Witches' Waves (10 page)

“Shit. You two could wipe out half the coast if you had a teacher-student squabble.”

And Kyle thought he had problems with self-control. He
did
have problems with self-control, but it was standard otter sex stuff. As long as he remembered to ask if his potential lovers went in for rough play, it wasn't a big deal. At least he wasn't likely to kill anyone.

He had no idea what to say, so he wrapped his arms around Deck's waist and squeezed, then laid his head on Deck's broad chest. Deck's heart beat slowly and steadily despite his agitation. Deck hesitated a second, then placed his hands on Kyle's back.

For a few seconds they held each other awkwardly, their hands in the safe zone, but the rest of their bodies clearly wanting something else.

Then Deck moved his hands, sliding one down to the curve of Kyle's ass, the other up to the nape of his neck as if to hold him in place.

Kyle's tension immediately diminished. Maybe his control issues weren't so severe if the right man's hand on the back of his head could make him all warm and melty. Submissive, even, at least when it came to sex. Deck's heartbeat and the pounding surf surrounded Kyle and as they held each other, the two rhythms seemed to blur together. Kyle thought his own heart was syncing up too. Tingles of arousal shot through his cock, not that he hadn't been aroused before simply because he was near Deck, and thinking about Meaghan had just added to it. But he felt no urgency, just a peace he usually felt only in the ocean, whether surfing or in otter form.

It was growing darker, and as the last light of day slipped away, the hovering rain hit in earnest, drenching them both.

But rain was water too, and cold as it was, it increased Kyle's tranquility.

And maybe Deck's as well, because when he finally spoke, his voice held more resolve than anger. “Someone has to teach her and I'm the only one available. And maybe because I've had to work so hard to contain my powers, it'll be easier to help her learn.” He sighed and kissed the top of Kyle's head, making Kyle even more aware of Deck's greater height and bulk, the pure physical power he claimed in addition to his magic.

Then Deck picked him up as if he weighed nothing, swung him around like a child once, then set him on his feet with a kiss. “And that's how you can help me!” he exclaimed.

Far out over the ocean, lightning flashed. Kyle didn't know if that was Deck's doing or an ordinary thunderstorm, but he figured that at the moment finding out was less important than asking Deck what he meant.

“When I'm with you, I don't feel like I'm always on the verge of losing control.”

Kyle swore his heart stopped for a split second, then started up again double-time. Had he actually heard that right?

Deck continued, “Just trusting me enough to top you is huge for me.”

Yes, he'd definitely heard that. Kyle reached out and squeezed Deck's hand, unable to speak around a lump in his throat. He blinked hard. A human might claim the moisture in his eyes was from the rain, but duals had trouble lying, even to themselves—he was definitely tearing up at Deck's words.

“Other witches are always like, ‘Everyone knows you're a little nuts, so let's not get too kinky', but you trust me so much it makes me trust myself more.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance and more lightning flashed. Kyle felt Deck's power ruffling his invisible fur, and he didn't think it had anything to do with lightning or ocean, but with what witches called red magic: the power of sex in its most primal and yet refined form.

The otterside silentspoke an image: two otters floating together, holding paws, riding the swells together. He wished he could share that with Deck, but even witches couldn't follow silentspeech most of the time. Kyle knew he was pushing it, pushing Deck, but he still said what came to mind. “I trust you with everything I am.”

“A few days ago that would have scared the shit out of me.” Deck bent and kissed him, a tender kiss that hinted of darkness, his hands—one on Kyle's cheek, the other on the back of his neck—controlling the situation despite the apparent gentleness. It didn't last long, but it was enough to leave Kyle rock-hard and open. Deck smiled at him, a ray of light in the dusk, then said, “It still does. I'm not even sure what you
mean
. But it's so much less scary than the big stuff that's going on that I'm willing to roll with it and see what happens. It may take all I am, all you are, all we can be together, to help Meaghan and fend off the Agency. And I'll need you to remind me I'm stronger than I think I am…just by being there while I'm working with Meaghan.”

