Under Your Spell

by Shiloh Walker

  Rubbing the head of his cock against her damp entrance, he groaned, the silken wet honey of her desire burning him. Unable to believe it, he lifted his head from where he had been feasting on her sweet little nipples and watched as he entered her, her tight muscles stretching around him as he drove deeply, possessing her in one savage, hard thrust.

  Rhee cried out, arching up, staring blindly into those dark silvery eyes that held her pinned in place. He was asking something of her. Demanding, actually. Staring at her as though he expected her to know him.

  When he couldn’t find any recognition, Sean lashed down his disappointment. It was her. His heart knew, his soul knew. His body sure as hell knew it, he thought as he stared down, watching as she took him deep inside, the sweet lips of her sex stretched tight around him.

  Something else was missing.

  Something important.

  But right now, he needed her too badly to figure out just what it was. Hooking his arms under her legs, he opened her wide and drove into her hard, reveling in her wild screams, shifting so that he could play with her clit while he shafted her. She shuddered and shivered around him, the scent of her arousal hot and sweet, perfuming the air with her intoxicating scent.

  Rhee’s head was thrashing wildly against the door behind her. His thumb was driving her to distraction as he circled and massaged her clit. And his mouth returned to eat at her like he had been starving for her.

  And all the while, the rational part of her brain was telling her she had lost her fucking mind.

  Rhee cheerily told that part to go to hell as she looped her arms around Sean’s neck and thrust her tongue into his mouth while he drove his cock into her. He made her wonder why on earth she had been telling herself a vibrator was perfectly satisfying. Like hell.

  Rainbows seemed to bloom and flutter all around them, Rhee thought blissfully, as his hips hammered against her repeatedly. She could feel his cock driving deep, pulsing inside her, each pulse teasing her sensitized tissues until she thought she’d scream. His teeth caught her lower lip before he kissed her deeply, and as his tongue started to retreat she sucked it greedily back into her mouth. Forcing her eyes open just a fraction, she gazed at his face as she came, the muscles in her vagina clamping down on his cock greedily as he drove inside her.

  Sean’s chest shuddered as the muscles in her sweet, wet pussy clamped tightly over him, milking him dry as he pulled out and pushed his cock back inside her sheath one final time, his release jetting deep inside her sweet body. Sweat dripped off their bodies as he slowly lowered her legs to the floor, cupping her face in his hands, murmuring to her in old English without even realizing it.

  The anger he had always expected to feel wasn’t there.

  And she was staring at him as though he had grown a second head.

  Sean frowned, as it slowly sank in.

  She truly did not know him.

  Part of her did, otherwise she would not have let him touch her.

  Her ivory cheeks flushed a pale pink and he smiled slowly, charmed, smoothing her skirt down. This was going to take some finesse, he decided. “Would you believe me if I swore I have never done anything like this in my life?”

  The flush deepened and she said huskily, “I know I never have.”

  She stared around, flustered. And Sean watched as her confusion deepened. He saw why, when she spotted her pretty lilac blouse hanging on a padded hanger on the coat tree.

  He recognized that look. Well. Very well. It was the look he saw on thousands of faces hundreds of nights a year, the look of a logical person trying to get their logical minds around something that didn’t make sense.

  And then, when they simply pushed it aside.

  Something vital had been missing earlier. He remembered feeling it.

  “I don’t even remember coming inside,” she said, laughing shakily.

  He forced an awkward smile and said, “Maybe it was magic.”

  She laughed. Laughed.

  Sean recalled the rather empty feel of the house. The lack of magic. The connection he had been seeking with her mind that just hadn’t happened. Their bodies had connected, and in fact, he thought their bodies had connected even more completely than ever before.

  But the magic wasn’t there.

  No. Sean rolled his eyes heavenward and whispered, Please. You can’t do this to me.

