Entwined Strangers (BBW Shifter Romance): Sorcery & Shifters Book 4 (7 page)

I wrap my legs around his side and grip him tightly. Trent is almost impossibly solid, and thicker than I’m accustomed. The density of his muscles is unyielding. I can squeeze him with all of my strength and never worry about hurting him. I love that. The power in his body.

His hands grip my waist and painlessly hold me up.

I want his shirt off, to see his chest, and feel the hairiness of him against me. I want to be smothered his rippling build.

I pull away from the kiss and grab his undersized shirt, yanking on the neck. The fabric tears easily, exposing his torso. The destructive act sends a jolt of adrenaline through my body. My fingers plunge into his hair, and I kiss him again. I grab the back of his head and clutch him toward me.

I’m more voracious than I thought—starving, in fact. I didn’t realize how eager I was for human contact. It’s not as if there’s been a shortage of sex in my day, but there has been a wealth of danger. I almost died, Trent almost died, and we’re still not in the clear.

It all led to us to this point, where we can finally catch our breath. Where we can celebrate not dying in the most carnal way possible.

Candice and Saffron told me that the pool is empty. They weren’t kidding, except for the smallest amount of quicksilver. Enough to cast Preserve the Lust, but only once. The spell doesn’t use up much, after all, but I’ll have to cast it out loud.

Trent apparently knows a little Latin, but that can’t be helped. I’ll tell him it’s to heighten the passion. He’ll have no problem believing that.

That’s when I realize something unusual. The tendrils are already there, waiting for me to command them. Hovering around my body. Tendrils that I can see, but Trent can’t. When did that happen?

I cast the spell without even saying the words.

What? How did that happen?

Candice and Saffron told me how wordless spellcasting works for me. It’s only possible at very specific times for the Maiden, and not for every Maiden who becomes a witch. It’s a rare ability, but when it does happen, it requires one unmistakable emotion in particular to be in play.

An emotion that I feel for Mason. Not Trent.

I look down at Trent holding me in his arms and he looks up at me. We’re both excited, but I’m trying to make sense of this moment, trying to figure it out. His ruby eyes sense the change in my mood. He wants to know what I’m thinking. An expression that is both caring and inquisitive. He communicates it all without saying a word.

I hold the sides of his head gently.

“Rip me out of these clothes,” I tell him.

Trent smiles, and then a growl rumbles out of his throat. His face begins to shift, but just a little. The slightest hint of a wolf. Not a half-man, half-wolf. Not even close. The earliest stage of a change. No more. Trent really does have complete control over himself.

I hold on to him with my inner thighs as he reaches under me. Trent tears the crotch of my shorts open. There wasn’t much fabric there to begin with, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps tearing my shorts until they completely rip off my backside.

And just like that, I’m naked from the waist down.

Trent throws the remnants of my cutoffs aside and pushes down the shorts he’s wearing. They fall to his ankles as he springs up beneath me and past my nethers. Brushing my lips. His length slaps against the crack of my backside.

It’s like I’m straddling the thick branch of a tree and Trent is the trunk.

I grip his back for support as he grabs the front of my shirt and tears, launching buttons in every direction, sending them across the floor. Trent peels me out of the shirt and then lifts me up for a moment, handling himself beneath me.

I can feel him growing into an inflated toadstool as he swipes the head back and forth across my breach. A gentleman even now. Warming me up.

I want him crazy stupid, the rigidness of Trent inside of me. I can’t go without him for much longer, but the wordless Preserve the Lust spell I cast won’t work on him while his tattoo protects him from my magic.

I grab his neck and pull myself toward him, kissing him hungrily. Trent drinks in my lips, no less eager as I lean back, lost in the moment, but also conscious of dragging my nails across the ward on his neck.

I scratch the design of his tattoo just enough to make him susceptible to my magic. He might heal right away from such a superficial cut, but I only need him to be vulnerable for a moment.

The tendrils from the quicksilver pool go to work immediately, no command given, no words spoken. They read my intentions with thought alone as I slide myself down his prodigious stave.

