mythean arcana 07 - witchs fate (13 page)

“We should plan what we’ll do tomorrow,” he said.

“What’s there to plan? You’ll get us a boat. We’ll leave from the nearest port. And we have all day tomorrow to sort that out.”

She was right. But he wanted an excuse to spend time with her. Just being near her after so long filled a dark hole in his chest. He knew he was botching this—she was right, kidnapping was no way to woo a woman—but it was the only hand he knew how to play.

He went to the whisky sitting on the far shelf and poured two glasses, then brought one to her.

“I didn’t say I wanted that.” Her gaze met his as he held it out.

“I thought you might like it.”

“I don’t.”

“You like whisky.” She had once, at least. “And it’s an excellent vintage. Made by Cadan Trinovante’s distillery.”

Her brows rose in interest. So she’d heard of the Mythean who owned a distillery and made the best whisky in Scotland.

“Fine.” She took it and sipped, her lids lowering in pleasure. “It’s not bad.”

His gaze was riveted to her. “Not at all.”

Being with her again confirmed for him that Sofia was what he wanted. He’d missed her. More than he’d even known.

But all those lost years… And all the things that could never be now that he was a warlock.

His fist tightened on the crystal tumbler. He reigned in his strength before he shattered it and directed his gaze toward the fire.

He couldn’t let her go, but he couldn’t have her fully, either. The flame flickered before his eyes. It would take only a wave of his hand to extinguish it. Just as it would only take him falling in love with Sofia to end things between them.

Fate would know. It always did. How could it not? It was everything. Past, present, future. It saw all. And he’d seen what had happened to Oliver and Laira. That wouldn’t be them.

“When do you plan to let me go?” she asked. “The problem with my village has distracted me from your creepy kidnapping, but I haven’t forgotten.”

“I don’t know.” He couldn’t let her go. But she was too strong to hold onto forever. Not when all he could do was fuck her.  He could give her pleasure, but little else. Without love, she wouldn’t stay.

But ignoring his need for her had gotten him nowhere. 

It was time to craft a new fate. One in which he managed this situation, his feelings, and kept himself far enough apart from her that he could keep her without fate taking her away. If all he could have was sex and the occasional conversation, he’d take it.

But he’d have to be careful. He was half in love with her as it was. If he fell all the way, it’d be over.

“Why did you trap me with you? Not that I couldn’t get away if I really wanted to. But I do need your help. Which I hate.”

“Because I want you.”

Her gaze blazed as she looked at him. “It doesn’t matter if you want me. You made it so that we could never be together. And you got me into this mess. I’m not exactly feeling kindly toward you at the moment. Nor have I for the last four hundred years.”

“You’ll get over it.”

Rage lit in Sofia’s chest as she watched Malcolm. It heated her from the inside and made her fingertips tingle to shoot lightning at him. He was such a bastard. He thought he could have whatever the hell he wanted—including her.

“I’ve had enough.” She set her glass on the hearth and walked toward the door.

“We’re not done.” His voice was a command.

At the desk, she spun around. “What the hell do you mean?”

“Exactly what it sounded like. I’ll take my favor now.” His golden eyes roved over her hungrily.

“What?”

“The favor you promised in exchange for my help.”

“Jesus. It’s going to be just like the last one, isn’t it? Well, I’m not having any of it.” She turned to go, but before she could move a step, he was in front of her, trapping her against the desk.

That damned desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kitty leave the room.

“I want you.” His golden gaze blazed as he loomed over her.

Heat bloomed in her belly and she hated herself. She wanted him. Gods dammit, she was an idiot. But she couldn’t help it. Visions of him touching her flashed through her mind. The memory of last night made heat streak through her. Everything tingled. 

She forced the thoughts away and demanded, “What, your favor is sex? You’re making me have sex with you in exchange for your help?”

He sucked in a harsh breath and clenched his fists, his gaze darkening with desire. “No. I’m making you do this.”

His hands were on her shoulders in an instant, spinning her so that she faced the desk and looked into the darkened room beyond. The wood bit into the front of her hips. He pressed hot and hard against her back, a muscular wall that trapped her. His erection pressed into her spine. A brand.

Fear and desire pulsed through her.

She hated it, but the craving was there. Strong. Pulling at her. The memory of last night only fueled it.

He was big, and dangerous, and strong. And she wanted him.

“As much as I want to have sex with you—to be inside you—” his voice roughened at her ear, “I won’t make you do anything to me. I’m not that much of a bastard. I just want to touch you.”

Just touch her? But why?

His arms came around her, one wrapping around her hip and the other around her shoulders. Her breath caught in her throat.

“And if I don’t let you?” Fear continued to push her desire higher. What was wrong with her?

“Then I won’t consider helping you.” His lips were so close to her neck that she swore he kissed her. 

She shuddered hard, knowing he could feel it.

“Yes. Okay.” It was almost an easy decision. It was a bad idea and the only way out. And she wanted it even as she trembled with a strange combination of need and distress.

He groaned softly, the sound reverberating against her skin and sending a frisson of pleasure across her nerves. She stared blindly into the dimly lit library, her senses heightened to insane precision. 

When he ran his lips gently down her neck, she dug her fingers into the wooden desk, trying to control her spiraling thoughts.

