01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin (26 page)

She wanted it to go on forever,
just like this. But already she was cycling up with frightening
speed. Tris must have felt it too. He lifted his head.

“Let’s take this slow.” His
fingers were still inside her.

“Don’t you dare stop now,” she
panted and took him by the shoulders.

With a grin he bent to his task.
A few flicks of his tongue and she was over the edge. She got her
hand up to her mouth just in time to keep herself from screaming
before the wave crashed over her and tumbled her poor little mind
over and over again in the wash of its feeling.

As the wave receded, she started
to cry. She didn’t mean to cry. It just happened. And when she
started she couldn’t have stopped if her life depended on it.

Tris scooted up and took her in
his arms. She realized she’d been clutching his shoulders so
tightly she’d left nail marks on him. “Oh,” she sobbed. “I’m so
sorry!”

“For what?” he soothed, stroking
her hair. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I left bloody nail marks on
you. And I’m crying.”

“Just release of tension.
There’s no harm in that.” He held her head to his chest. The smell
of him filled her nostrils. His chest hair was crinkly against her
cheek, and there, right in front of her was that tight little
man-nipple. She had the worst urge to lick it. And instead she was
crying. “I’m glad I could give you pleasure,” he whispered into her
hair, kissing it.

“Oh, my goodness! We ... we have
to pay attention to you.” She gave a couple of watery hiccups and
peered down at him. Was he even still erect?

“There’s plenty of time for
that. I can take care of myself, just to make sure we don’t get any
baby-making material where it shouldn’t be.”

He was still
very
erect.
His balls were tight and high. Here he was needy and kneeling
between her knees, and she was sitting around sobbing while he held
her.

“Want to watch?” he asked,
sliding his hand around the base of his cock with a sly grin.

She wanted that big cock inside
her. It didn’t look like it would fit. But according to her romance
novels men could almost always fit if they went slowly and their
partner was ready. She was readier than any of those heroines ever
were. “This is
not
a spectator sport. Sure you won’t give
the pull-out strategy a try?” She saw his reluctance and didn’t
want to ruin the moment. “Okay. No penetration. But if you think
I’m going to let you have all the pleasure of touching you, you’ve
got another think coming.” She pushed his hand away and replaced it
with her own.

Oh. She’d forgotten how silky
the skin on a man’s penis was. And the hardness beneath seemed all
the more miraculous because of it. She slid down the length of him
and fondled the crown. “Hands behind your back, big guy. This job
is all mine.”

“It ... it might not be a very
long job.” He sounded almost in pain, but he clasped his hands at
the small of his back. God but that was sexy.

“Like I wasn’t quick on the
draw,” she said, leaning forward to cup his balls, sliding them
against each other inside their sack. She slid off the couch to
kneel beside him. Her left hand continued working at his shaft
while she ran her right hand over his back and down to his butt.
His muscles were clenched tight and he was breathing in gasps. He
wasn’t kidding. He was probably close. She took her hand away. He
needed more enjoyment than just a few seconds.

“God, Maggie,” he growled. “Have
mercy.”

“I could lick you,” she said.
And suddenly, though she’d never wanted to do that before, she
wanted to do it now, with Tristram, who had been so generous with
her.

“No time. Just ... just touch
me.”

“Oh, he wants what he wants and
he wants it now....” she purred. How she loved to see him wanting
what she could give him.

“If you knew....”

She slid her left hand back down
over his cock as she pressed her breasts into his ribcage. Now the
tip oozed clear fluid she could rub all over the head.

“Please....” he whispered
hoarsely.

He sounded so desperate, she
took his cock firmly and began more purposeful strokes as he rocked
his hips into her hand. Three strokes, four, and he was grunting as
he spilled his seed all over the leather couch. The spurting went
on and on. She didn’t know men had so much semen. Phil the Rat sure
hadn’t. But had she even ever seen him ejaculate? He was always on
top of her, inside her, head buried in the pillow.

“Sorry,” Tris mumbled when he
could get his breath. He turned and took her in his arms.

“You wouldn’t let me be sorry,
so I won’t let you be sorry either,” she said. Now her bare breasts
brushed against his abs and she felt herself getting hot all over
again.

