Authors: C. Marie Bowen
Aubrielle sat on the edge of her bed in the dark. All of her belongings—her vanity, her chair, her bed—now occupied the back room of Mae’s home. Similar enough to be a strange blend of comfort and longing. Familiar enough to break her heart.
Her gratitude to
Tante
Mae could not be measured.
What would I have done without her charity? Her trust?
What will she do when I betray that trust?
Mae had gone to bed an hour ago after they finished washing the dishes. She’d been excited at the prospect of going to a musical club and swore she would not sleep a wink. Now her soft snores told a different tale and gave Aubrielle her opportunity.
What magic did John want her to believe?
Did it have anything to do with her sense of absolute safety when she stood beside him?
That’s not magic. That’s his strength and kindness.
Was it the soft pulse between her legs, or the breathless abandon that scattered her thoughts when he kissed her and ran his hand behind her ear?
That’s not magic. That’s my affection and desire.
Then what possible explanation required a story steeped in sorcery for her to understand? How did any of these things tie to her father’s delusional dreams?
Before good judgment regained control, Aubrielle pulled on her coat and tied her new red scarf around her head. With a last silent survey down the hall, she slipped out the back door and down the stairs.
Nearby, a church bell tolled the hour of midnight, calling the faithful to celebrate Christmas Mass.
John would be awake. His regular work hours stretched far into the morning.
She stopped in the
ruelle
as a shadow passed before his third-floor window. A dark silhouette blocked the light, but only for a moment. Her stomach tightened and tingled with nervousness. She glanced back at her darkened bedroom window, then looked ahead.
I have to know.
Her quick pace took her between the buildings, through the stairwell door, and up the steps toward John. Outside his door she hesitated, fist raised to knock.
Must I believe in magic, or can I simply believe in John?
She rapped her knuckles against the wood and exhaled through pressed lips. Even in the enclosed stairwell, it was cold enough to condense the vapor of her breath.
The door opened, and John blinked at her while he ran a hand through his hair to push it back from his forehead. His chest and feet were bare, as though he’d pulled on his slacks to answer the knock. “Aubrielle. What’s happened?” He looked down the stairs behind her, then studied her face. “Is Mae all right?”
“Yes, she’s fine.” Aubrielle’s throat tightened, and moisture fled her mouth. “I’m sorry to alarm you.”
John reached out and steadied her. “Are you all right?”
Her inspection traveled up his arm and across the dark curly hair on his chest. She dry-swallowed and lifted her admiration to his eyes. “I wanted to ask you about the things you said.” Heat infused her face, and she lowered her lashes.
What I’m feeling isn’t magic. It’s is base and carnal and intoxicating.
“Come in.” John tugged Aubrielle’s arm.
Her eyes opened, and she inhaled. John's scent enveloped her as she moved past him into his apartment. He exuded a trace of cologne mixed with a fragrance all his own.
Familiar. Stimulating. Mine.
“The coat closet is beside the door. Let me find a shirt and we can talk.” He released her arm, crossed the small apartment and went into the back room.
Aubrielle unbuttoned her jacket and let it slide down her arms. She hung it and her scarf in the closet beside John’s overcoat. Except for the furniture, which she suspected had come with the apartment, there were no personal items. No nicknacks on the tables. No photos on the wall.
A temporary home
.
His box of Christmas cookies sat open on the kitchen counter. A radio voice, perhaps in the back room, detailed the latest news. The distant announcer droned on about the delicate state of the financial market.
“Would you like me to make some tea?” John had slipped on a wrinkled shirt and fumbled with the button on the cuff.
The white shirt hung open and drew her eyes to his abdomen and the dark hair that trailed down to his trousers. “John, it’s the middle of the night. You don’t have to dress.”
His head came up, and his eyes narrowed. “Tea?”
“No tea.”
He ran his hand through his hair again. It had grown since Aubrielle had first met him. Stubble shadowed his jawline as he shook his head. “What time is it?”
“Just after midnight. The bells were ringing when I left Mae’s.
Joyeux Noël.”
He nodded and tipped his head to the side. “Aubrielle, why are you here?” His scrutiny took in every facet of her appearance, then returned to her eyes, as though he hoped to see inside her mind.
“The magic.” She moved closer. “I need to know what you meant when you asked if I believed.”
His brows rose, and he took a breath. “I can’t tell you and hope you’ll understand. It’s a power you have to witness to believe.” As though drawn, he moved a pace closer, and his voice softened. “It’s something you have to feel for yourself.”
“John, there is something. I feel something.” She raised her hand and laid her palm in the middle of his chest. Her fingers trembled against the heat of his body, the springy texture of the dark hair against her hand. “Is this the magic?”
John reached up and ran his hand along her scalp behind her ear, lifting her hair.
Her entire being trembled. Goosebumps rose on her arms and down her spine. The tightness between her legs pulsed. “Ah.”
“Brought about by magic, maybe. All the things I know of you. How you like to be touched. How your soul has matured over these many years.” His other hand mirrored the first, cradling the weight of her skull. He tipped her head back and lowered his mouth to hers. “The spark between us has always been here. Even in the beginning. You’re part of me.
That
is the magic.”
Not the gentle kiss from the park, his lips pressed onto hers, opening her mouth, tasting her tongue. Inhaling her essence.
Aubrielle rose on her toes and ran her palms beneath the loose shirt and across the warm, smooth skin of his back. This close was not close enough.