He tunnels up my shaft as I widen to accommodate his girth and we both lose our breath at the same time, giving ourselves over to wild instinct.

The sudden hunger of my tendrils catches us both off guard. Trent doesn’t know what’s going on, and neither do I. The spell has never felt this intense before. I can barely keep ahead of it. Indeed, I feel myself slipping behind. That’s when I put it together.

The quicksilver pool was practically empty. Then I cast Preserve the Lust. That spent the final drop of quicksilver. Now the tendrils are ravenous, famished for Trent’s lust, except it has to be conducted through my body first.

The tendrils aren’t merely asking to be fed right now. They’re demanding it, and I just let them take over control of my body.

I’ve never siphoned lust from a man when the pool was near empty before, let alone completely dry. Its appetite is monstrous in this state of hunger, vampiric even.

It feels like Jess and Trent are redundant now, insignificant hurdles for the tendrils to overcome. Only their bodies matter now. The personalities within are simply along for the ride, spectators to our lovemaking.

What have I done, Trent? What have I set loose today upon us?

I can’t tell if Trent if alarmed or thrilled by his sudden lack of control. For that matter, I can’t tell if he’s even aware of losing control. There’s a look of concentration on his face, eyes closed, straining to focus. It’s like he’s trying to gather his wits about him.

His hands tell a different story. They grab my waist with the strength of a vise and bounce me up and down, driving inside of me forcefully. The attentive lover I discovered in Trent beneath The Vault is gone, but I know better than to think this is all his doing.

The tendrils have taken over, reaching through me to him. His urges have been replaced with the arcane hunger of a magical reservoir. The pool from which Candice, Saffron, and I cast our spells. It appears to have a mind of its own.

I had no idea something like this could happen. Nature abhors a vacuum. I guess magic does too. The tendrils attached to my body urge Trent to abandon himself through a connection. To fuck my brains out while siphoning his lust at the same time.

That’s when Trent growls again, but low and subdued this time, as if stifling the sound in his throat. Then it dawns on me why Trent is concentrating so much.

He’s struggling against himself. The tendrils want him to change, but he’s fighting it. They want him to become a werewolf. Not a half-man, half-wolf. A fully formed wolf. That would definitely tear me apart. It would rip me open, and Trent knows that.

He’s concentrating to protect me, resisting the urges that are being encouraged in his body.

If I could cast Maintain the Flesh on myself, I’d be fine, but that requires a reservoir of magic that isn’t empty right now. It’s filling with every passing moment, but slowly.

It won’t really start working until Trent releases, but as of right now, there’s nowhere near enough quicksilver for me to cast a protection spell on myself yet.

Which is only the first problem.

If I do cast Maintain the Flesh the moment the quicksilver pool fills up enough, then it will leave the reservoir dry and voracious again, repeating the cycle.

“Jess. My control. It’s slipping,” Trent says.

I can see what he means, little by little. The change in his face. The transformation he’s trying to resist. It’s all he can do to keep from shifting right now, but it’s not just Trent losing control of himself. It’s me too.

He might be driving into me, but the tendrils are guiding my body as well. Circling my hips in perfect cadence with his rhythm.

I’m much less in control of myself than Trent is right now, and yet, despite it all, he feels incredible, growing inside me. It sets me off whether I like it or not.

The first orgasm fires through me like warm lightning. My world blossoms into a vivid palette of color and light, similar to the amplified vision that I enjoyed with Mason our first time. Everything around me remained the same, but turned a lot more intense and vivid.

“Let it slip,” I tell him, still coming. “I want the wolf.”

“Jess. It’s too much. You’re human. You can’t take it.”

“Go halfway.”

“Half? You’re sure?”

“Let the wolf halfway out,” I tell him.

“I… I might not have a choice,” he says, catching his own breath.

“Do it.”

This is going to definitely challenge me. As a man, Trent is hung like Mason when he’s a half-man, half-wolf. I hope there isn’t much difference, but I know there will be.

Trent lifts me off him and spins me around to face the wall. The tendrils ease up enough to let it happen. They want this as well, after all. It only feels like I have a choice in the matter.

