Getting Familiar with Your Demon: That Old Black Magic, Book 4 Page 6

  “Marabella!”

  She swiveled her head and spotted Harley Weston walking toward her, a broad grin stretched across his boyishly handsome face. She obediently jerked to a halt. Ignoring the only son of Tabitha Weston, leader of the North American Alliance of Witches, wasn’t something one did. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, she pasted on a genuine smile. “Harley, how are you?”

  “Tired. My flight landed late. Wasn’t entirely sure I’d even make it here on time.” Harley pulled her into a tight hug.

  A noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl rumbled from Samael. Harley released her and shot the surly demon a blatantly curious glance. “Hello.”

  Samael’s only response was a slight narrowing of his eyes. Nervousness prickling the nape of her neck, Marabella sucked in a deep breath and sent Samael a mute warning before offering Harley another wavering smile. “This is my…friend. Sama—” Oh shit. She couldn’t call him by name. There weren’t that many Samaels out there, and Harley wasn’t a clueless idiot. It wouldn’t take much for him to put two and two together.

  Harley frowned. “Sama? That’s rather unusual.”

  Samael’s predatory stare didn’t exactly inspire warm fuzzies. “Most just call me Sam.”

  “Ah.” Still looking confused and flustered, Harley nodded.

  Marabella gripped Sam’s arm, desperate to spirit him away before Harley figured out who—and what—Sam was. “Well, it’s been lovely chatting with you, Harley. Please give your mom my regards.”

  Leaving a baffled Harley behind, she steered Sam down the hallway and toward the rear service entrance. Once they were safely out of earshot, she skidded to a stop and glared at Sam. “That was incredibly awkward. You could have at least made things easier by not being so rude to Harley.”

  “That’s just me, baby. I’m a rude bastard.” He said it with zero apology. If anything, he sounded proud of the fact.

  She plunked her hands on her hips. “Maybe I don’t like rude bastards.”

  “Good thing you don’t have to like me to have lewd, filthy sex with me, eh?” His teeth flashed with his wolfish grin.

  As his silky words shivered over her skin, the damnable part was she didn’t know what she wanted to do more—run screaming from him…or tackle him with another kiss.

  Chapter Eight

  Two seconds after Marabella started up her convertible, Sam made a disgusted noise and flicked the radio station to another channel. The presumptuous maneuver made her teeth grind as she came up with a third alternative of what she’d like to do to him—namely smack him upside the head. “I happen to like ABBA.”

  Sam grunted. Up until then, she would never have guessed so much derision could be loaded into a wordless sound. Clearly he had serious issues if he didn’t like ABBA. How could anyone listen to “Dancing Queen” and not feel the urge to, well, dance?

  She shot Sam another covert, sideways glance and tried to picture him shaking his moneymaker. That thought immediately conjured more X-rated images, and she gulped. Banding her grip on the steering wheel, she roared away from the curb.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed Sam stroking the top of the leather console. There was absolutely no reason to consider his motions overtly sexual, but her nipples tightened anyway. The traitorous response made her uncharacteristically testy. “Does my car make up for my taste in music?”

  “Nothing can redeem that.” He was silent for a moment. “Except maybe a nineteen seventy Chevelle. In electric blue.”

  “I have no idea what that is.”

  His stare implied she’d just uttered a blasphemy. Shaking her head, she returned her focus to the road. She’d already decided to take him back to Bella’s Boutique, so at least she didn’t have to rack her brain coming up with a relatively safe, neutral place to playact at this seduction. But that didn’t make her feel any less weird and nervous about the charade she was playing. What if he ended up being angry over not being able to do the dirty deed? She wasn’t so foolish to think he might not retaliate. If push came to shove, she had no qualms about using her magic in self-defense, but what if he decided to crash the Samhain ball again? All of this would have been for nothing.

  No. She refused to allow her pessimistic thoughts to derail her from this mission. One way or another, she’d keep him from leaving. Even if it meant tying him to a chair and keeping him locked in place with a holding spell for the night. Those worked on demons, right? She nibbled her bottom lip, the butterflies in her stomach crashing into each other as her doubts intensified.