  Slowly, he crossed the room and took her shoulders. She had turned away from him to don the bra that he had considerately draped over the neck of the padded hanger. He could see in the mirror that the pale purple lace cupped her sweet breasts lovingly, and unbelievably, his cock hardened and swelled, hungry for more.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he lay his cheek beside hers, and whispered, “Magic. Do you believe in it?”

  She smiled, looking a little nervous. Sean could read her thoughts, and this time, this life, she couldn’t stop him, couldn’t even tell. “No. I…uh. Well, I’ve seen your specials on TV and they are fantastic, but they are just illusions.”

  Illusions. Aislinn would have seen the difference between the illusion and the real magic.

  Illusion, he thought, bitterly. The love he had been searching for thought it was all illusion. Some sleight-of-hand and pyrotechnics.

  Some, yes. Not all. He wasn’t so arrogant as to believe he could work true magic in front of millions, indefinitely, and never get caught. And illusions were…well, fun.

  She didn’t realize that some of it, though, came from deep inside—were his own creations, his own magic, his pride and joy in life. What kept him going when he couldn’t find her.

  “What about destiny?” he asked. “Happily-ever-after?”

  “If you’re here to tell me that you were destined to have my brooch, you’re wasting your time,” she said, stalling.

  He smiled, stroking her hair, cuddling her against him, while he sifted through more of her memories. “I think the brooch is truly meant to be yours. I believe that, now. And you did not answer me.”

  “I believe in fate, to some extent. And happily-ever-after can happen.”

  “What about love at first sight?” he asked, reaching around, freeing the bra that she had just pulled on. She was not leaving this house, not yet.

  She laughed a quick, surprised sound. “You’re mistaking lust for love,” she said, gasping when he nudged her backside with his cock. Catching her hands, he forced her to bend forward, over the table in the hall, placing her hands on it, still staring at her reflection in the mirror.

  Her eyes were open wide, and staring into his, so lovely, so perfect in that heart-shaped face. Her curls spilled in abandon down her back, her rounded butt curved against him, teasing him with the firm perfection of it. Those firmly rounded breasts, topped with dark-pink nipples teased and taunted him as he tugged her skirt down, revealing a pair of thigh-hi hose and her sweetly shaped butt before he looked up to meet her eyes in the mirror. Shaking his head slowly, he said, “No. I’m not.” And then he pushed inside, lids drooping low over his eyes, while he worked his thick shaft inside her. “I’ve been dreaming of you all m’life. And every other life before, waitin’ for ya, searchin’ the world. The minute I saw your face, I knew.” Her creamy heat caressed his shaft and he shuddered. “I knew how you would taste, how you would feel, and the sounds you would make when you come.”

  “And you knew the same of me, didn’t you? Can ya tell me I’m wrong, pretty girl?” he murmured.

  He pulled out, and surged back inside, feeling her close tightly over him, the hot wet silk hugging him tight and snug. Slowly, he lifted his eyes back up to stare at her in the mirror. Aislinn, he thought. Finally. The rounded head of his cock butted up against the mouth of her womb and he groaned as she spasmed around him, shrieking in pleasure.

  The thick head nearly left her, and he smiled slowly as she whimpered in protest and pushed her butt back against him, taking him deep inside her again, squeezing her muscles around him and moaning hungrily.

  He r
ubbed over the buried bundle of nerves buried deep inside her passage, making her whimper, making her moan and cry out as he released his grip on her hips, sliding his hands up her sides, cupping her breasts and tweaking her nipples. Plumping her breasts together, he leaned forward and started to nuzzle his way through the thick curls that covered her nape.

  Nudging them aside, he bared her neck and caught a patch of skin between his teeth, biting down gently and scoring it with his teeth, marking her, listening to her sharp gasp, and feeling her buck and writhe against him.

  Rhee felt weak in the knees as he pushed back, impossibly hard and long, filling her so full. He murmured in his soft, sexy accent, “You have the softest, wettest little pussy, darlin’. Like silk. Come for me, again, darlin’. Let me feel it.”

