Magic at Midnight (15 page)

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I need to think about it, consider my options. Because I can’t allow you to run wild, using your powers against everyone who pricks your anger.”

“Yeah, well, before you, I didn’t use my powers for bad things.”

“So I’m just special?”

“Of course you’d think so.” Good. Her voice had substance now. “But the real answer is that you’re simply the most irritating person I’ve ever met.”
Kiss me. Let it be a terrible experience so that I never crave it again.

He leaned down and traced the tip of his nose along the curve of her cheek, leaving a trail of decadent fire. Glory tried not to arch her hips and rub against his erection, but she did and, oh, was he ever erect. Long and thick, hard and smoldering.

He groaned, his eyelids fluttering closed. “Again,” he commanded.

Stop. Don’t do this. Don’t travel down this road
.
A kiss is one thing. But this…
Ceasing her gyrations was the most difficult thing Glory had ever done, but she did it.

And suddenly he was eyeing her again, lashes casting menacing shadows over his cheeks and electric gaze piercing her soul. “I’m going to kiss you.” It was a promise. “And you’re going to kiss me back.” It was a rough demand.

“No, you’re not.”
Please, please, please
. “And no, I’m not.”
Impossible.

“Yes, we are. We have to do something to end the madness.”

“Fine. Whatever. Do what you want.”

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“I’m glad you understand that.”

“Try to take the pen, and you’ll regret it.”

“I’ll regret it anyway.”

He arched a brow. “Do you always have to have the last word?”

“Why, yes, I—”

His lips smashed into hers. Her mouth opened automatically, welcoming him inside. He thrust deep, and his flavor filled her mouth. Drugging, addicting. White-hot. A tingling ache sparked to life in her stomach, then spread to her chest, her limbs. She melted into him.

The iron lock on her wrists loosened. Rather than shove him, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. Her fingers tangled in his silky hair. His hands were free now, too, and they fastened on her waist, urging her forward and backward, mimicking the motions of sex.

Waves of pleasure constantly speared her. This was what she’d dreamed of since going to him that night, so long ago. His mouth on her, his hands all over her, his body straining against hers.

“More?” he whispered.

She nibbled on his bottom lip. “More.”

He reached between them and palmed one of her breasts. His fingers plucked at the hardened nipple. “So perfect.”

Moaning, she arched her hips. Exquisite contact. Her head dropped backward, and her long tresses tickled her overheated skin. Had Falon not been holding her up with that arm around her waist, she would have fallen.

No, wait. She was gripping spikes of his hair, tugging them. Hard. A few had already ripped from his scalp and were wrapped around her fingers.

He didn’t complain.

She eased closer to him, relaxing her clasp. Her mouth found his neck, and she licked. His skin was a little abrasive, but perfect.

“You’re so hot,” he said.

“On fire,” she agreed. She licked the seam of his lips.

He captured the tip of her tongue and sucked. The hand on her waist slid down… down… and cupped her ass. As he’d correctly guessed earlier, she wasn’t wearing any underwear, and the tops of his fingers teased her most feminine core. She was so wet, she practically dripped between her legs.

“Shit. You’re killing me.” One of his fingers stroked her clitoris.

A tremor rocked her.
Shouldn’t be this good. Not with
him
.

Before the thought finished whispering through her mind, her entire world spun. Then cool bark was pressing into her back, and Falon was searing her front. He pinned her arms over her head with one hand and palmed her breast with the other.

“I knew you’d be this good,” he growled, not sounding the least bit happy about it.

“Wh-what?” Trying to find her common sense, she blinked open her eyes. When had she closed them? Falon loomed over her. His features were harsh, lined with tension, his gaze a swirling sea of blues, purples, and pinks. How odd. They’d never looked that way before.

His shoulders were so wide, his body seemed to engulf her. Sweat beaded over his sun-kissed skin. He was like an animal whose stomach was rumbling—and he’d just spotted his prey. “Knew it,” he finished. “Feared it.”

What was he talking about? Feared what? And why wasn’t he kissing her? “Falon, I—”

“I want this nipple in my mouth.”