  “Who was the bozo that stopped us in the hall?”

  Sam’s question was so unexpected it took her a second to figure out who he was referring to. “Harley? His mother is the leader of the North American Alliance of Witches.” She slid Sam a look. “He’s hardly a bozo.”

  “He was dressed like Harry Potter. That makes him a bozo in my book.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have a very high opinion of wizards or witches, do you?”

  “Baby, that’s the understatement of the century.”

  “I don’t understand. You worked for Antoinette Delacroix. Yes, she was a black witch, but a witch nonetheless.”

  “Your point?”

  She bit back a sigh. “Are you deliberately trying to be aggravating and evasive?”

  “You haven’t even seen me at my worst.”

  “There’s a terrifying thought.” A strand of hair loosened from beneath the ivy wreath and whipped across her eye. Before she could make a grab for it, Sam curled his finger around the tendril and tucked it behind her ear. His thumb grazed her lobe, and she shivered. Giving a strained cough, she pressed her legs closer together. “What I’m trying to understand is how you could hold such low regard for witches and yet were willingly employed by one.”

  “Willing is a relative term.”

  She couldn’t hide her surprise at his flatly worded statement. “Are you saying you were Nettie’s familiar against your wishes?”

  He remained stubbornly close-lipped, and her frustration ballooned. “Is it so impossible for you to answer my questions?”

  “I’m not here to carry on small talk. The sooner you realize that, the sooner we can get to the good stuff.”

  “So that’s it? You only want to have sex. Screw the getting-to-know-each-other part.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  I can’t believe I’m going through with this. Even if she really wasn’t. But in the end, she still had to endure an evening with a demon who possessed a caveman mentality and a one-track mind. A demon she just happened to have a raging case of horniness for.

  Yeah, this couldn’t end badly. Not at all.

  Dragging in a shaky breath, she pulled into the parking garage down from Bella’s Boutique and cut the engine. She removed the keys from the ignition and prayed Sam wouldn’t comment on the constant jingling the keys made as they dangled from her trembling fingers. He joined her outside the vehicle, and after crossing the deserted boulevard, they walked the short distance to her storefront.

  She attempted to jam the key into the lock, but her overworked nerves made the task impossible. Without saying a word, Sam gently nudged her aside and freed the bolt. She didn’t fail to notice the sardonic tilt of his mouth as she muttered a “Thanks” and pushed past him. The tumblers clicked, announcing Sam had secured the lock. She reached for the light switch, but he took her hand and led her away from the door. Her heart beating a chaotic mambo, she trailed along, trying not to focus on the fact he seemed to have a definite destination in mind. They pulled to a stop in the entry leading to the French Bohemian bedroom tableau, and her pulse ratcheted up several notches. She stared at the daybed before jerking her gaze to Sam. Immense heat simmered in his sin-filled eyes.

  She blurted the first thing that popped into her mind. Unfortunately, it wasn’t one of her more intelligent responses. “The bed is only for display.”

  Another flash of sardonic humor flickered
across Sam’s face. “What kind of saleswoman would you be if you didn’t test out the merchandise?”

  “I…” Ah damn. Her tongue-tied state increased a thousandfold when Sam’s hands planted on either side of her head, effectively boxing her against the wall. The way he was looking at her—as if he were mentally devouring her—caused her pulse to stutter. Sure, there’d been plenty of men who’d gazed at her with lust before the curse ultimately knocked them on their asses. Even so, those occasions didn’t hold a candle to the barely restrained hunger riding Sam’s gorgeous features.

  She licked her lips and watched his pupils dilate as he tracked the motion of her tongue. “I—I don’t know.” She winced at her breathless stammer, feeling worse than a gawky moron.

  Sam’s head descended until they were practically nose to nose. She stared into his eyes, mesmerized by the intensity in their depths. His irises were so dark, she’d at first assumed they were completely black, but up close, she saw they were actually a deep midnight blue.