“Like you could keep me away.” He thought about some of the things Roslyn had said to him before the ritual. “I know duals can resist sorcery because of the way our brains work. Can we ground out, out-of-control witch magic? I'm basically a magical blank spot and I can sense the movement of water even in wordy form, so I'd think I'd be able to do something to counter water magic.”

Deck blinked. “No idea. I've never heard of anything like that, but even with centuries of keeping records, we don't know everything there is to know about magic. Especially magic and duals. Donovans have gotten involved with duals before, but until the past few years, no one's really thought about duals affecting magic except as good red-magic partners because ‘everyone knows'”—he made air quotes—“duals don't have human-style magic. Except in the past few years, Elissa and Paul have figured out Jude and Tag can influence magic in ways no one understands yet, even if they can't create their own. And no one's had time to explain what Rafe's story is; he's definitely a cougar, but he has a shaman's aura…”

Kyle placed one hand over Deck's mouth. “You talk too much.”

Deck licked the hand, nipped at it and then grabbed Kyle's wrist and moved it away from his mouth, behind Kyle's back.

The playful part of Kyle wanted to fight back.

A stronger, deeper, more primal part of Kyle felt that grip on his wrist and melted. He thought he should struggle on general principle but he didn't
want
to. He wanted to yield, to give in to Deck's greater strength, Deck's Nordic beauty and merry yet melancholy blue eyes, and that need was greater than a lifetime's habit of playfulness.

Heat surged, volcanic in his cock. He closed his eyes and saw blood and flying fur and fucking. His otterside wanted to yield too, in the end, but not too easily. Go down fighting, the otterside told him. It'll make the end result that much better. No fun for either of you if you just roll over.

So he struggled.

It didn't do much good for keeping Deck from moving his hand, only slowed the process down. But it worked fine for what he really wanted, which was to let Deck know he wanted to play rough.

It ended, faster and more forcefully than Kyle expected, with Kyle on his knees in the wet sand, his arm twisted into an odd position behind his back, Deck's grip still strong on his wrist. They were both dripping wet, and the lightning was striking so close on the water that Kyle's pelt and the hairs on his arms stood on end.

“I could take you here,” Deck growled. “In the storm, with waves threatening to wash us away. And you'd let me.”

“Yes. Oh Powers yes.” Kyle gulped, aroused to the point of pain. There was real danger involved in Deck's threat and they both knew it. Not as much as there would be for normies, but otter duals could drown if they were caught off guard and swept into the water in wordy form, and while Deck might be able to make both water and lightning work for him, human bodies had limits. Words and silentspeech images crowded his head, all conveying the power of the ocean, the awe and respect that even its children must have for her.

“I know.” Deck's voice sounded like crashing surf moving gravel on the beach, like booming thunder, like everything Kyle had ever loved and feared. “That's the thing about being a water witch. The ocean is always stronger than you. No matter how much power and skill you have, and how much it loves you, it can always turn on you.”

“Like big-wave surfing, only more so.”

“I want to surf with you again,” Deck announced unexpectedly. “Soon. Tomorrow, if conditions are good.”

Kyle nodded. “Brought a board. Didn't know why.” To someone else, it would seem like an abrupt, stunning change of subject, but it wasn't. They'd met surfing, been drawn together by their shared love of the sport. And if there was a way to combine sex and surfing, they'd do it.

Maybe they could teach Meaghan to surf. Her water magic would help compensate for her lack of strength.

“But tempting as it is to fuck you now, with all this raw power around me, and all the red magic in you ripe for the taking, I'll save that for when I really need it.”

Kyle only understood in the broadest terms, but it sounded both menacing and erotic, so much so that all he could do was whisper, “Please.” The sounds of the storm all but swallowed his voice, but Deck still heard him.

“Oh yes. It will happen, Kyle,” Deck said as he drew Kyle to his feet. “But not tonight. Tonight I don't need that kind of magic, and gathering it when you don't need it is a good way to get burned. What I need is you and a big bed.” His voice dropped. “And the rest of the night. I hope you weren't planning on sleeping, little otter. I'm stoked on the storm and I'm going to ride you hard.”

Chapter Twelve

Deck's apartment overlooked the water and was painted in cool blues and greens and decorated with surf posters. Nothing fancy but, in Deck's opinion, nice. On a sunny day, the rooms were bright—not that there were a lot of sunny days in Donovan's Cove—but now it felt like it was underwater, and that was fine with him.