  As though brought on by that softly muttered order, the climax rolled through her, starting in her heart, and rolling down, until it washed over her, bringing a sob to her lips as the cream flooded from her body. She felt the fiery heat of his sperm as he came inside her—her—he was not using a rubber.

  She had completely lost her mind.

  Totally and completely. Because thirty minutes later, she was calling Les Morell to have him put a sign on her shop door. Closed.

  She never closed the shop.

  Right now she was wide open, lying on the bed with her thighs pushed high and wide and Sean Concannon, world-class magician and illusionist, was working magic with his tongue on her clit.

  Her vibrator was deep inside her and she would have sworn he was magic, because she had never been able to make it shake like that. It was rubbing on her G-spot in a way that she hadn’t thought possible, while he took her clit in his mouth and licked on it like it was a piece of candy. He had turned the vibrator around so that the ‘rabbit’s’ ears were tormenting the sensitive flesh between the cheeks of her butt.

  Sean groaned, gorging on her. Her clit was stiff and swollen when he pulled away. He drew the vibrator from her pussy and drove into her, working past her swollen tissues, as he kissed her hungrily. His mouth and chin gleaming with the evidence of her desire, he pushed his tongue past her teeth and lips, demanding a response as he started to pump his cock hungrily inside her.

  Kissing his way over her chin and down to her neck, he bit that same spot he had bitten before and her lashes fluttered open. She was still gasping for air. “Sean…can’t,” she muttered.

  “Need you,” he muttered, grabbing one leg and pulling it up over his hip. “Been waiting for centuries.”

  A startled little giggle left her, then a gasp when he swiveled his hips against her and brushed her sensitized G-spot with his cock, causing her to scream. He swallowed the soft little sound, and went back for more as he pulled out and drove back into her wet, hot sex. He thrust harder, and harder until she was raising her hips eagerly and pulling his mouth to hers. The rhythmic waves of her orgasm milked his cock until, with a muffled roar he came inside her again, pumping his cock roughly into her until she milked him dry before he collapsed on top of her.

  Rhee would have sworn the whole earth moved when she came that time. But she was too tired to look outside the window and see.

  Sean lashed the wild magic down and hoped she hadn’t noticed the miniature earthquake. He usually had better control than that.

  Finally, they slept.

  He lay on his side facing her, stroking her hair as she drifted into dreams. Something had disturbed him when he had touched her mind earlier. The fire. She remembered none of it, nothing.

  But it caused her nightmares. He had felt them when he touched her, had felt the remnants of one from just the past night as he loved her. She couldn’t stand fire. She had mentioned seeing his TV specials, with an odd kind of yearning. She had always wanted to go watch…but he used fire in his shows, real fire, and she had true pyrophobia. There was no way she could go.

  She had a fear of fire so great that even the sight of a match flaming was enough to cause her to break into a cold sweat.

  He let her silky hair slide through his fingers before resting them on her cheek. With a shuddering sigh, he slid through her consciousness, trying to find the blocked memories, hoping he would find a well of blocked off magic there as well. If he didn’t—

  No. I’ll not be thinking on that just now, he told himself. The trauma could very well have blocked off a million things, suppressed memories and tapped down her magic. Some part of her may well remember the pain, but not the joy. He sifted through memories of this life and several others.

  Not in one of them had she been a witch. Her first life after Aislinn died had started quickly, within three years of her first death, and she had been a noblewoman. She had been forced into an unwanted marriage—and, of course, she had made the best of it. In another life, she had journeyed to the new world aboard an overcrowded ship, smiling and laughing, touching the arm of another man—loving another man. Other men. There had been other men. He shoved the anger down deep. Once he saw her slaving in the fields, a child of mixed race on a southern plantation. In the most recent past-life she had been an aspiring actress, singing in a club in Hollywood in the fifties.

  The club had been burned to the ground by a loan shark. He had gotten a bit upset when she had refused the owner’s orders that she go to the office and fuck the loan shark to pay off his debt.

