Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series (25 page)

He alternately tensed and released the muscles of his thighs to rock her slowly, intimately, across the thick, hard length of his cock, while his mouth and his hands continued to tease and incite. Her breaths came quicker now, in short sharp pants as the heat and the heavy, sensual pressure built and built, and she wanted more,
needed
more. And he gave it to her, for between one breath and the next he’d stripped off his t-shirt. She needed to touch him, skin to skin, but she tried to make the gesture natural, as though she was merely bracing her palms on his chest.

He drew in a sharp breath, and when she would have snatched back her hands he manacled her wrists and applied just enough pressure to keep her hands splayed on his chest. “Do not be afraid to touch me, Opal. I like it very much.”

Her hands shook slightly as she caressed him, exploring the smattering of coarse hair between his pecs and surrounding each nipple. Could she be doing this—provoking his ragged breathing with merely a stroke of her hands? The idea was so intoxicating that, hardly believing her own daring, she pinched his nipples. And, even more daringly, raised her gaze to his to gauge his reaction.

He held her gaze as he gently stroked her cheek with a finger. What she saw in his eyes…. It was too much, too raw, and she was relieved when he twisted to spread his t-shirt atop the concrete porch.

She caught her lip between her teeth. He intended using the t-shirt as a buffer to protect her spine from the hard surface when he… when he….

Her mind blanked but he brought her back as, with the exquisite care reserved for precious things, he lifted her from his lap like she weighed nothing at all, and laid her on her back. The porch was partially enclosed, more private. All the better to do all those naughty things she’d only read about to each other.

Oh God, this was really happening….

He stroked her, running a gentle hand from breast to thigh. She closed her eyes, just for a moment to savor the sensations, and when she’d opened them again he’d stripped off her sleep shorts and pressed her thighs apart, spreading her to his gaze. Before she could register how vulnerable she was right now, before she could even think about being afraid, he lowered his head and licked between her legs.

Her hips bucked and she bit her lips to muffle a squeak. He held her still, but although his grip was firm it was gentle enough that she understood she could squirm away if she chose. She glanced down the length of her torso, intercepted his gaze, realized he’d been waiting for her reaction to this most intimate of kisses. She flushed, incapable of uttering a single word, but whatever emotions he could discern from her face must have told him she wasn’t going anywhere for now.

He lowered his head again, blew lightly on her slick, heated flesh, and parted her folds with his thumbs…. And then Opal couldn’t see anything much at all because her vision was filled with stars that streaked through her headspace with each lap and lick and gentle, but insistent, flick of her clit.

Her fists clenched at her sides. She’d read plenty enough romances to know that the ideal fictional hero enjoyed giving oral sex, but she’d never truly believed what she’d read. Until now. With Danbur treating her like she was a banquet, showing her that he was more than willing to overindulge.

His finger worked gently inside her. Oh God. Two fingers… and his thumb was flicking her clit in tandem with each swipe of his tongue as his fingers screwed in and out of her vagina. Heat coiled in her pelvis, expanded and burst outward. Her inner muscles fluttered, clenched tight… and then pulsed strongly as the orgasm swept her away.

Through the haze of pleasure, a part of her was dimly aware of him fumbling with his clothes. And that part of her retained enough self-awareness to know that what was about to happen was inevitable, and she craved it badly. But not badly enough to be entirely reckless. It was one thing to put yourself at risk as a single person, quite another when you were sole guardian of a child.

He must have noted her tension. Or perhaps he was just that closely attuned to her he’d practically read her mind. “Are you taking any herbs to protect against unwanted pregnancy?” he asked.

She nodded. Not that she would rely on
herbs
at a time like this, for goodness sakes. After she’d finished breastfeeding Sera she’d gotten a prescription for oral contraceptives and stayed on them. Didn’t matter that she hadn’t been able to even
think
about having sex, she wasn’t taking any chances. Ever.

He leaned in to press butterfly-kisses to the slope of her breast, her collarbone, her throat. “The priests insured the good health of the entire fief, but especially the warriors who did their bidding. As a consequence of their magic I am free of disease.”