If this is what Trent wants, then the tendrils will make sure I give it to him. I think so long as I embrace the momentum of our lust, the tendrils will give me just enough freedom to pursue it.

Trent flattens me against the wall, placing one hand around my neck, holding me in place there. He’s being rougher than normal, but I’m sure the tendrils want that too, and Trent is playing right into their hunger. My face turns sideways to see him. He pushes my legs apart with one of his feet.

“I can’t get enough of you.”

“Then take more,” I tell him.

I arc my backside, opening myself up for him, and look back from the corner of my eye.

Trent lets his concentration go, and his body instantly grows broader and taller. Fur replaces hair. Claws replace fingers around my throat. His manhood rises up like a blood-engorged steeple.

Only his eyes stay the same, blood red and lusty, and I am utterly at his mercy. His alone for the taking, which he most certainly does.

Trent bores up inside me, eager for my warmth. The width of him forces my legs apart. It’s more than I can handle at first, and he doesn’t go slowly. It pulls the flesh of my nethers taut as I stretch around his width. He pushes for the back of my sheath and finds it easily.

Tears burst from my eyes. I’m not actually crying, but gods, the enormity of him! All my juices release at once. They pour out of me like a flood. It’s the only thing my body can do to handle his size, to make it possible for him to be inside me.

I’ve been with large men before. I’ve been with Mason as a hybrid wolf, even as a full-size wolf for a second. None of that prepares me for this. And then Trent starts thrusting.

I need to start breathing again, realizing now that I haven’t been. Fortunately, he starts slow. That helps. He must still have some control of himself. I can almost handle his tempo, until he speeds up. Pounding against the furthest depths of my cavern.

A shock wave of pain and pleasure ravages through me each time, magnified by his girth, by every ridge of him inside me. It touches every part of me at the same time, every sensitive place, every button. Trent caresses them all at without even trying.

“I can’t stop, Jessica,” he growls, barely understandable.

“Don’t,” I tell him with some difficulty.

He lets go of my neck and grabs my ass with both claws now. I push away from the wall as he pummels me from behind, trying to straighten my arms. It’s impossible. Trent’s too strong. The force of him keeps my arms bent, even holding back like he must be. My legs are trembling and start to give out. I’m slipping down the wall.

Trent sees where I’m heading and lowers us both to the floor, landing on our knees. The tendrils keep my ass in the air, but allow the rest of my body to flop forward. Trent stays inside of me the whole time, plunging down into me at an angle.

I want to lie flat on my belly, surrender to him in this position, but the tendrils from the quicksilver pool won’t let me. Instead, my legs climb up his body and wrap around his sides. I’ve never attempted this position before, but I’m succeeding at it now.

Trent holds me up like a wheelbarrow. He can thrust directly into me again, which seems to be what he wants.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep going at this rate. The tendrils are controlling me like a marionette, turning me into a sex puppet to siphon Trent’s lust more efficiently. I’m little more than a glorified mannequin.

If only there was enough magic, one casting of Maintain the Flesh would go so far. That’s all it would take. Then I could be much more involved. Then I could take all of Trent. I’m barely able to accommodate one-half of him inside me right now.

The quicksilver pool doesn’t care about that. It just wants to be sated. The tendrils guide my hips in circular rotations, impossibly, in this acrobatic position.

My muscles are on fire, but I can’t stop myself, milking Trent’s arousal for all it’s worth. I’m both inside and outside my body at the same time. Watching myself being taken, but going through all of the physical sensations as well.

I let my mind drift to the pool itself. To see how much I’ve stored away. It’s filling up, but not enough for my needs. Trent has to come, but these positions aren’t enough to get him there anytime soon.

If I’ve learned anything about his tastes, he likes it more when I’m
assertive
, not when I’m pliant to his will. He likes it when I
take
my pleasure, not when I let him have his way with me all the time. The tendrils don’t understand that, but I do.

Perhaps I can wrest control back if my goals align with the tendrils. If I can somehow make it clear that we both want to goad his lust. Then the quicksilver pool and I would be on the same page. That might allow me to wield them again, like I normally do.