  The owner had been furious she had refused his orders. The loan shark had taken the refusal well enough though, and had even taken the replacement girl with a beaming smile.

  He had returned a week later though, and while she was in her dressing room one of his thugs had struck her across the jaw, knocking her out. He had raped her while she was unconscious, then he had set the club afire.

  She had come around just in time to realize she couldn’t get out. She had died, scared, trapped and alone.

  If she had been a witch, she could have saved herself.

  But she had not been a witch.

  She had not ever been a witch. Ever.

  Not since Aislinn.

  Sean stopped himself from jerking away from her mind, making himself withdraw slowly, the way he had entered, but the second he was clear of her, a violent shudder wracked him as he relived that last life. Fury and nausea roiled, but the sickness won out and he rolled from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Just in time to puke, vomiting until his stomach was empty, and then he heaved until he couldn’t see straight.

  He stood at the sink, splashing water on his face, rinsing out his mouth and finally, he used her toothbrush, since that awful taste in his mouth wouldn’t fade. It still didn’t—he still felt ill. Sick, and shaking with fury, his head almost numb with confusion.

  This made no sense. On legs that felt weak and shaky, he walked back to the bed. It shouldn’t have happened. If she had been a witch, she would have been able to protect herself.

  Hot, bitter fury pumped through him, scalding him as he stared down at the slender woman sleeping under the tangled sheets.

  She had lived nearly twice the number of lives he could remember. He had lived four since he had been Nicholas Montgomery. Four. Each one, save for Nicholas, had been long-lived, and he had been blessed with magic. Each time he had been more and more powerful than in the life before. And the more powerful the magic, the longer each life had been.

  You would never guess it by looking at him, but Sean Concannon was nearly one-hundred-years-old already. He would probably see his second century before old age caught up with him. He intended to continue to use the stage and illusions for another ten years and then retire into obscurity before disappearing altogether. Wouldn’t the media love to know why the charismatic, gorgeous magician who had appeared out of Ireland five years ago never seemed to age?

  He had looked exactly the same for the past seventy years, and wouldn’t change much for probably a good five more decades.

  And unless he could find some untapped magic in Rhiannon Welles’ body she would die long before that happened.

  Ho
w could she have no magic?

  Even after four lives, he was just now equal to what Aislinn had been. In all his travels over all the centuries he had seen through his combined lives, he had met many others like them. Aislinn had been special. The power he remembered seeing inside her had been like no other he had ever known. Why had that been taken away?

  Was this her punishment? To never know that joy again? She’d once held rainbows in her hands. She’d been able to walk on clouds and puffs of air. True magic, but she also had the healing gifts, and she had thrown it all away in her grief and anger.

  There was another piece of the puzzle missing. Something else. He settled down, easing her troubled mind further into sleeping, murmuring an apology for the intrusion as he thrust himself completely into her unguarded mind, and delved into her subconscious, where all the memories of her past lives lay.

  He had seen the past lives.

  But something had been missing. She had blocked off that first life, and the burning.

  The why lay inside the fire at the club. There had been a flash…almost, like a flash of memory, something… in her mind at the club. Some kind of memory had leaked out of her subconscious and into true memory.

  What…? Something that had leaked over into this life…scarring her.

  He felt scorching, burning pain, the bruising, tearing pain from the rape as though it had happened to him. He shoved past that, and as he went, he wiped it away. He took it inside himself, and forced a wry smile. Poof. Now you see it. Now you don’t. The memory of it, even subconsciously, was gone.

  But another one lingered.

  This one was the slave girl.

  The Burning of Atlanta. The girl had been freed, but had stayed by the side of her mistress, a girl she had thought of as her sister. And they had died in that fire together. Another death by fire. Sean took that one as well.

  Another life…an Indian on the plains.

  By the time he came to the woman he had seen laughing on the ship holding the hand of another man, he was weary and angry. He had taken two more memories inside himself, and in both of them she had died by fire. Shaking, utterly weary, he pulled out of her mind.