“Yes.” Please, yes. That still qualified as kissing. “Hurry.”

He ripped her nightgown down, revealing both mounds of her breasts. They were large. Overflowing. The nipples were pink, the hardened tips desperate. For a long while, he simply stared down at her.

Glory’s cheeks began to heat, and not with desire. Did he like what he saw? He was used to slender women, had once turned Glory away because she wasn’t his type. How could she have forgotten?

Embarrassed to her soul, she jerked at his hold, meaning to slide the nightgown back in place. He held strong.

His lips curled in a frown. “What are you doing?”

“Ending this,” she said, unable to look at him.

“Be still.”

“No.”

He increased the death grip on her wrists, and his other hand cupped her chin, forcing her to face him. “Why do you want to end it?”

“Because.” Like she’d say it aloud. But maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe that’s how he meant to punish her.

Punishment. Of course. How could she have forgotten?

You brought this on yourself
. Tears burned her eyes, and her chin trembled.

“What’s wrong? You look ready to cry.”

“Let me go,” she commanded brokenly, focusing on his nose so that she wouldn’t have to see those amazing eyes of his and whatever emotion was now banked there.

A moment passed in silence.

“Glory,” he said.

Do it; look at him. Get it over with. See his disgust and start to hate him again.
Slowly, her gaze lifted. When their eyes met, she gasped. There was a fire raging there. Tension still branched his mouth, and sweat still trickled down his temples. He looked on edge, aroused to the point of pain.

“I think you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld. And, like I said, I want your nipple in my mouth, and I think you want it there, too.”

She gulped, unable to speak past the sudden lump in her throat.

“I’m going to release your arms. You can push me away or you can urge me closer. The choice is yours.”

And just like that, she was free. Her arms fell to her sides. She gripped the tree, and jagged bits of bark cut past her skin. The sting did nothing to dampen her desire. He was so hard and hot against her he was like a brand. The pulse in his neck galloped fiercely. His lips were red and glistening from the kiss.

His chest had stopped moving, she realized. He was holding his breath. Waiting. The knowledge… softened her. Was he afraid she’d leave him?

With a shaky hand, she reached out and palmed his erection.

He hissed in a breath.

The tip of his penis had risen well above the waist of his jeans. Actually, the material was so strained, the button had snapped open on its own.

“Trying to torture me?” he croaked. “’Cause it’s working.”

Was it? She moistened her lips and released him. Was bereft without him in her hand.

Now he moaned.

Despite the warnings trying to slither into her mind, she cupped her breasts and lifted them. “Touch me.”

His eyes widened in surprised delight. A moment later, he dipped down and flicked his tongue against one pearled nipple, then the other.

She’d experienced pleasure before, but that had been nothing compared to this. There was an invisible cord from each of her nipples that led straight to her core, as if he were actually thrumming her clitoris while he licked her. This was Falon, the man she’d fantasized about for years. The man whose strength and heat and raw intensity destroyed her defenses and made her crave…

Soon she was writhing, couldn’t have remained still if the plan had been to pretend she felt nothing for him to undermine his confidence and try to convince him he was lacking. He was not lacking.

He scraped her with his teeth, and she groaned. His fingers caressed a path down her stomach. Her muscles quivered when he paused. Glory felt as though she stood on a precipice, waiting to be pushed over. Would he delve lower, like before, only… deeper?

“How did I ever find the strength to send you away?” he asked hoarsely.

Some of the flames inside her dwindled to a crackle, and she almost screamed in frustration. If he kept talking, kept reminding her of their painful history, she might lose her pleasure buzz. “No more talking. You’ll ruin it.”

A soft chuckle rumbled from him. The tip of one finger traced a circle around her navel, then dipped again, lower this time. Dabbling at the small triangle of hair, tickling. “Nothing could ruin this. You’re perfection.”

Her? Perfection? Entranced, she parted her legs, giving him all the access he could possibly need.

Through the material of the nightgown, he circled her clitoris next. Again. Finally. He pressed.

“Oh, bright lightning,” she gasped.

