warm sea sparkling with moonlight. Paradise at night.

  Paradise. He closed his lids and savored the scent of her, the feel. What they had done was the most amazing…she was the most amazing…well. He admitted to himself he’d wanted to do this since the moment he’d first seen her. He opened his eyes again to look his fill. Caught sight of them in the mirror.

  Gold.

  His irises were gold, the color of…bloody claws and paws. He spun away, yanked his pants one-handed to his hip, and started to hunt for his clothes.

  “What’s wrong?” Sophia said.

  He glanced at her. She looked confused, beautiful, hurt. He nearly ran back to her, to lick her and kiss her and make the confused and hurt go away.

  But damn it, he’d mated with her. He’d mated a witch.

  He wanted to howl, wanted to run away from the reality of it. Mating was the most intimate thing a wolf could do, akin to inviting another soul under his skin.

  He couldn’t run away. That would leave Sophia unprotected. Besides, he couldn’t leave her looking so hurt. Veiling the gold with half-shut lids, he returned to her and wrapped arms around her. He only relaxed after he cupped her head against his heart.

  He sighed. What did he do now?

  She snuggled in, a warm, soft bundle. She felt so absolutely right in his arms. He didn’t know if his brain or the mating was telling him that. It no longer seemed to matter.