Cuckoo in the Coven

“Oh my, you are a lusty sort, Sunny love,” he commented a moment later, while she was still battling to regain her breathing pattern.

She barely registered his remark, because he’d knelt on the bed between her legs and she was clearly aware of the impressive erection he’d released from the pants he was wearing. This was crazy. She’d never had a dream this real—well, not that she remembered. My God, if only all her dreams were like this!

He’d already sent her into one red-hot orgasm, and she’d barely recovered. She trembled, melting into the pillows.

Her hips arched to take him and she reached up to his shoulders, and yes, when he thrust inside her, it felt like the answer for everything her body craved. A cry of ecstasy and intoxicated, joyful laughter escaped her open mouth. He kissed her, his tongue pushing into her mouth, bringing her the taste of her own desire, and she grabbed at him, her hands alive to the feel of his hard muscles, her whole being wanting to clutch and cling to his magnificent body.

“Come on, my pretty, let me at you.” He grasped her buttocks into his hands, lifting her easily from the bed and angling her hips as he lifted her higher still, thrusting hard and fast in a rolling rhythm.

“‘Let me at you?’ Christ, aren’t you deep enough?” Again, she laughed, the sound escaping her in an exalted victory cry. She’d never been probed so deeply and so thoroughly before, and Cullen’s stamina truly was the stuff

of dreams.

He joined her obvious pleasure. “Oh, yes, I love a wench who can take it. You’re a supple little thing, aren’t you? Can’t remember the last time I enjoyed riding a woman like this.” Even as he said the words, he pulled her roving hands together and latched them over her head in one mighty fist, taking full control of her body.

She bit her lip, cursing under her breath, her head rolling as she was thoroughly possessed and submitted to his thorough probing. Her throat was burning, her entire body locked into the experience. But she didn’t have time to contemplate it any further, because he ran his thumb over her tender places just as he came. Her flesh closed, melting and throbbing in a series of dynamite-fuelled spasms.

He stayed with her for a few moments, and they both savored the intense climax, rocking together in the moonlit room. With regret, she felt him pull out.

He rolled onto his back.

“Can we do that again before I wake up?” she whispered without thinking, her entire body trembling in the aftermath.

“Yes, lass, we’ll do it again, and over again, until the sun rises and I have to leave to board my ship. Suits me fine, that does.”

She couldn’t believe it. She’d said it jokingly, but he sat up onto the edge of the bed and lifted her onto his lap.

Dreams were never normally like this, she briefly reflected, before he seduced her all over again.

CHAPTER FIVE

Midnight struck on the old grandfather clock, and Celeste stood up from her kitchen table. She’d been trying not to pace back and forth since she’d cast her spell, fretting over it. Willow had long since gone home to rest, but when Celeste rose to her feet, Wellington leapt out of his basket by the fireplace and joined her. Together they walked to the back door and Celeste opened it, looking out into the night.

Wisps of cloud shifted across the moon, splaying the fall of light to the far edges of the sky and beyond. She ducked through the low doorway and under the heavy foliage arch beyond. The climbing plant outside her kitchen door was heavy and lush, the blossoms heavy.

In the garden the noise of the twilight creatures was low and almost indistinct, vibrating through the undergrowth. Beyond the far wall, the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs reached her.

Celeste breathed deep the scent of the sea carried on the breeze, and the aroma of undergrowth dancing alongside it. The sky was a velvet cascade sparkling with starlight, and the sight of it eased her troubled thoughts. The streetlights beyond always seemed further away at this time, when the spiritual world came alive—as if the real world were slipping away into the night and what remained came to the fore.

Wellington strolled back and forth in front of her, hovering on the edge of the night, his tail wrapping around her legs.

“What is it?”

The cat meowed and looked out into the darkness. Reaching down, she stroked him, assuming he was about to set off into the foliage.

Then Wellington hissed, his back arching.

A momentary sense of stillness made her aware of the presence in the shadows at the end of the garden. Her attention sharpened. Peering into the gloom, she gradually made sense of a solid form in the shadows.

Her defenses locked and loaded.

Moonlight outlined his form as Fox stepped out of the darkness and strolled over to her, closing the space between them, making her breath catch in her throat.

Lifting her chin, she studied him, her pulse speeding as it always did when her old adversary chose to make an appearance. Don’t trust him, she reminded herself, her gaze quickly assessing him.

Despite their mutual distrust and many grievances, she still found him incredibly attractive—which was dangerous in itself. There was always something simmering beneath the surface with him, and yet he had a controlled persona, suggestive of a deep sense of self confidence. She looked him in the eye. “Why have you come back, Viscount?”

“Curiosity.” There was no hesitation in his response, and his mouth moved in a sardonic smile, belying the simplicity of his answer.