“Like that?”

“Yes. More.”

He didn’t give it to her but continued to play with her, revving her to that sense of uncontrollable desire again. “You’re so wet,” he praised. “For me.”

“Yes. You.” She tried to arch into his touch, tried to force his fingers to press harder. “Falon.”

“Oh, but I like the sound of my name on your lips.” His tongue glided up to her collarbone, his teeth nipping along the way. She turned her head aside, and he sucked at her pulse.

“I want to get on my knees. I want to taste between your legs. Say yes.” He gripped the hem of her nightgown, slowly lifting.

“Ye—”
Red alert!
blared inside her mind, shoving past her need to scream
yes
. If he touched the knot in her gown, he would discover the pen. He would realize he’d taken a stick from her instead.

His knuckles brushed her thigh, and her knees almost buckled. “All you have to do is say
yes
, and my tongue will be inside you…”

His dark head, buried between her legs… one of her knees, draped over his shoulder… his tongue, stroking her to orgasm… She yearned for it so badly she had tears in her eyes. But she forced herself to say, “No,” and at last to shove him away.

The action was puny, really, but he released her. He was panting, eyes narrowed. She was panting, eyes still burning.

“Things have already gone too far,” she managed to get out.
Do I sound as breathless to him as I do to myself?
“This ends now.”

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, his gaze never leaving her face. “Oh, I get it. Punishment received.”

He turned and stalked from her, and she wanted to shout that this hadn’t been a punishment, not for him, but the words congealed in her throat, and then it was too late, anyway, because he disappeared from view.

•
Five
•

F
ALON
fumed for the next three days. For three reasons. (Three must be his new lucky number.) One, Glory had outsmarted him, leaving him with a magicless stick rather than the revenge pen. Two, he hadn’t gotten nearly enough of her and had thought about her constantly. And three, she was now ignoring him, as if he didn’t matter to her.

He should be happy about that last one.

He wasn’t. Damn it, he wasn’t!

Motions clipped, he paced through his living room, trying to decide what to do. Like his lack of happiness, this
should
have been a no-brainer: stay out of her life. Never antagonize her again. She’d had her revenge. She’d made him burn, desperate for her, and then had rejected him. They were even. There was no reason they had to deal with each other again. Most likely, bad, magical things would happen if they did.

“As well as hot and sweaty,” he muttered. Her passion had been a thing of beauty. She’d writhed against him, her lush body flushed, her hazel eyes blazing. Her breasts had overflowed in his hands. Her skin had been the softest he’d ever caressed. Her long red hair had tumbled down her shoulders and arms, the perfect frame for her exquisite loveliness.

What would have happened if she’d have let him strip her? What would have happened if he’d spread her legs and pounded inside her?

“Heaven, that’s what.”
But what about afterward?
Would she have wanted more from him or been done with him? Would she have used her naughty magic against him again?

Falon scrubbed a hand over his scalp, nails raking. He was—or rather, had been—crown prince of the Fae. Women had thrown themselves at him, hoping to be queen. None had captured his interest. Then he’d meet Frederica, the witch, and had been entranced. Now he thought, perhaps, she’d used a love spell on him and there at the end it had worn off. But even still, he hadn’t hungered for her the way he hungered for Glory. Glory challenged him in every way imaginable.

“Not hard, nowadays,” he muttered.

To serve Penelope for the required year in order to gain his freedom from Frederica’s impotence curse, he’d had to relinquish his crown. His brother, Falk, had then taken over. Falk was a good king, respected, admired, and loved. Falon didn’t have the heart to take it from him when the year ended.
What kind of king would I make, anyway?
Not a good one, that was for sure. He’d always been too wild.

Besides, over the years he’d managed to carve out a decent life for himself. He didn’t need money, but he worked with Hunter at the bar. Amusements abounded, and there was never a dull moment. Brawls, seductions. Plus, it was a hub of information. When people were drinking, they tended to spill their deepest secrets. A few months ago, Falon had overheard three female fairies planning to poison Falk. He’d passed the information on, and the women had been captured in the act, Falk saved.