Priests and warriors? Uh… okay. As soon as they formed, the concerns that niggled in the back of her mind drifted away. And she might have thought that strange, might have worried at it, but that thought too, was elusive. She was soothed by the heat he was giving off, focused on the muscled hardness of his thighs and lower body, pressed so intimately against hers.

“Me, too,” she whispered. “I haven’t—you know. Since I, uh, conceived Sera. So I don’t have any diseases, either.”

His lips sought the sensitive area of her throat, just below her ear, and she shivered. “I’d prefer we still use a condom, though,” she somehow managed to say without a single stutter. Come to think of it, she hadn’t stuttered since she’d run here, to him. Please God, let this respite last—at least until this encounter ended.

“It’s, uh, best to be safe, don’t you think?” And please God, let him have a condom in the pocket of his pants or she would curl up and die of the female equivalent of blue balls.

His brow had furrowed. Oh no, this wasn’t looking hopeful.

“I would guess the man whose essence helped you create Sera did not use one of these
condoms
,” he finally said.

She swallowed, willing the specter of Rick to take a hike. She’d be damned if she’d allow that unholy bastard to taint this moment. “No,” she said, proud her voice stayed steady. “He didn’t.”

“I understand.”

“Back pocket?” she said, hopeful but ready for disappointment. She should have known this was too good to be true.

“You could check to be sure.” Which was a really dumb suggestion considering he was male and he had to know whether he had a condom in his pocket, right?

He sat back on his heels and slipped a hand into the back pocket of his pants. And when he produced a condom, Opal didn’t know who was more shocked, him or herself. But it was a measure of her eagerness that when he continued to stare at the little foil packet like it was some miracle, she sat up, grabbed it, and ripped it open with her teeth.

“Pants off,” she said. “Now.”

He stood, and shucked his sweatpants and underwear with unseemly haste and….

Oh. My. She had no words. He really was the most beautiful man. All over. And she really was going to do this—hopefully without making an utter fool of herself. Provided she could recall the mechanics of a highly embarrassing sex-ed session with her roommates that had involved rolling a condom onto a dildo. She rose to her knees, positioned the condom on the tip of his erect cock, and slowly rolled it down his length.

His low drawn-out groan was all the evidence she needed to confirm she’d done it right so far as pleasuring your partner while you attended to practicalities went. Buoyed by her success, she lay back atop his t-shirt and beckoned in what she hoped was a seductive way. “Your move.”

He knelt between her thighs. She shivered, eager and just a little fearful she would disappoint him.

He blanketed her with his body, letting her feel how much he wanted her. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured. “I would die rather than hurt you, Opal. Please let me make this good for you. Please.”

Her answering, “I’m not afraid,” was a barely-voiced whisper, and then he was levering himself up onto one elbow, positioning his cock at her entrance… and the blunt head was nudging her folds, parting them, pushing inside her. And though he was big and thick enough that he had to push slowly, carefully inside her, she was oh-so ready that there was no pain. And it was good—so very good—that by the time he’d seated himself to the balls she could feel that delicious, inexorable pressure building inside her a second time.

“Patience,” he said, and she swore she heard a smile in his voice. “There is no need to hurry.”

That wasn’t what her body was saying. No, it was saying things like “Move, damn you!” and “I want it hard and fast and now!” and she couldn’t help it; she dug her heels into the concrete surface, arched her back and thrust her hips to try and keep him inside her as he started to withdraw.

He hooked her left thigh about his hips, and then her right. “Trust me to make this good for you, Opal. Please. Trust me.”

“I do,” she whispered, and it was true. She did trust him. So she let him ease her down, let him take control and set the pace.

He started with long, slow thrusts that she thought would drive her insane… until he increased the pace, driving into her over and over. And then all logical thought fled as he propped himself on one elbow, leaving a hand free to stroke and flick her clit, and she understood what it truly meant to be driven mad by a man who knew
exactly
how to make the woman beneath him writhe and moan and shiver.