He hoped Kyle liked the place.

And then he laughed at himself for even being concerned. Kyle had been there before.

But it seemed to matter more now.

He was rewarded by Kyle smiling when he entered. “New board? I didn't see it earlier.” It was leaning against the sofa, which wasn't where it belonged but was, as often as not, where it lived.

“Yeah, and Meaghan must really have you rattled if you didn't notice it when we were up here earlier. I did a dawn patrol this morning—great waves near Lincoln City. I'd hoped to go again in the late afternoon but things got so nutty that it's still sitting here.”

“I feel like I've lived an entire lifetime today.”

“A lifetime in which I haven't fucked you yet. Come here.” It came out on a growl, as if he blamed Kyle for it. Which was ridiculous, he realized, because if he'd gone along with Kyle's program, they could have spent the past six months fucking, surfing and seeing if insane sexual chemistry and a mutual passion for the ocean laid a good foundation for the long term.

They probably did. Which was why he hadn't been with Kyle's program at first. Long term was scary.

At least it used to be scary. After today, something as relatively normal as being tempted to give up chasing tail unless the tail was attached to a certain otter wasn't nearly as alarming.

Kyle would probably say he was thinking too much in this moment. Which was ironic considering that anytime that sex wasn't involved, Kyle was the one who'd get lost in the coils of his own brain. Deck
was
thinking too much, and about the wrong things. Things that didn't involve getting naked, getting Kyle naked and seeing how many ways he could come up with to enjoy Kyle's lithe, tan body.

One way to solve that problem. He reached for Kyle.

Kyle evaded him, sliding out of his grasp and to the other side of the ugly but comfortable old couch as gracefully as if he were riding the curl of a perfect wave. As he did, he shot Deck a heated look that plainly said the game was afoot.

It had taken Deck awhile during Phase One of…well, it hadn't seemed like it was a relationship at the time, but Kyle coming back made it obvious there was one…to figure out how Kyle liked to play. The otter dodged advances while encouraging more, wanting Deck to force him to do what he wanted to do anyway. Which initially made no sense to a Donovan raised with a happy, fuzzy, magical notion of sex—until Deck decided to play along and realized that it was all right for magical sex to be harsh and edgy as long as the happy, fuzzy part happened afterward.

Scared him at the time. Still scared him a little. But he'd had a long, lonely time to reconsider his position and to read up on BDSM. Kyle's style of sex might not involve whips and leather, but it was definitely kinky.

A long, lonely time to admit how much he enjoyed wrestling Kyle into submission. Enjoyed the half-playful roughness that still had a searing edge of seriousness. Enjoyed the control he had to find within himself in order to deliver the heavy, sometimes painful, sensations that Kyle craved, and the control he needed in order to revel in the equally heavy sensations Kyle dished out without making his squirelly magic kick in.

And Powers, craving the sweet, sweet satisfaction when Kyle yielded at last.

So when Kyle dodged him, Deck's cock and his competitive instincts both stirred to life. He reached over the sofa, shamelessly taking advantage of his greater height and longer arms, and grabbed Kyle's shoulder. “Come back here.”

Kyle twitched away. “Make me.”

A dangerous thing to say. A dual's body, like a human's, was mostly water. He could probably draw the water to him and, in theory, the rest of Kyle would come along.

In theory. He'd never heard of anyone actually doing this trick, which, he figured, was because everyone else who'd thought of it feared that the water would come along and leave everything that was solid as a dry heap on the ground. So less magical means would be the answer.

Deck vaulted over the sofa. One of the rickety legs collapsed, but he didn't care because it put him next to Kyle.

He grabbed Kyle's wrist, intending to reel him in. Instead, Kyle did something that involved twisting and shoving, something that Deck figured would look just about right in a kung fu flick.

Deck ended up on his ass.

Which would have been the moment for Kyle to flee if he'd actually wanted to.

Instead, he swaggered to Deck and straddled his legs, then bent down to give him a deep kiss. Hands tangling in Deck's long hair. Delicious oceanic smell of him surrounding Deck. Unseen fur stroking and stoking red magic.

