Impassion (Mystic) (11 page)

He slid his fingertips over thin cotton. Then he squeezed her inner thigh as he parted her legs. Her muscles twitched, but she didn’t fight his pull, so he retraced his path to the top hem of her panties. After throwing one more glance at her face, he let his fingers slip beneath the veil.

His invisible lines were gone now, and his heart thundered at the prospect of feeling past them. Her fingernails dipped into his shoulder, propelling a tingling jolt down his spine, and he took a deep breath, determined not to cross the line too quickly. He didn’t want any of this to pass quickly. In fact, he wouldn’t mind watching it play out in slow motion.

He reached unexplored territory and sucked in a lung-bursting gulp of air, muscles rigid, veins pulsing. She was as smooth there as she was everywhere else—another first for him—and it provoked an astounding wave of desire. He’d never known what he was missing and never imagined it could make that big of a difference. He wanted to see, but refused to push his extraordinary luck, so he closed his eyes, opening his sense of touch to the enthralling path paving his way.

Already lost in longing, Layla barely retained enough sense to hold still and let Quin take the time he wanted. Her control had sprung a leak and would soon succumb to the thrilling current electrifying her blood stream. He was so close to sliding his fingers where no one’s fingers had ever been, and she was ready for him to take the liberty and run with it.

Quin was almost there. He could feel the heat radiating from his goal, the humidity growing thicker as he gained ground. Her arousal swelled beneath the tip of his middle finger, and he lowered his mouth to one of her nipples, sucking it in as he found feather soft folds of moist flesh. They parted around his knuckles as his forefinger advanced and curled, slowly dipping into her body, but it was immediately rejected by flexing muscles. Damn, she was tight, tighter than any woman before her.

He looked down and rested his cheek on her heaving cleavage, wondering if he needed to desensitize her, but asking her permission would humiliate her, and doing it without permission was out of the question.

He tried again, curling one finger into her body, and this time he held firm, letting her tighten around him. Once the pressure peaked and receded, he slowly delved deeper, intensely concentrating as he searched for her hymen. But there wasn’t one to find, only sensitive flesh that hadn’t been touched in far too long.

He retreated before carefully forcing his way back in, and her hips jolted as her squeak pierced the silent room. He glanced at her face, worried he’d hurt her, but her expression held no pain. Only the look of a woman drowning in desire with no idea how she’d fallen in. Anxious to save her, he looked back down, curling his tongue around her nipple while loosening her up.

She wiggled and stretched then wiggled again, and he finally found clearance, gliding inside her with ease. He withdrew, using all four fingers to moisten his reentry. Then two of his fingers maneuvered inside, crossing at the knuckles as she tensed. He forced them apart, firmly keeping them in place while waiting for the flexing to stop. Then he pulled free before filling her back up. Her control broke right when he expected it to, and she bent her knees and raised her hips, deepening his reaching fingers.

Oh god
. Layla was gone and didn’t think she’d ever find her way back. Nothing in her life had compared to this, and she was pretty sure nothing ever would again. Her hands got lost in his hair as her hips rose again and again. She couldn’t hold still. She couldn’t think straight. Jolting, flexing and curling, she bit her lip and tilted her head back, strangling whatever sounds burst from her pressurized diaphragm.

Fearing she might rip out his hair, she gripped the blankets instead, pulling one corner from the mattress as the intensity increased. With each breath, she burned hotter, goose bumps claiming every inch of flesh as bright spots flashed over her eyelids. His slick thumb wreaked havoc on the outside while his fingers inflicted chaos on the inside, and she had no idea her breasts could feel such extreme pleasure. Her breaths came faster, accompanied by tiny squeaks she couldn’t contain, and her heart beat so hard she feared it might burst through her ribs and slap his handsome face.

Just when she didn’t think she could withstand one more second of the exquisite fire, a rush of warm tingles tightened her core then flooded her extremities, exploding from her throat with a breathy moan. For several splendid seconds she quaked around his busy hand, her mind caught in a whirlwind of sensitive nerve endings and heightened emotion. Then his titillating advances softened, letting her melt into the bed.

Struggling to keep his breathing even, Quin rested his forehead on one of her breasts as his mouth steamed up the other. She pulsed around his fingers, but her body was languid and had been for several seconds, so he slowly pulled his hand from between her legs while vanishing the moisture he was dying to taste. He probably could have gotten away with it—licked his fingers clean without her knowledge—but that might have pushed him past the point of no return.

