“It’s a palace alright,” Wren laughed. “From where you’re standing, you can see ninety percent of it. All you’re missing is the bathroom down the hall. It’s the narrow little door across from the closet—truly a castle.”
Abby slowly turned and did her best to saunter confidently toward the hallway, letting her hips sway. Either Wren would find the view inviting—she’d been told she had a nice ass—or she’d interpret the over-the-top saunter as a joke. In any case, no social misstep. Hopefully.
She stuck her head through the narrow door Wren had pointed to. It was a truly tiny bathroom, but it had everything a person needed: a sink, a toilet, and a shower stall. There was even storage mounted to the wall where Wren had a collection of products for curly hair.
Wren’s hair was like a lion’s mane of brunette and copper corkscrews, wild and beautiful. Maintaining those curls had to require some serious skills—and an army of product, clearly.
“Cozy,” Abby remarked as she exited the tiny space. She was about to return to the table where Wren was still sitting—watching her—but something green caught her eye at the very back of the RV. She turned and slipped through a narrow doorway—only to feel her lips fall open.
Two whole walls of the room were covered floor-to-ceiling in plants, all growing in narrow troughs mounted right onto the walls. The air hummed with the sound of percolating water and the scent of fresh, verdant greenery. Along one of the open walls, below the window, a small bookshelf held a tiny library of novels and non-fiction alike. And in the middle of the room, sat the ugliest, awesomest green wingback chair with a small, round wooden table beside it.
Wren’s RV really was a palace.
“It’s my garden.” Wren appeared behind her, her voice low and close. When Abby turned toward her voice, Wren was even closer than she’d expected her to be. Close enough to touch without reaching. Close enough to catch Wren’s fingers with her own.
She turned back to the plants instead. “You were holding out on me. This is incredible.”
Wren shrugged. “I needed plants, so I gave up the bedroom to have them.”
Made sense. Living witch as she was, Wren probably felt magically dead with nothing living in her space with her. Not for the first time, Abby wondered what Wren’s life had been like before she began living in an RV, driving all over the country. She’d been in love, she knew that much. Abby wondered what the woman Wren used to love was like. Was she a witch, too? How did she die? All questions that weren’t appropriate to ask just then.
A plant caught Abby’s eyes and one of her brows raised as she crossed to it and gently touched the leaves. “You’re growing opium.”
Wren gave a shrug. “Among other things.” She ticked a nod at another container, then another, naming them in turn. “Sage. African Violet. Turmeric. Eyebright...”
Abby picked up where Wren had left off, touching the leaves as she continued naming them: “Arbutus. Gotu Kola. Clove. This is amazing.” Abby didn’t need the energy of living plants to feel magically well, the way Wren would, but that didn’t mean she didn’t use them in her magic. And in cooking. She made an herb roasted chicken and dumplings she’d been told transcended common consciousness.
“You know your plants,” Wren remarked. “And thanks. This is my favorite spot.”
“Did you build this?” So help her, if Wren said she built this herself, Abby was going to fall in love with this woman right here and now. She could hear the bubbling of the water in the troughs below the plants and the hum of the motor keeping it flowing and fed. This was no simple out-of-the-box set-up.
“Not the individual parts, but I designed and built the system, yeah.”
Oh my god. On the inside, Abby was swooning hard. Outwardly, however, she just looked to Wren with a grin and a shake of her head. “You’re such a badass.”
Wren gave a laugh. “A badass who could use more wine. You?”
“Hell yes.”
It was a strange kind of relief to have Wren turn and walk away, back to the table and the wine. Not because Abby wanted to be away from her, but for the opposite reason—being so close to Wren but holding back from touching her was the sweetest kind of torture. .
Wren’s RV was a sanctuary. Her energy was everywhere, her magic thick in the air and clinging to every surface, and it was the densest here, in this garden oasis of a room. It was like breathing in Wren’s essence instead of oxygen. Wren’s energy and magic made Abby feel comfortable, like being wrapped in a blanket and handed a cup of warm tea.