“I never thought of myself as a
quick come. Guess I’ve wanted to make love to you pretty much since
I met you. I had quite a head of steam built up.” He was kissing
her hair as they held each other in the light of the super
moon.

“Me too,” she said.

“Next time, I’ll do the thing
right. Condoms and everything.”

But there wouldn’t be a next
time. Unless.... She could feel his fullness against her belly. She
turned her face up. She’d never seen anything as beautiful as his
profile. The shadows and silver made it stark, almost abstract,
when he turned to look at the moon. She could imagine his tattoo,
shifting, writhing over his shoulder in the moonlight.

He drew her up and over to the
windows. The moon made the black sea glint like gunmetal in a wide
channel. Tris tucked her into his arm. She glanced down and saw
that he was already erect. “What if next time is right now?” she
whispered.

He looked down at her and the
tenderness of the smile had spread into his eyes. “Then we’ll have
to get creative.”

Oh, she liked the sound of
that.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Maggie turned over. Just a
minute more. She’d promised herself an hour of sleep before she
started loading horses. The bed was so comfortable, the twittering
of birds through the open windows soothing. Okay, she couldn’t deny
she was awake. But she could indulge herself in remembering last
night for just a minute more.

Tris had been such a tender
lover. One with very clever fingers and tongue. Lots of practice,
no doubt. The orgasm had kind of ebbed and flowed that last time,
on and on. Was that what multiple orgasms felt like? She’d
never
had multiple orgasms before. And Tris ... good thing
they’d had that towel to wipe up after him. He hadn’t allowed her
to suckle him. He said he thought it would kill him, but that was
just to put her off. Maybe he didn’t think she had enough
experience to avoid hurting him. Maybe that was true. Still, he was
so responsive that caressing his shaft had him spurting again and
again even though he was injured. She smiled. It had felt good to
give him pleasure.

And now it was over.

Time to face facts. She was
leaving today and she would never see Tristram Tremaine or his
family again. That thought made her feel physically ill—an aching
in her bones and her belly that made her gasp in its intensity. But
he was still a disaster waiting to happen for her. More so now that
they’d made love. Her feelings for Tris hadn’t been cured by
indulging herself. Far from it. So she had to go. She gasped as her
stomach cramped. She’d think about that later. The pain subsided.
She took a breath and opened her eyes. A definite shaft of light
showed at the split in the center of the heavy draperies.

Hellfire and brimstone!

Birds twittering. Ack! Birds
didn’t twitter as far before dawn as she had meant to get up. She’d
overslept. How badly? She threw back the covers and felt around for
her watch on the night table. She took it over to the window and
peered at it.

Ten o’clock?

She was so screwed. Well, better
late than never. She still had to go. Her head started to ache. Her
heart seemed to contract.

By the time Maggie tiptoed
downstairs with backpack in hand, she realized something was up.
Pandemonium had broken out on the ground floor.

At the center of a crew clad in
white jumpsuits, Mr. Nakamura issued crisp orders. Two men dragged
equipment in from a truck parked in the circle drive. The foyer was
filled with vacuums and polishers, long window-cleaning squeegees
and boxes of cleaning supplies.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Tremaine
waved to her from the middle of a hive of staff in chefs’ gear or
servers’ uniforms. “I do hope we didn’t wake you, dear,” she
called.

Maggie blinked and shook her
head. If only they had. About five hours ago.

Mrs. Tremaine took a plate from
the oven and beckoned Maggie to the bar where she and Tris had sat
last night. “I saved a breakfast for you.” The plate was heaped
with bacon and scrambled eggs and a big, home-baked muffin of some
kind.

“I ... I should be getting on
the road, ma’am. I didn’t mean to sleep this late.”

“You must have needed it. Tris
was tired too. Haven’t heard boo from him this morning.”

Maggie felt herself blushing to
the roots of her hair.

Mrs. Tremaine blinked twice and
murmured, “Such a long drive yesterday.”

“Yes. A real long drive,” Maggie
managed. She swallowed. “Which is why I’d better be loading my
horses. It was very kind of you to save me breakfast.”

“Which is why it would be so
nice if you would eat it,” Mrs. Tremaine smiled. So that’s where
Tris got his irresistible smile. How could she be rude to the
woman?