He took a deep breath, finally feeling a dip in his heart rate. Then he trailed his tongue from one nipple to the other, memorizing every element of her flavor. He wanted to spend the entire night with his face buried between her breasts, but he couldn’t ask for more than she’d already given him, so he left her chest and lay beside her.

Her fingers were tangled in the blankets, her eyes remained closed, and her lips trembled over short gasps. He laid a hand over her thundering heart, but stayed quiet, basking in her reaction to his touch. She was stunning, lying there spent and fulfilled, and her aura—already the biggest and brightest he’d seen—covered a larger area than usual.

He imagined joining her in the afterglow of ecstasy, and his blood hotly charged through stretched veins. Making love to her would take him higher than he ever dreamed of going, and every part of him longed for the journey, but until then, he could do this everyday and not get bored or grow resentful. Bringing her to this point had been the most fulfilling achievement of his life.

Her breathing slowed, and he figured she’d soon open her eyes, so he magically replaced her clothes, unwilling to ruin the moment by embarrassing her. He scooted closer, touching his lips to her cheek, but then she rolled onto her side and breathed his name into his mouth.

He slid one arm under her pillow, hugging her close while giving her a kiss. Then he tucked her face into his neck, thinking she’d find it easier to open her eyes if she didn’t have to look at him.

He played with her hair while waiting for her to collect herself, but after twenty minutes of silence, he looked down to find her aura and body peacefully still. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, and that was fine by him. There was nowhere else he’d rather be.

He nuzzled her hair, filling his lungs with her floral scent. Then he sighed and closed his eyes, shutting out the rapturous evening so he could relax and fall asleep.

Chapter 8

T
here was a saying where
the stranger came from—hexless women are three things: easy to get in; easy to get off; and a bitch to get rid of. The first two had proved true. Now, as he awoke in the suite of a Portland hotel, finding Chelsea’s starry-eyed gaze, he feared the third adage would ring true as well.

“It’s never been that way,” she whispered.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he sat up on the side of the bed and reached for his pants. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” A proper romp was the least he could give her after sending her boyfriend to the emergency room. Besides, blowing Chelsea’s mind gave him a chance to magically probe it for information regarding Layla. Unfortunately, the receptionist didn’t know shit and had only seen Layla once—the night she checked in.

“Did
you
?” Chelsea asked.

“Did I what?” he returned, pulling on his shirt.

“Enjoy yourself,” she clarified.

Eh, he thought, but he answered, “Yeah.”

Tucking the covers under her arms, Chelsea sat up and scooted closer. “I’ve been with David for three months and he hasn’t found half the places you touched.”

“David’s a mindless prick,” he pointed out, getting to his feet.

“Maybe,” she agreed, “but I still feel bad for doing this while he’s in the hospital.”

“Perhaps he should learn how to touch a woman,” the stranger suggested, digging into the mini-bar. He downed a travel size bottle of liquor, washing the hexless taste from his mouth. Then he walked to the phone.

“Are you calling for breakfast?” she asked. “They started serving five minutes ago.”

He ignored her as he sat at the desk and dialed the lobby. “Layla Callaway’s room,” he requested.

He heard a big sigh as Chelsea fell back on the pillows, but the childish gesture was forgotten when the operator broke the news that Layla had checked out the night before.

“What?” he blurted, shooting from his chair. “What time?”

“I don’t have that information, sir.”

“Did she check out in person? Or did she call?”

“I don’t have that information either.”

“Shit,” he cursed, slamming down the receiver.

“What happened?” Chelsea asked.

“She checked out,” he fumed, barely aware of the naked woman watching him. “It had to have been some time after ten. Is that when your shift ended?”

“9:30,” she corrected.

He moved closer to the bed, narrowing his eyes on her muted aura. “Layla didn’t call while you were down there, did she?”

“No,” Chelsea answered, shaking her head as she shrank away. “If she did, I didn’t take the call.”

He found truth in her wide eyes, so he closed his own, trying to calm himself. “Damn it.” Layla could be hundreds of miles away by now, and he was in Portland, screwing a hexless bitch who knew nothing.

“Layla isn’t your sister, is she?” Chelsea realized.