  “We can’t have you selling a bed you haven’t stamped a personal testimony on. What if the springs squeak?” His whiskey-smooth voice held an unmistakable hint of tease.

  Before her brain produced a not entirely idiotic response, Sam’s mouth claimed hers. The same electric jolt of desire and apprehension she’d experienced in the ballroom slammed into her with renewed force. A moan slipped free before she could cage it. The sound must have encouraged Sam, because he re-angled his approach, his tongue delving past her lips as if it had every right to do so. She truly wished with every fiber in her being that it didn’t, but the heady pleasure Sam was delivering told a different story.

  As if her arms possessed a will of their own, they circled his neck, her fingers threading through the thick softness of his hair. A part of her screamed in warning, reminding her she wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. It was one thing to convince Sam she wanted to rip his clothes off and have her wicked way with him. She wasn’t supposed to actually want to do it.

  It proved nearly impossible to keep that thought on track as Sam’s tongue glided along hers. Retreating slightly, he explored the edges of her teeth before he sucked on her bottom lip and started his lush oral treatment all over again. By the time he pulled back, her mouth felt swollen and thoroughly ravished. Her breath puffed in shallow, staccato bursts, and the soaked crotch of her panties clung to her throbbing flesh in damning proof of her insatiable desire for him.

  Passion and fear warred inside her. She wanted—no, craved—the wet, slick rasp of Sam’s tongue on her everywhere. Her mouth, her breasts and painfully hard nipples. Her pussy. Oh goddess. She especially hungered to feel him there. And that was wrong. So very, very wrong.

  Sam’s mouth abandoned hers and slid to the slope of her neck. His beard scruff tickled her skin, inciting a host of goose bumps. He scored his teeth along the pulse point beneath her ear before sucking the tender spot. A responding beat echoed in her clit, and she whimpered. Without warning he swept her into his arms. She clung to him, as much startled by the action as his obvious strength.

  Before she even thought to protest, Sam strode the short distance to the daybed and tossed her into the middle of it. Decorative throw pillows tumbled to the ground as he stretched over her. Their bodies aligned in the most delicious way. She struggled to ignore that reality, but Sam seemed determined to prove exactly how traitorous her body could be. He cupped her breasts through the flimsy fabric of her Greek goddess gown, and she arched into him, her nipples obediently pebbling under his touch. His husky chuckle mocked her. Swirling his tongue in the sensitive hollow beneath her ear, he rolled his fingertips over her nipples. She nearly shot out of her skin.

  “You’re incredibly responsive considering I haven’t even gotten you naked yet.” There was no mistaking the intent in his voice. Giving a low, sexy growl, he bunched the skirt of her costume in his hands and whisked it upward. Before she’d snapped to her senses, he’d tugged the dress completely off her, leaving her with only a skimpy G-string and matching bra to hide her from his hot, hungry gaze.

  Milky moonlight poured through the window, revealing Sam’s unabashed stare as it roved her body, lingering everywhere, but especially on the faint shadow of her pubic hair beneath the sheer white mesh of her panties. Her hands automatically moved to cover her groin, and he used the opportunity to free the front clasp of her bra with a deft flick of his wrist. He separated the nylon cups and stared at her breasts.

  Her heart hammered, making her dizzy. She’d never been this naked with a man. The realization was both exciting and scary. She attempted to shield her exposed flesh again, but Sam gripped her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head.

  Straddling her thighs, he lifted onto his knees and reached for something overhead. She craned her neck to see what he was up to and frowned when he snagged one of the tasseled curtain tiebacks draped over the folding silk screen tucked behind the daybed. Recalling the imprisoned state of her wrists, her eyes widened. No. He wouldn’t.

  The wicked sparkle in his eyes quickly shot a hole in that pathetic theory. She jerked against his hold, earning his devilish chuckle. He braced her hands on the daybed’s brass rail and looped the tieback’s velvet cord around her joined wrists, securing them to the cold metal bar as easily as if she’d been a steer at a roping contest. Not exactly the most flattering way to picture herself, to be sure. “S-Sam, let me out of this, damn it.”