Deck rolled with the kiss. Lord and Lady, he could do all kinds of magic, but he'd never be able to conjure anything as miraculous as the power contained in a single passionate kiss.

But under the cover of the kiss, Deck was shifting position, getting ready to spring to his feet. Not so hard after surfing for most of his life—it wasn't as if the floor were slippery and moving like a surfboard; it wasn't going anywhere even if he moved carelessly.

Probably. Not unless someone screwed up a spell at just the wrong time. If you grew up at Donovan's Cove, you knew the laws of physics were more like suggestions.

Deck used his red magic to read Kyle's energy, waiting for the moment when the kiss distracted him from the game. Then Deck twisted out from under Kyle and sprang to his feet. Kyle sprawled on the floor for less than a heartbeat before he too was on his feet, applauding teasingly. Then he turned as if he planned to run away, not that there was really anywhere to go.

Deck foot swept him and caught him as he fell.

Kyle was heavy, solid in his arms, and while the otter could have grabbed on to him and supported some of his own weight, he chose not to. He wasn't easy to hold, and he was doing nothing to make it easier. “Ready to give up? Before I drop you like you did me—only you won't land on your gorgeous ass.” Not that Deck was about to let go. He wouldn't let Kyle escape, but also wouldn't let him fall. It was an awkward angle and Kyle might hurt himself.

“You won't let me go.” Kyle made it a statement, not a question, and yet Deck heard the question underlying the words. Or maybe it was a plea:
Please don't let me go.

Never again,
Deck thought.
I won't be that stupid twice.

That thought barreled into his head with the force of a tsunami. The surface of his skin tingled. Deck sucked in a deep breath. Like a drowning man gasping for air, he thought, but he wasn't sure if Kyle was the blessed oxygen, the threatening water or both.

All he was sure of was need, a driving lust that let him pull Kyle back to his feet and at the same time yank him off-balance into Deck's hard arms.

Kyle hesitated for a second, as if trying to keep up the pretense of resistance, before his arms closed around Deck.

So hot. Kyle's heat embraced him as much as Kyle's arms did. He was all lean muscle, no fat on him, just like his otter form, which maintained its high temperature without blubber, even in frigid water. And his knowing hands were everywhere.

Kyle was trying to undress Deck without actually letting go, hoping to unzip his jeans subtly, as if Deck wouldn't notice. Deck noticed but he wasn't about to put up a fight. Instead, he helped, pushing his own jeans down, then stepping out of them. He let Kyle unzip his hoodie and push it from his shoulders, savoring how Kyle's hands felt on his skin.

Kyle's eyes were bright, and he let out a little moan when Deck stood naked before him. When he said, “Sure you're not descended from a god? You're built like one,” his words were as playful as any otter might want, but his voice quavered with sheer need.

And when Deck tried to come out with a jaunty, nonchalant answer, all he could manage was a lame “thanks” because a firestorm of desire was using up the oxygen in the room and he couldn't think. Instead, he just looked into Kyle's dark eyes and smiled.

Kyle's hands ran over Deck's skin. They flowed like water, light and graceful, but they burned. Burned away doubts Deck didn't even know he harbored and left only desire and an unfolding love that, in this moment, he could no longer fear. One came to rest over Deck's heart, the other lower down. Kyle kept that hand flat on Deck's belly, but the dual heat of his skin radiated out to Deck's hard cock.

He could whisper “touch my dick” and Kyle would, whether it came out as an order or a gasp of need. But even though his cock was straining to reach that elusive hand, Deck didn't say the words. Didn't grab Kyle's hand and move it. Didn't do anything except enjoy the contact.

It was perfect as it was. Intimate and deeply arousing, but not something that would push him over the edge, and it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge right now. He was usually impatient when it came to sex, but he needed to take this slowly, to savor something long desired as it unfolded.

And Kyle knew.

Of course Kyle knew. Kyle was one of the few nonwitches he'd slept with, and thus one of his few partners who didn't have some psychic abilities. And yet Kyle seemed to know what he needed better than anyone, male or female, he'd ever been with.

Why had he fought this connection with Kyle in the first place? Other than he was an idiot, of course.