Abby gave the garden one more look, loving that she got to see this inner sanctum, then turned to follow Wren back down the hall—and stopped.
On a ledge, tucked into the corner, there was a framed picture of Wren and another woman in bed together. The way it was sitting, it was easy to tell the location had been chosen so it was visible from the green wing back in the other corner. The girl was thin, blue eyes bright. Her hair was a sheet of spun gold across the pillow. Abby recognized her.
“Is this Bridgette?”
Wren turned around, wine bottle in one hand, glass in the other as Abby came down the hall with the picture frame in her fingers. “Yeah, that’s Bridge.”
Abby opened her mouth—closed it—opened it again and sighed. This was either going to be really cool—or really awkward. Heart in her throat, she stared at the picture in her hand. “This is your girlfriend, who passed away.”
Wren stopped pouring and looked at Abby with a yeah-duh nod.
“She’s... um...” Abby had to spit the words out. “She’s been visiting me.”
Wren’s brows drew downward in question. She sat the wine and the glass on the table. “Visiting you?”
“In my dreams,” Abby replied. She shook her head—she could hardly believe what she was saying. “For the last week or so, she shows up sometimes. But last night—” She sighed and shook her head.
Don’t let her run from you.
She peered at Wren, meeting her warm, brown, hopeful eyes. “Last night she spoke to me.”
Wren’s inhale shook. “What did she say?”
“She told me I was perfect.” Abby had to laugh at that, it was so ridiculous. “And she told me not to let you run from me. Only I didn’t know you were who she was talking about.” The next part was sad, but Abby had to say it. It was the message she’d been tasked to deliver. “She said that, if you tried to, I should—her words—remind you of all the lies she told.”
Soft lips crashed onto Abby’s mouth. She was startled for one breath of a moment—and then all the tension ran out of her as she caressed Wren’s lips with her own.
God, but they were silky soft, just like they’d been the other night. But this time, instead of pulling back, Wren stepped in. Her hands came to the sides of Abby’s neck, her thumbs stroking along her jaw, sending tendrils of need weaving through the magic under Abby’s skin. She slid her hands onto Wren’s waist and skimmed up her ribs before dragging them downward, her fingers turned to claws against Wren’s soft tee. When Abby let her lips part, Wren followed suit. And when her tongue slid carefully against Abby’s bottom lip, Abby welcomed the intrusion. Longed for it. Met Wren’s seeking with exploration of her own, while magic swelled around them. A river swirling low in her belly.
Wren’s sigh was a beautiful relinquishing.
“I want you,” Abby breathed against Wren’s lips. She needed to know Wren was as into this as she was—she couldn’t take the wanting in the magic for granted. It wasn’t fair to either of them. “Tell me to slow down and I will, but otherwise...”
“No. Don’t stop.” Wren’s lips brushed Abby’s when she breathed the words. “I want you, too.”
They were the most incredible words Abby had ever heard.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
Fuck, it felt good to be kissing Abby. Her lips were satin, her tongue velvet, and Wren couldn’t get enough.
Bridgette wanted them to have this.
More importantly, Wren wa
nted this. She’d wanted this from the moment she saw Abby’s beautiful face and sensed her powerful magic.
Their magic wanted this.
It swam around them as they kissed, swirling and coalescing into something more than their two parts combined. Together, they were more than simple addition, Abby’s magic plus Wren’s. They were more than Wren had known she could ever be.
And she was finished letting her past lord over her future. Done being sad about a future she was never meant to have. Abby was her future, her fate—her destiny.
Wren stumbled back until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of her dining table, and still, Abby pressed forward. So, blindly, Wren slid the wine bottle and her glass back. Then she hitched one hip, and the other onto the surface until she was sitting, legs spread on the table with Abby standing between them.
“You are,” Abby dragged kisses along Wren’s jaw, “the single most” now behind her ear, “beautiful woman” her neck, “I’ve never seen.”
Wren couldn’t catch her breath—and she didn’t want to as Abby’s soft finger slipped beneath the hem of her tee. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.”
