Sex and the Psychic Witch (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-one

HARMONY gave the devil a run for his arousal, her every nerve ending near the surface. He turned her to liquid with nothing but the tremor beneath his fingertips. They drank from each other’s lips, hungry, greedy.

King traced the shape of her breasts beneath her shirt, above her bra, then he moved his hands for a slow, tantalizing ramble down her belly, and lower still, until he knelt and slid both hands up her legs beneath her skirt.

Harmony closed her eyes. “Yes, there,” she whispered, and she shuddered at his touch.

He stood, insinuating his leg between hers, pulled her against his heavy arousal, and she rode it, nothing between them but his zipper, her skirt, and a roaring of heat.

He pulled off her shirt and unhooked her tangerine bra. Her chilled breasts pebbled and ached as he kissed his way to a taut peak, nudging her charm bag aside. He took a nipple into his mouth, and pleasure radiated through her like sun rays on a summer day. She anticipated milking his cock the way he milked her lips, and she welcomed his greed with a spiraling of pleasure.

King raised his head to study her, his sex-drugged expression going from surprise to caution. “Lust,” he said. “This is lust, right?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Against the engine controls, he undid her skirt so a pillow of orange silk pooled at her feet. The air chilled the dampness on her panties as he knelt and shocked her by kissing that very spot. Her panties were gone in a blink, and King unfolded her to his gaze, tasting, licking, then working her with his tongue until she begged him to stop and begged for more.

He held her so she wouldn’t fall when she came, and did it again. The man had a tongue that deserved an attendance award. He suckled and licked her until she flew from her body and met the moon.

When she thought she might pass out, he slid up her bikinis, hooked her bra, got her down from the engine, and carried her to the parlor car.

She came out of her sexual haze when she saw that the dimly lit car had a bedroom with a four-poster dressed in bronze fringe and silk.

“Before you say a word. It’s a new mattress with the works.”

“You set me up? You seducer, you. You purchased that mattress with wicked intent.”

“And aren’t you deliriously happy about it?”

She rested her head against his chest and toyed with his breast pocket. “Why did I think I was seducing you?”

“On the outside, you were. On the inside . . .” He shrugged. “Wait till your skin touches those silk sheets.”

“How long have you been playing me?”

“Playing? Or playing?”

Harmony gave up the fight. She’d been reading his mind and playing to his fantasies, so she guessed they were even. “Never mind the sheets. Wait till my skin touches yours.”

His eyes twinkled. “I’m more than willing to give a skin-to-skin experiment the old scientific try.”

“Do you like the danger of getting caught?”

“No. I hated getting caught in the cavern. No, Sunshine. It’s the bod. Yours. There isn’t another that gets me so hot.” He set her down on the bed.

She jumped up. “Excuse me, but there are two bods
exactly
like mine.”

King’s head came up, alert, assessing, his brow furrowed. “I must be talking about the heart inside. Go figure. Never thought I’d recognize one.”

“Wha’d’ya know? The man’s got taste.”

He winked. “Let me taste some more.”

“Not yet,” she said, evading his grasp, spooked by his addiction to her three-of-a-kind body. “Let’s make it last. Let me play you a song.”

“Music isn’t what I’m in the mood for.”

Wearing only the tangerine bra and bikinis, she sat on the piano bench to play and sing “King of the Road.” She felt pretty much in control until King sat behind her and trapped her between his legs.

“Keep singing,” he whispered as his arms came around her, and he slipped a hand inside the front of her bikinis. “This is for you, Harmony. Nobody but you.”

She tried to continue singing and playing, but her fingers moved slower on the keys as her climax neared, and the lyrics disconnected from her brain. “Midnight train . . . third boxcar fifty cents . . . king of the—” She turned into his arms as she came, and she kissed him with the power of her climax.

He let her rest while he stroked that shivery spot at the base of her spine. “Ready for bed?” he asked against her brow.

Need purled through her. No man had ever worked so tirelessly for her pleasure. She slid a hand into his slacks, his eyes changing from whiskey, to honey, to caramel stirred by desire. “I’m hungry,” she said.

King groaned and laughed at the same time.

She savored the sound and went for his mouth, upper lip to lower, lower to upper, until he swept her from the piano bench, and anticipation, like a wash of healing crystals, twinkled and spiraled through her. He put her on the bed, his clothes gone in a blink. Hers went faster.

King rose over her, hard against soft, thick probing muscle against willing flesh, pulsing warm, a mating dance on silk, a new sensual high. Sex with King in a bed, at last. “The ceiling is clear,” she said.

“Observation dome.”

“Too bad we can’t see the stars.”

Chuckling, he began an erotic journey with his lips, beginning at her nape and working his way down, her senses swimming with mindless pleasure. She needed more from King than from any other man, and when she realized it, she tried to keep the need from overwhelming her. “Come inside me.”

He nipped at a breast, teased it with his tongue, and suckled her, and she came again, shocking them both.

“Scream your pleasure, Hellcat. I wanna hear you sing some more.”

He looked proud of his power as he teased her inner thigh, but she grabbed his shoulders and brought his to face hers. “If you don’t pluck me this blooming minute—”

He surged and filled her, stretching, invading, satisfying. Oh, good Goddess, the satisfaction. She raised herself to meet him, sighed, moaned, and sang her pleasure—“Alleluia!”—and wrapped her legs around him to keep him there. “Hard,” she said. “I want it hard.”

She came several roaring times as he rode her, her ecstasy blending into throaty, incoherent sounds of gratitude and appreciation.

“I can’t get enough,” he said. “This is crazy, but I can’t . . . get . . . enough!”