“Danbur, God!” He swallowed her cry with a deep, openmouthed kiss, and she was dimly grateful for that or doubtless there would be neighbors—or worse, Peter—running out to investigate the racket.

Another stroke, and another. One more, hard and deep. The chords of his neck distended as he full-body shuddered.

She had time to think,
Wow. That was… wow
, before he rolled to the side and scooped her into his arms, protecting her from the night’s chill.

She lay there on her neighbor’s porch, nuzzling the hollow of Danbur’s throat, naked and exposed to anyone who cared to investigate the shadows. And although it was a risky place to linger, she’d never felt more content. She inhaled, drawing the spicy-soapy quintessentially male fragrance of him deep into her lungs. And when she exhaled, her eyelids drifted ever so slowly shut.

She was almost asleep when Danbur moved away, but she barely had the energy to murmur a protest. She heard the scrape of clothing and guessed he was pulling on his pants. It occurred to her that she should get dressed, too, but then Danbur was scooping her into his arms and carrying her somewhere. And she didn’t care where because she trusted him, knew he would take care of her… and Sera, too. And so when sleep pounced she didn’t fight it.

Green
Lane
? Really? The street was hardly what Magda would call a “lane”. She pulled up to the opposite curb to park, and cast a critical gaze over the tidy townhome with its neatly mowed lawns and the modest garden dominated by a beautifully gnarled old tree.

Okay, so the suburb wasn’t what you’d call elite, but the girl wasn’t living in a dump.

She glimpsed movement and slid her sunglasses down her nose to squint at the duo rounding the corner.

A young woman. Blonde. Early twenties. Tall and slim. Great body. She held the hand of a kid dressed all in pink, sporting a Day-Glo-pink backpack. They’d obviously come straight from school.

The woman cocked her head to listen to something the kid was saying, and then she smiled….

A frisson skated down Magda’s spine. Past collided with present, superimposing a younger version of the woman, head thrown back and mouth wide with unselfconscious laughter, overtop the present-day one. And damned if Magda’s palms didn’t start to sweat.

It was
her
. Jordan Cast. And even in that appalling overall she looked like a million bucks.

Magda reached for the car door to act upon her first instinct, which was to teeter across the street as fast as her six-inch heels would allow, and launch into her proposition. Something held her back.

Her PA, Emilie, had had to jump through hoops to unearth this address. Jordan hadn’t made it easy. She’d changed her name, dropped off the grid, and had no social media footprint to speak of. She obviously hadn’t wanted to be found, and odds were high she wouldn’t be happy her past was catching up with her.

Best to take a moment and scope out the situation. Information was power, and Magda would embrace anything that gave her the upper hand—even if it meant par-broiling for a few more minutes in this ghastly rental sedan.

She relaxed against the seatback and fixed her attention on the kid.

It was hard not to be distracted by the little girl’s outrageously red, out-of-control hair. Hair
that
shade on a kid
that
young had to be natural. And that very red hair paired with all those shades of pink was enough to make any fashionista want to scrub her eyeballs. But then, as the duo drew opposite the car and Magda got a closer look at them, her analytic brain kicked in.

God, it was plain as the patrician nose on Magda’s expertly made-up face. She only had to look at the bone structure and physique, certain mannerisms.

Jordan Cast wasn’t playing nanny for someone else’s kid. She had a daughter.

Magda didn’t know much about kids but this one looked older than five. Nearer, say, ten. Maybe eight or nine? Hmmm. That could fit the rumor Emilie had unearthed. An unplanned teen pregnancy might explain why Jordan had turned her back on a career that had been poised to go stratospheric given she’d just been offered the Vonette exclusive.

Magda tapped a fingernail on her bottom lip. She’d give her favorite Jimmy Choo wedges to know who the kid’s father was. But that was a mystery for the über-efficient Emilie to solve another day. First things first.

She watched the duo meander up the path. And frowned when they veered toward the neighboring house, a shabby townhome that needed some TLC. Among other things. Such as an urgent garden makeover. Magda squinted at her organizer. Ah. She’d been spying on the wrong house. Well, then. With any luck, Jordan—