“Bloody hell, you smell good,” he rasped. His lips pressed against her neck, then he bit. 

She stifled a cry of pleasure.

“Your skin is so soft.” He ran his tongue along the tightened tendon at the side of her neck and she shuddered. “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long. Dreamed of it.”

Malcolm squeezed her shoulder and hip, crushing her to him as he bit her earlobe. A small spike of pain, then a large streak of pleasure.

“The things I want to do to you.” His voice was almost a growl, the need so clear. He grasped a handful of her hair and tilted her head to speak at her ear. “I want to bend you over this desk and fuck you so thoroughly that you know you’re mine. I want to feel your pussy squeeze my cock, know how tight you get when you come.”

She whimpered, her mind a haze of confusion. She wanted that too. “No.”

He bit her shoulder a bit too hard. “Not yet, maybe. But I’ll take what I can get. Gladly.” His hands went to the hem of her shirt and he began to tug it upward. “Raise your arms.”

She shivered as cool air kissed her stomach, as the heat of his hands brushed her ribcage. “No.”

“Raise them.”

She did. Because deep down, she wanted to. She wanted to see what he would do if she succumbed to his desire to touch her. Years ago, he’d kissed her. Touched her breasts. But he’d been a different man. A kinder, gentler man.

This man was cold. Hard. He took what he wanted through coercion or force. He’d only do the things he wanted. Would he squeeze her breasts too roughly, pull at her nipples? She’d had some good encounters and some bad since she’d left him. Where would this one fall?

The shirt came over her head quickly. His big hands were deft at the back clasp of her bra. She reached up to press the scrap of silk to her breast.

“Don’t fight me,” he rasped, tugging the material free.

She lowered her hands back to the desk, trying to pulverize the wood with her fingertips. She felt his head over hers, bent to take in the view of her breasts.

“So lovely,” he said. His big hands came up to clasp her aching flesh. His palms were rough and hard against her. So delicious that she dropped her head back and moaned.

He massaged her breasts, pinching her nipples just hard enough to make her gasp.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned as he ground his cock against her back. “You like that.”

She bit her lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of confirming it.

“I want to lick these nipples. To bite them. To make you come with just my mouth on your breasts.”

She whimpered. “Not possible.”

“Perhaps.” His hand slid lower, down the expanse of her stomach to the waistband of her jeans. 

Did he really intend to—

He flicked open the first button, then began to tug the zipper down. She jerked in his arms, trying to break away, but it only pressed her harder against his cock.

He groaned and bucked his hips against her.

“You can fight me. But I warn you, I’ll like it,” he rasped at her ear.

Her first instinct was to shudder with desire. The second was to stiffen in fear.

His hand stilled on her zipper. His breath rasped. “If I must stop, zap me with your power. But the terms still stand.”

Meaning he wouldn’t help her with the witches. But also that he wouldn’t force her to have sex with him. 

He was ruthless.

And he wanted her.

She said nothing, holding her breath and waiting to see what he would do. The zipper hissed as he drew it down. Her heart pounded.

“Gods, I’ve wanted this. I’ve fucked my own fist countless times, all while thinking of you. What you would feel like. Smell like. Taste like.” He wedged his big hand into her panties. Her jeans pressed him tight against her flesh.

“Fuck, you’re wet.” One big finger pressed between the lips of her sex, an invasion that made her knees weaken. It just pressed him deeper. His hand on her breast and the one cupping her sex kept her upright.

How far would he take this? What did he mean by
touching
? Everywhere, it seemed, from the way his hips rocked against her back and his fingers left no fold untouched.

“More,” he rasped, his voice almost wild with need. He gently pulled his hand free and pushed her pants down to her knees.

She stood frozen, almost entirely naked with him fully clothed behind her. Trapping her.

Her breath began to saw in and out of her lungs. 

When his heavy hand came to rest on her upper back, she almost breathed a sigh of relief.

Then he began to push.

“What are—”

“Bend over,” he said, pressing harder.

“What? But we’re not having—”

“Bend over.” His voice was hard with need, the pressure of his hand greater than her strength.

She lowered herself to the desk, her heart racing and her pussy throbbing. The wood was cool against her breasts. Her legs were closed, so he couldn’t see anything, but—

He used one foot to nudge her knees apart and her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest. Cool air kissed her sex. Kissed everything. 

Her face burned. She should get up. She should call this quits. Any moment he would undo his zipper. Then she’d be trapped against a desk with an immensely powerful warlock who could do whatever he wanted to her.

She’d just started to push herself up off the desk, to fight the pressure of his hand on her back, when he dropped to his knees behind her.

What the hell?

He groaned low in his throat. “Beautiful.”

He had to be looking at her. Her cheeks burned.

She trembled uncontrollably as something brushed against her upper thigh. His cheek? She’d never felt so exposed. She strained her senses in the darkness, trying to figure out what he was doing.

She cried out when she felt the press of his lips against her upper thigh. Then higher. And higher still. 

When the heat of his tongue swiped across her pussy, she almost passed out from the shock and pleasure.

So bloody sweet. 

This was everything he’d waited for. Everything he’d wanted. Malcolm’s cock throbbed unbearably, desperate to break free of its confines and plunge into the tight, wet heat of Sofia’s pussy.