I cry out. The skin on my back burns, my cunny clamping and reaching for his shaft, even though it is gone from there. My thighs are wet and I peak when Ewan pushes his rod deeper still, claiming my forbidden place, filling it. I cry aloud, squeeze at my aching breasts with floured hands, my cunny awash with my juices.
Ewan is about to spill. He ruts his member into me and holds me steady with his hands upon my hips, but still he baits me. “If he was here now, and he saw this, he would call you an evil whore for luring the town merchant with your sinful body and your insatiable lust.”
“Yes, yes, he would,” I cry, delighted by his words.
Ewan lets loose an animal sound and I feel him stiffen against me. Trapped, I wriggle and curse, for his rod is like a flaming hot poker and every part of me throbs and burns.
I cannot get enough of it, for this is what I am, a woman who wants to live and to feel and to ride the earth with fury and joy. This is what I am.
11
WHEN GRAYSON WALKED INTO THE BACK ROOM and caught sight of Zoë he put the ice cream down on the desk. Wisps of rose-hued light surrounded her. It seemed to swell and lift as if it were a living, breathing thing. The atmosphere around her was redolent with magic, as if someone had cast a spell over her. Was she in a trance? And, if so, who had done this to her?
She was breathing rapidly, her eyes focused in the distance. As he watched, her fingers clutched at the fabric of her shirt and her lips parted. He was reminded of the way she was last night, after they had made love on the staircase. He would have to waken her from the trance carefully because she was as vulnerable as a sleepwalker. Firstly, though, he wanted to see if he could locate the source of the magic.
He put his hand to the wall adjoining Her Haven. As soon as he did power shot through his arm from the house beyond. He looked back at Zoë. The light intensified. Curious. But he was glad it was associated with Annabel and the cottage next door, and not an external source. The night before, Annabel’s presence was effervescent, nebulous, and brimming with excitement. A typical spirit unleashed from slumber. As such, it was difficult to get a grip on her intentions. It didn’t seem as if she meant to harm Zoë. If he’d felt the least hint of that, he would advise her to leave the village and return to London immediately.
It wasn’t a spell, ghosts couldn’t cast spells from beyond the grave—well, not that he knew of. It had to be some kind of channel that Annabel had opened up to Zoë. Pretty determined she had to be about it, too, to traverse the space between Her Haven and the Cornerstone cottage. Why? Why was Annabel so powerful right now and what was it about Zoë that made her connect this way?
Closing his eyes, he felt his way around the images she was experiencing, in order to figure out their nature. A vivid cornucopia of sexual experience lay on the surface, but beneath that he sensed an uneasy layer of twisted intentions, jealousy and lies. He heard his name, and opened his eyes.
“Grayson?” Zoë’s lips moved slowly, and it affected him strangely. Was it a dreaming whisper, or did she need help?
In his chest, a knot of concern grew. It was a risk, but he had to pull her out of the trance. Resting a kiss on her forehead, he held her gently around her shoulders, soothingly. “It’s all right, I’m here.”
Turning toward him, she gripped at the fabric of his T-shirt. She looked up, blinked, eyes focusing on him.
Whoa. Her mouth curved, her eyes darkening. The look she gave him hit him right in the solar plexus. Sexy lady.
“I think you were dreaming?”
She glanced quickly around the room, then her attention snapped back to him and she sidled up against him. Her hands ran over his chest. She was aroused, deeply aroused. Her aura glowed with it, and her female scent called to him, keying into his desire for her so fast that his cock quickly grew hard in the confinement of his jeans.
Bending to kiss her lips, he couldn’t help himself. Sexual desire had them both. He knew he should be checking on her, making sure she was all right, but for one crazy moment all he could think about was tasting and invading the sweet warmth of her mouth with his tongue, readying her for sex.
What had happened to her just then? Why was the psychic energy still palpable in the atmosphere? The questions forced him to pull back. “What happened, Zoë? Did you see Annabel?”
She moved against him, as if drugged by the attraction between them. Then her eyes flickered with recognition and she paused, pressing up against him, body to body.
“Yes, it was like a very vivid dream. I was standing over there.” Gripping on to him with one hand, she pointed back at the desk. The book she had been holding had fallen on the floor. “I was looking at that picture of her, the one that we discussed. I was wondering what she was really like, and then I heard her voice.” Unease flared in her. Her fingers went to her temples.
“Don’t worry. I know it’s strange, but you’re not hearing things. Well, you are, but they really are happening. I know that it can be a really weird experience, but you’re okay.”
She gave a slow nod, listening to him as if cautious about her understanding. Her fingers gripped his T-shirt, and she was still provocatively aroused, but there was a sense of misgiving there that worried him.
“It was a dream, I suppose, but it was really vivid. She was in the kitchen in there.” She nodded her head toward the adjoining wall. “There was a preacher, but after he had gone, there was another man. I saw him in a dream last night. He was wearing a cloak made of animal skin and his clothes were covered in blood.”
A witch, a witch veering to the dark side?
She paused and stared directly at him, her voice faltering.
Grayson could see the pulse beating at the base of her throat. “There was sex?”
She nodded. “It was bloody hot stuff,” she said, and gave a disbelieving laugh. “It was like an adult film rolling in my mind.”
“How do you feel now?”
Her cheeks flushed. “A bit dizzy.”