Deck drank in Kyle's touch and Kyle's beauty like it was water and he'd been lost in the desert for the months they'd been apart.

Then he dispensed with subtlety, using strength and a bit of saved magical energy gleaned from the desire in the air to rip Kyle's long-sleeved tee-shirt off, starting at the neck. Kyle gasped and cursed. His hands abandoned Deck's chest and tried to close on Deck's wrists instead. Deck threw them off as if Kyle were a child, then set to work on tugging off Kyle's shorts. Again, Kyle made noises that might have been protests, put up a token struggle. But when Deck started yanking the shorts down, Kyle wiggled to make it easier. Kyle's eyes were closed, and his hands worked by his sides, making fists then unclenching, as if he wanted to hit Deck or caress him—or, knowing Kyle, maybe both. But he let Deck undress him without a struggle and stepped out of the shorts obediently enough when the time came.

Kyle wasn't wearing underwear, which made Deck wonder if Kyle ever did wear underwear.

Kyle was tan all over, his whole body golden.

Sometime Deck was going to ask about that, but not right now. It was still early in the summer, and it had been a rainy spring, so he must have been following the surf south. And Deck wanted to hear all the stories—later.

Right now he wanted to get a good look at the beautiful naked man in front of him. And when he'd looked enough to make up for a few of the nights he'd had to rely on memory, he wanted to touch and pinch and bite and kiss and pleasure every inch of that sleek skin.

As if to counter his double-thick otter pelt, Kyle had almost no body hair except in his armpits and at his groin. He was sleek, sleek and perfect, with legs made for wrapping around someone's hips or neck, and strong arms and amazing abs. His cock rose from a nest of black hair, solid and thick yet just as sleek as the rest of him.

Deck circled Kyle. He tried to move with elegant menace, as if he was performing some sexual ritual. Using his body language to
show
how possessive he felt right now would make Kyle shiver with lust, and knowing that made him even harder.

Not that the three-sixty view wasn't doing that anyway.

Powers, the man had a back that defied description, all flowing muscle from years of paddling through surf and swimming in otter form. Deck knew without vanity that he had a surfer's back himself, along with the good abs and strong arms and legs you developed when you were serious about the sport. But even though he was a bigger guy than Kyle, with bulky muscles like the Vikings on his mom's side of the family, Kyle had the better-defined back. And, oh Powers, that ass. That ass was perfection.

He'd fucked Kyle only a few times, and that was months ago. But soon he'd have his hands all over that amazing body, and soon after that, he'd be fucking that glorious ass.

He reached for Kyle, undecided if he just wanted to touch him or manhandle him over the arm of the couch and fuck him on the spot.

Kyle evaded him smoothly.

Only in doing so, he'd moved closer to the wall—and closer to the hallway that led to the bedroom. Deck didn't believe for a second the otter didn't know exactly what he was doing.

Deck was on him in a flash, one hand on either side of Kyle's head, pinning him to the wall with his body and, as best he could, with the force of his personality. “Where do you think you're going?” he asked, but before Kyle could answer, Deck stopped his mouth with a kiss.

Kyle tasted like ocean and light. No, he tasted like Kyle, and that was better than any metaphor. Deck might have him pinned to the wall, but Kyle was pulling Deck even closer. Their cocks brushed against each other with an electric jolt, and the kiss became something involving teeth and his raw strength and Kyle's. Kyle's nails scratched down Deck's back, leaving a trail of fire, then dug into his ass.

Deck broke off the kiss. “Behave. No drawing blood until later.”

“Make me.” Kyle grinned in challenge.

“You are so asking for it.”

Kyle continued to grin, and to claw at Deck's butt.

Deck smacked Kyle's inner thigh, a sharp, stingy blow. Then he raised his hand, cupped Kyle's chin in a definite message of dominance. “I said behave.”

Kyle's dark eyes went wide and dreamy and his hands relaxed so he was gripping at Deck, not clawing. Kyle gasped, “Yes,” then kissed him even more passionately, his body arching and writhing against Deck's as if he wanted to find his way inside Deck's skin. Deck's instinct had been right. His arousal jacked to an even higher plateau.