Pulse.
He turned her head and kissed the other side of her mouth, his lips demanded a response. Then his tongue traced fire along her cheek to her ear, and he whispered, “God, how I’ve missed you.”
Her knees buckled as his words tickled her ear.
As if he knew her legs would give way, one muscular arm lifted behind her knees, and he cradled her to his chest. His lips and tongue tasted her neck as her head fell back against his arm. The ceiling moved as he carried her through his apartment. The radio volume increased, and the scent of his cologne filled her senses as he entered his bedroom. She closed her eyes.
John laid her on his bed, and the mattress sank with his weight as he joined her.
Aubrielle opened her eyes, but there was no light in the room. She put her hand out and found John’s chest.
He’d removed his shirt and rested on one elbow, above her. “You’re always a surprise and delight to me.” His free hand ran up her leg, past her knee and caressed her thigh. “You asked about the magic, and I must confess, in this regard, I have an advantage.”
“Your years of experience?”
“No,
mon amour
. My knowledge of you. What you like. What you love. What drives you to the very edge—and keeps you there, begging for release.”
“How do you know these things when I don’t know them myself?
“If you’re sure this is what you want, I will show you.”
“I want you to tell me first.”
“Tell you? Tell you what I’ll do?”
“
Oui.
”
His weight on the mattress disappeared. “All right.” His hand cradled her foot. “First, I’d take your shoes off. Then your stockings.” He unclasped the garter from the silk and rolled them down her legs. His fingers trailing warmth against her chilled skin.
He lifted her ankles and set her feet apart, knees bent, and ran his hands down the inside of her thighs, relaxing them.
Pulse.
“You always liked that.” His fingers traced along the edge of her undergarment, slipping inside the silky material for a brief caress.
Pulse.
Aubrielle groaned low in her throat and closed her eyes, abandoning her senses to the sound of his voice and his hands.
“Then I would take off your panties. Raise your hips. Yes, like that.” His fingers pulled her lingerie slowly down her legs and over her feet. “You always like me to kiss the inside of your legs, from the back of your knees to—well, I’ll show you.” He spread her legs again, wider this time, her knees still bent. He lifted her right leg and laid it over his shoulder as he licked behind her knee and trailed his tongue and kisses along her inner thigh.
Pulse.
“Mon Dieu!”
she whispered.
Her pelvis raised towards his approaching lips.
Pulse.
His fingers separated her folds and his mouth sucked for a brief second on her clitoris.
Pulse.
“Both of your beautiful legs always demand my attention.” His mouth paid homage to her left leg. When he reached her center again, he lifted her bottom with both hands, her legs splayed and dangled down his back. “You like this part the best I think.” His breath tickled the hair between her legs as his thumbs opened her cleft. “I must have a taste.”
The warm wet pressure of his tongue slid up her vulva, licking her like a child would lick an ice cream cone. At the top, his lips found her clitoris again, and he swirled his tongue around it until a warm sensation spread from her center.
Pulse. Pulse. Pulse
. “John—”
With a soft kiss, John lowered her hips to the mattress, pulled her skirt down, and sat back. “But first, I need to undress you.”
“
Sainte Mère de Dieu
, John.” The warmth faded, and the pulsing sensation slowed. “You cannot tell me I’m the only woman who would like that.”
He was silent for a moment in the dark. Aubrielle felt more than saw his shrug. “I don’t know. I imagine they might, but I’ve never been with anyone but you.”
“What—”
“Shh. It’s knotted in the magic. I can love no woman except you.”
The news broadcast had stopped at some point, and an orchestra played a Christmas melody. Aubrielle stayed silent, listening to John’s breath.
“I know I’ll never be able to explain to your satisfaction, but I have loved you for what feels like forever. The love I have for you will never die. Never fade. I will always come to you, wait for you, cherish you.”
“John—”
“Sit up. I’m going to undress you now.”
He helped her to her feet, unbuttoned her skirt and let it slide over her hips to the floor. Hooking his fingers beneath the elastic on her slip he slid the silken material down her legs as his tongue paid homage to the soft skin between her belly button and dark pubic hair.
“John, I can’t.” Her knees trembled.
His hands and mouth paused. “You want me to stop?”
“
N
on, mon amour,
but w
hen your lips touch me, my strength fails.”
John chuckled low in his throat and ran his hands up her waist. He loosened the buttons on her blouse, pushing the material away from her shoulder. He kissed her tender neck. “Then I will hurry.” He tugged her shirt from her arms, then kissed the mounds of her breast as he released her bra.
When her brassiere followed the blouse into the darkness, his mouth fastened to her nipple, and her knees failed.
As before, John anticipated her response and lifted her to the bed.
The heat of his body settled against her chilled skin.
His lips paid momentary homage to her throat before
he rose on one elbow. His free hand caressed each breast, teasing her nipples into hard pebbles.
Pulse.
His hand trailed down her body, and his fingers brushed the heat between her legs. “Open for me.”
She parted her legs as his tongue circled her sensitive nipple.
He touched the damp hair between her legs, moving his fingers close to her skin. “Wider.”
Pulse.
When the muscles of her legs relaxed, he slipped a finger inside her then trailed the wet tip to her sensitive nub and circled gently.
Pulse. Pulse.
Aubrielle ran her hand down his chest to his cock, but he grabbed her wrist. “Next time you can touch me. This time, I’m already too close.”