She ducked her head and slid
onto the stool. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.” She glanced to the
bustle around her. “Spring cleaning?”

“Dear me, no,” Mrs. Tremaine
laughed. “My birthday party is tonight and Brian won’t let me lift
a finger in preparation myself. So on the day, he hires cleaners
and caterers and decorators and wait staff, and they all come in at
once. I’m not sure it isn’t more work that way, but I’d never tell
him that.”

“Oh, happy birthday then, Mrs.
Tremaine.”

“She’s fifty.” Lanyon’s voice
sounded from behind her. “It’s a big deal.”

“It is not, wretched boy,” Mrs.
Tremaine snapped. “And you don’t have to go telling every soul
within shouting distance my age.”

“Ah,” the boy said wisely,
sliding onto a stool beside Maggie and laying his flute on the bar.
“Why should it matter if it’s not a big deal?”

Mrs. Tremaine threw up her
hands. “I have no time to bandy words with you.” She turned to some
wait staff dressed in crisp black and white. “Those go on the
terrace,” she ordered a guy holding a stack of warming pans. She
followed him outside.

Lanyon grinned. “Women,” he
said, as if that explained everything.

“And you’re so worldly wise, you
know all about them,” Maggie said, surveying the heaping plate.
She’d never be able to eat half of what was on it.

“Maybe not. But I will be,”
Lanyon said with a smirk.

Probably true. Maggie took a
forkful of eggs. “Just like your wayward brother.”

“Tris? Oh yeah. Tris cuts a
swath. You should see the starlets he’s dated.” Lanyon shook his
head with an admiring grin. “The last one was that girl in the
movie with the robots. Wow. She was sure a looker.” He picked up
his flute and blew a few notes that sounded like they came from a
swelling movie score.

A looker. As Maggie was not.
Maggie was just some interlude before Tris moved on. No telling why
he’d appeared last night in the library. Best to just get over it.
She could do that. Starting now. “Well, he’s back, so he can start
in where he left off.” Did that sound bitchy? She couldn’t help it.
Her headache was getting worse.

Lanyon didn’t seem to notice.
“Whatever he does is okay by me. As long as he came home for Mom’s
birthday,” he amended. “She would have been really disappointed if
he hadn’t. You going to eat that muffin?”

“It’s yours.” The flute was
exchanged for the muffin.

“For an older brother Tris isn’t
bad. Way better than Mr. Know-it-all Kemble.” The muffin was
rapidly disappearing.

Devin came in from the back
kitchen door, barefoot and still in a wetsuit. His blond hair was
dark and spiky-wet.

“How were the waves?” Lanyon
asked.

“Nothing special. Hi, Maggie.
Five-foot swell is due tomorrow though.”

Maggie waved a fork in greeting
since her mouth was full.

“Where’s Tris?” Devin asked.

“Still asleep,” Lanyon said, not
caring that his mouth was full of muffin.

“You’re kidding, in all this
noise?”

Lanyon shrugged. “Must have had
a hard night.”

Maggie felt the flush and knew
she was bright red. She bent to her plate. What a disaster.

“Did he now?” Uh-oh. She knew
that voice.

Maggie glanced up to see Kemble
examining her blush and Drew glancing discreetly away. Thank
goodness their attention was claimed by Tammy, who came bouncing
through the back door dressed in boots and riding breeches, already
talking a mile a minute.

“Kemble, she’s perfect. Did you
know she was long-listed for the Olympic team in ’96?”

“That’s why Father picked her,”
Kemble said. “Plus Hilda swears she doesn’t yell.”

“I can’t believe he arranged a
lesson so soon.” Tammy glowed with happiness the way only a
fourteen-year-old can. “Daddy is such a dear. And it’s so lucky she
had time this morning.” Mr. Tremaine as “Daddy” was still hard for
Maggie to imagine. But Tammy thought of him that way. That was a
good thing. “Mrs. Fletcher said Cally was very talented, Maggie.
She says I can have lessons once a week. She’ll even come here, so
I don’t have to trailer.”

What did it cost to get a
top-notch dressage teacher to drop everything and give you lessons
at your private riding ring? “That sounds great.” She couldn’t
begrudge Tammy the joy of learning to ride well.