He opened his eyes, finding the clerk staring up at him like a lost puppy. “No,” he confessed, sitting beside her.

Her face turned red as she dropped her gaze, but he lifted it back up, determined not to make a mess in the hexless world.

“Listen to me, Chelsea,” he softly ordered, smashing short, spiky hair as he took her skull in his palm.

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion, but then his magic hit her brain and her expression smoothed. “Yeah?” she mumbled.

“You need to leave,” he instructed, mentally echoing the message, “and forget you spent the night with me. You were tired after work, so you got a room and stayed by yourself.”

Chelsea’s eyebrows furrowed, so he sharpened his concentration and mentally repeated the command.

“I
was
tired,” she decided.

“Right,” he smirked, remembering how she kept coming back for more after the first orgasm. Too bad she wouldn’t remember them.

“David’s heart attack wore me out,” she added.

“Yes it did,” he encouraged. “And speaking of David, he’s a lowlife who isn’t good enough for you, so you’re going to break up with him, stop wearing so much makeup, and find someone who sees you as more than a sperm bag.”

“Yeah,” she advocated, nodding her head.

He relaxed, knowing his message had seeped deep enough to last. “Close your eyes,” he said, and she obeyed without hesitation. “In twenty seconds, you’re going to open your eyes, get dressed, and leave without speaking to anyone.”

“Okay,” she agreed, a determined look pinching her features. She was eager to please.

Convinced his mind trickery would hold, he released her head. Then he concealed himself as he stood and moved out of the way.

When Chelsea opened her eyes, she rubbed them and scowled at her naked body. Then she reached between her legs, touching tender flesh as she looked around the room. Her gaze flew right past the stranger’s shimmers, so she slowly rose from the bed and crept toward the bathroom, finding it empty as well. She chewed a thumbnail as she contemplated the situation. Then she shivered and scrambled to find her clothes.

The stranger leaned against the wall as he watched her retreat, and he would have been tempted to laugh if he didn’t know how it felt to be brainwashed, to be missing time and tidbits of reality. As a child, he’d lost countless hours of cognizance, and while he hadn’t suffered the fate in years, he remembered the confusion and the guilt—the inability to connect the dots.

Once poor Chelsea had cleared the area, the stranger latched the deadbolt with a wave of his hand then lifted his concealment spells. Digging into his satchel, he retrieved a small bag of gemstones and sat at the desk.

Time to confront the two ethereal souls guiding him, the spirits who claimed to have his best interests in mind.

They took longer than usual to respond, and when he asked them why they kept leading him astray, they wouldn’t give him a straight answer.

‘
You hinder your own path
,’ one of the souls censured. ‘
You place us all in grave danger.
’

“You?” he returned. “You’re dead.”

‘
The witch you seek holds favor with the Heavens. We risk eternity to aid you. You must do it our way or doom us to the underworld.
’

The stranger’s nostrils flared as he impatiently drummed his thumbs on the desk. “Fine. Where is she?”

‘
I see your heart, child. You lose sight of what’s important.
’

“I said I’d do it your way,” he snapped. “Where is she?”

‘
She has found her birth family.
’

“Already? Damn.” He laid his forehead in his hand and breathed deep, trying not to lose his temper while connected with the spirits. “Now what?”

‘
Now you find her.
’

“Oh
now
I find her,” he scoffed. “Like that wouldn’t have been easier before she had a coven to protect her.”

‘
She’ll be no use to you dead.
’

“No,” he agreed. “She needs to stay alive. So she’s with the Conn/Kavanagh coven, right? Tell me their numbers and weaknesses.”

A long moment passed with no reply, so he touched a gemstone and tried again. “Tell me about the Conn/Kavanagh coven.”

Still, nothing.

“Are you shitting me?” he yelled, slamming his fist on the desk.

‘
Adjust your path,
’ the spirits scolded. ‘
The witch is a gift you must earn without offending the Heavens.
’

“You don’t think I’ve done enough?” he simmered, rising to his feet. “I’ve paid with blood and tears, my
youth
.” He curled his fingers around the lip of the tabletop and upended the desk, scattering its contents across the room. “Damn you,” he scorned, pointing at his gemstones as if
they
were the ethereal souls, but the connection was gone.

“Damn you,” he quietly repeated, sliding his hands through his hair.