Abby stopped and straightened, her eyes trained to Wren’s mouth. “Since the moment I felt you walk into the shop.”
Wren pulled Abby into her and crushed their lips together.
“Let me take care of you,” Abby gasped against her mouth. “Please.”
“Hell yes.” Then she’d take care of Abby. Over and over. The only regret she had was that she’d converted her bed back into a table before leaving this morning, but was she going to stop long enough to remedy that? Fuck no.
Abby’s fingers skated upward, working Wren’s shirt up as she went, and Wren lifted her arms to let Abby pull the tee up and over her head. At some point in the last year, she’d stopped wearing a bra—why bother, she figured, since her tits were a pert 34B, and she was alone most days. Which meant her breasts were exposed before her shirt even hit the floor. And thank the universe for that, because Abby’s warm palm, and warmer mouth on the tip were everything Wren hadn’t known she’d needed.
Immediately, warm wet swelled between Wren’s legs and her hips started to flex as Abby worshiped her breasts, first one and then the other.
Wren’s fingers were claws against Abby’s shirt. “I have to see you.”
Abby pulled back long enough to meet her hands with Wren’s at the hem of her top. Abby, unlike Wren, was wearing a black, lace bra, her heavy breasts supported by the fabric, the peaks of her taught, light brown nipples visible through the pattern.
Wren pulled Abby close then cupped one of her breasts, thumbing the tight bud through the lace. “Fuck, you are gorgeous.” Seriously. Wren had never seen anyone as beautiful as Abby was right now.
Abby’s deep, brown eyes held hers as she slipped her fingertips beneath the waist of Wren’s jeans. “I want to make you come.”
That alone almost did it.
Wren popped her own fly, then braced her hands on the tabletop behind her, lifting her hips to let Abby pull the denim and her cotton underwear down, over her thighs, her knees, her calves, and off her feet. Her eyes fell closed as Abby skated her hands back up Wren’s legs until her thumbs gently stroked up the outer lips of her sex. When Wren opened her eyes, Abby was standing before her, watching her reaction as she stroked with just enough pressure.
Wren’s breath hitched, her body was strung tight already, breath lopsided.
Abby placed a delicate kiss on her mouth, then along her jaw—leaving a soft, silken brand against Wren’s neck and electric need upon her collarbone while her fingers continued to stroke, up and down the outside of her sex.
It had been so long since anyone had touched her body in this way and the rush of feeling made her eyes sting.
A moment’s lick of wanting flared when Abby’s other hand cupped Wren’s breast, her thumb drawing a lazy circle around Wren’s nipple that made her hips begin to rock. Abby’s warm, wet mouth on the tip again made Wren moan as she gave herself over completely to the sensation, to the pleasure Abby delivered.
And then Abby was moving lower. Kissing the underside of Wren’s breast, her ribs. Lowering herself to her knees and making Wren shake when lips met the top of her thigh, then moved lower to the soft flesh near her core.
Abby’s thumbs parted her lips so Wren could feel Abby’s breath against her most sensitive flesh.
Wren cried out the moment Abby’s tongue made contact with her sex with a firm, slick sweep. Then a languid exploration of the tight, swollen bud at the top, licking, stroking, sucking, until Wren’s fingers scored into Abby’s hair and she rocked her hips against Abby’s mouth.
“Oh fuck.” She was getting close so fast.
And Abby knew it.
Wren felt fingers press against her opening, before pushing inside. Immediately, her core tightened around them, milking them as Abby stroked in and out in time with the rhythmic massage of her tongue against Wren’s clit.
Nothing had ever felt this good before—alone or with someone else.
Wren moaned again and again in time with the pulses of pressure building beneath Abby’s mouth and around Abby’s fingers.
Abby moaned against her sex and when Wren opened her eyes to watch, she saw where her other hand was—beneath the waist of her leggings.