  “No.”

  “Please?” Soon as she was free, she’d kick his ass for making her beg.

  “I’m not spending all night fielding your coy hiding games. For shit’s sake, you act like you’re a damn virgin or something.”

  She glared at him. “Maybe I am.”

  “Yeah, likely story, baby.”

  She opened her mouth in order to correct him of his misassumption, but the words dried in her throat as Sam stripped out of his shirt. She’d seen him bare-chested before. It made absolutely no sense why her nipples should still tingle at the close-up view of the sleek, sculpted contours of his muscular torso and chiseled six-pack. Swallowing with great difficulty, she watched his hand trail in a lazy fashion down his washboard abs, following the thin peppering of silky hair that arrowed toward the waistband of his jeans. He released the buckle on his belt and withdrew the leather strap from the loops. His motions deliberate and slightly menacing, he anchored the belt around the top rail of the daybed.

  Catching her wary look, he offered a smile that’d make a crocodile nervous. “Might need it later.”

  What the hell have I agreed to? She gulped, her mind scrambling to produce a way out of her predicament. Right now would probably be an excellent time to work on that holding spell she’d considered earlier. Being strapped half naked to a bed while trying to perform it wasn’t usual protocol, but sometimes a gal just had to make do.

  Without warning, Sam’s thumb flicked her nipple, and she jolted. “Oh goddess.”

  “Not exactly, sweet Bella.” A carnal gleam glinting in his eyes, Sam lowered his head and sucked the distended nub into his mouth. The wet heat and luscious friction of his tongue were enough to send every sane, rational thought in her head packing.

  She moaned and unconsciously bowed her back. Sam released her nipple with a succulent pop and concentrated his efforts on its mate. In less time than she cared to dwell on, he worked her into a panting, quivering wreck.

  He abandoned her breasts and slid down the valley of her abdomen, his lips, teeth and tongue a maddening torment. By the time he settled between her thighs, her chest was heaving and embarrassing mewling noises escaped her throat. His mouth closed over her pussy, the tip of his tongue teasing her clit through her G-string’s soaked mesh. Her hips jerked, her body trembling. She frantically tried to concentrate on anything besides his incredibly tantalizing mouth, but that seemed as likely as remembering to breathe—a feat she was definitely having trouble with at the moment.

  When he tipped his gaze toward hers again,
it positively smoldered. His fingers danced along the outer seam of her G-string. “Were these expensive?” Not waiting for her answer, he tucked his thumbs into the elastic and with a simple snap, ripped the fabric in two.

  She gaped at him, speechless. Holding her stare, he slid his palms beneath her butt and lifted her until his mouth hovered inches from her pussy. His warm breath caressed her, a prelude to the slick, bold stroking of his tongue along her sensitive flesh. The sensation was like nothing she could have imagined. She writhed, gasping. “Oh, Sam.”

  “You taste fucking sweet, Bella. Like honey.” He hummed against her clit, and stars exploded behind her eyelids. When he sucked the slippery nubbin between his lips and caressed it with his tongue, her body pulled tight, a lush warning wave cresting within her. She’d never had an orgasm by any means other than her own hand.

  Well, that was all about to change. No amount of fighting it would stop the oncoming tide of her climax. It crashed into her, springing a cry from her as her body convulsed under wave after earth-shattering wave of pleasure.

  Ceaseless quakes continued to tremble through her minutes later as Sam lowered her to the mattress. Weak and brain fried, she lolled her head to the side and closed her eyes, attempting to chase down her breath. That same breath lodged in her throat when Sam’s cock nudged into her. Awareness returned with alarming clarity.

  There was no freaking way this should be happening. The curse—

  Sam settled more heavily between her legs and thrust deeper. He didn’t get very far inside her, but it was enough to trigger the panic bells into three-alarm mode. She stared up at him, her heart pounding. Oh goddess. “Wait—”