The sight of Abby pleasuring herself while she ate Wren’s pussy sent Wren right over the edge into the kind of orgasm that crested, only to double on itself and crest again, and again, until Wren was sobbing with the pleasure, her hips jerking as she ground herself against Abby’s mouth. And Abby was with her for every second of it, stroking, licking, kissing and, eventually, guiding her back down to earth where she gently kissed Wren’s inner thigh, then peered up at her. Her breath was sawing, the color high on her cheeks, and her once stylishly messy bun was now in complete disarray.
She’d never been more beautiful.
I love you.
It almost leapt out, but Wren swallowed the words down. Instead, she smiled to match Abby’s soft grin. “Kiss me. Then give me two minutes to make the bed.” They had a lot more exploring to do together tonight.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next morning, Cecily was relieved to have the day off of work. She’d been looking forward to spending the day with Scott, as Mondays were his day off as well, and she was enjoying their time together—
“Can I get you anything else?” He popped his head into the living room as he refilled her half-full water tumbler.
“No, I’m good. Thanks.” She was enjoying their day off together—really. Beside her on the coffee table was a cup of tea, still steaming, half a cookie she was in the process of eating, an empty dish that she’d eaten her scrambled eggs from just thirty minutes ago, the book she’d been reading, two magazines—in case she wanted a break from the book—and now, as Scott came back into the room, her tall, lidded tumbler of ice water.
“You good?” he asked.
“I’m completely good,” she confirmed. “Are you?” He’d been doing this all morning. Getting her things, checking on her, making sure she was comfortable and fed. Which was great, it really was, it was just a lot.
“I’m great,” he replied with a smile as he sat down by her legs and adjusted the pillows he’d used to prop her feet up about ten minutes ago.
“Okay, cause you’re stressing me out.”
He looked at her, brows furrowed. “How so?”
The sincerity and love in this face was too much for Cecily to combat. He was stressed and he was showing her how much he cared. There was no way to be mad about that. So she smiled and shrugged. “You’re not. It’s fine.”
Maybe he was anxious about the protection spell—about the fact that they needed one. But they were safe now. There was no way Marcus could watch them now that Abby and Wren had pooled their magic mojo to protect them all. And wow, what a magic mojo it was. Watching them work together yesterday, while she sat in the circle at
their feet—well, intense was an understatement. She was no witch, but she’d felt the energy shift in the room the minute Wren and Abby’s hands touched. At one point, she’d had the fleeting thought that the only thing keeping them dressed was the fact they had an audience.
Which, for one reason or another, gave Cecily an idea. “You know what sounds good?” She looked at Scott who raised his eyebrows in a very tell-me kind of way. “Ice cream. And maybe peanut butter.” Pregnant women liked ice cream and peanut butter, right? She drew the line at asking him to go get pickles—that was too cliche.
“I can go get ice cream,” he offered, just like she knew he would. “You want peanut butter flavored ice cream?”
Oh, now that he said it, that sounded amazing. “I do want that. Yes.”
“On it!” He stood from the sofa and bound for the door. “The store by the studio has that frozen custard you like. I’ll be back in thirty.”
This impromptu plan of hers just kept getting better. That frozen custard was amazing. “Love you!”
“Love you more!”
And then silence. Sweet, sweet silence.
Cecily had never considered herself an introvert, but she did need a good dose of alone-time silence every week to feel balanced. She supposed that was kind of the definition of an introvert, wasn’t it? Oh well, if that was her label she’d wear it with pride if it meant she got some time to herself.
The sun was shining outside, the temp around sixty-five degrees. It was one of those rare, beautiful late-March spring days in Seattle. They were few and far between this time of year and as she stared out the window, she hated to be missing it. Rhia, sleeping on the floor beside the sofa, looked up when Cecily peered down at her.
“You wanna go for a walk?”
Rhia’s tail wag was as much confirmation as Cecily needed. She’d walk Rhia, stretch her legs, and be back before Scott got home.
Rhia bound ahead of her, but not hard enough to tug on the leash. She liked to walk in front, that big, white head of hers turning left and right like she was keep an eye out for something.
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