Feeling victorious, she watched him struggle to stay the course, but he lost the fight, and she rode his shuddering climax with him, one last amazing time, the stars flying about them, piercing and icy-hot.

Sated, satisfied, and elated, she kissed him wherever she could reach, his chest, his man nips, and finally his lips. She made love to his mouth, saddened by her all-consuming need for a man who could never be hers.

Despite her sorrow, she smiled at his attempts to get her beneath the covers. Once there, he entwined them like two halves of a Celtic puzzle ring.

“You were wonderful,” she said, floating in a sleepy haze, sated, and drifting . . . drifting . . .

As if a rug had been pulled out from under her, she opened her eyes. “Are we moving?”

“Not possible.” He pulled her close.

“King, we’re rolling.”

“Nope,” he said. “Teams of men have tried to move these cars. They won’t budge.” He closed his eyes.

“We’re buckled to the engine, right, to balance them on the opposing slopes?”

“Not necessary.”

“Gussie gets her energy from the sea, especially during storms like this.”

King opened his eyes. “Are we moving?”

“Dumb ass!”

She shoved him aside to get up, but the car hit something solid and threw her back on the bed. They lurched as wood splintered around them.

“We’re breaking through the door,” King said, climbing on top of her.

“Get off!” She shoved at him. “This is no time to get frisky!”

“I’m
protecting
you!”

Protection. Good idea. Harmony wove a protective sphere of bright white light around them, just before the bedposts snapped. The lace canopy fell, trapping them like flies in a spiderweb. Then the parlor car buckled, and the observation dome met the floor, pinning them in place—like flies under glass. Glass that didn’t break?

“Oomph.” Harmony fought for breath. “King, you’re putting too much weight on me.”

“The dome’s wearing my ass print. We’re meat in a dome-and-mattress sandwich, Sunshine.”

“I can’t believe the glass didn’t break,” she said.

“Strong,” he said in her ear, “forerunner to the glass used in airplane windshields.”

“Great.” Raindrops hit the dome as lightning lit the sky. “We’re halfway out the shed door, but we seem to be stuck,” she said.

“Can you see the damn stars now?” he snapped, but the moon shone in blessing and reassured her, until the shed door collapsed on top of them, like a coffin lid sealing them in darkness. She prayed:

 
“It’s okay,” King said. “Don’t be afraid. We’re not gonna run off a cliff. This is a sandy beach, and we’re bound to run out of track soon.”

“Thank the Goddess.”

“Is it high tide or low?” he asked.

“What?” Harmony felt stupid, dazed, and confused by the question.

“The track runs—ran—where the land met Marblehead. I’m sure the track that got flooded must be gone by now, but . . .”

Harmony tamped down her panic and called on her beliefs. “Ground yourself, King. Picture your feet in the sand, throwing roots deep into the earth. Don’t let go of the vision. Your roots will keep you in place, and your nervous energy will flow into them and strengthen them.”

“I’d eat a rubber chicken if it would stop this car.”

“That’s not belief,” Harmony snapped, “and desperation won’t help.” Their slow downhill roll seemed to come to a quiet end with little more than a shuffle of debris inside the car, but something pushed them backwards, hard, and the car teetered precariously, tilting almost on its side. “If we flipped like a pancake,” Harmony said, “we’d be able to get out from under the mattress.”

“And the box spring and bed frame,
if
we don’t break all our bones or drown.”

“Positive!” she snapped. “Speak and think positive!”

“This is no time to get hysterical.”

She grabbed him by the skin of his nonexistent collar and pulled his face to hers. “This may be our
last
chance to get hysterical.”

“Ow! Ouch! Sunshine, you’re digging your nails into my shoulder.”

She let go, and calmed. The car stopped moving. Her heart pounded in her ears. King’s heart pummeled her chest. “We’re safe,” she said, but the car began to rock almost immediately. It listed from side to side and lurched forward with a bounce.

“Oh joy!” King said, being positive in a mocking way. “It
is
high tide. The ocean’s trying to suck us in.”

Chapter Thirty-two

KING took steady breaths while the sea rocked them in that car like a maniac mother trying to shove pillows over their faces. Okay, he was losing it. He’d told Harmony not to be hysterical, but he was scared to death.

He calmed before he spoke. “Any other witchy ideas to get us out?”

“Sure, I’ll use the cell phone in my skin pocket. Oh no, I can’t. There’s no signal on this freaking island.” She shrieked fit to bust his eardrum. “Wait. I
can
call my sisters!”

“Don’t go bonkers on me. I’d rather die with a sane woman.”

“King, if we die,” she said, frighteningly sane all of a sudden, “let’s come back in our next life together, okay? We have unfinished business.”

She
was
losing it. “Okay,” he said. “It’s a date.” He kissed her brow. “I wouldn’t want to be in this spot with anyone else.”

“I feel the same way about you.”

This was more emotion than he liked. “About calling your sisters,” he said. “I don’t think it’ll work. The castle’s made of granite.”

“I already called them. We have a triplet-to-triplet telepathic communication system. They’re on their way.”

“Great guns, she’d
already
lost it.” She didn’t even realize that the sea was sucking them farther into its depths.

At the sound of voices, King looked up and hit his head on the dome.

Men shouted orders. Women screamed and wept.

“Told you. My panic woke Des before I called. Storm and Aiden heard the crash, but it took them a while to find the source. They went for the gardeners and were almost back when I connected with Des. My sisters are crying because they’re relieved we’re safe.”

“I won’t feel safe until we’re out of here.”

“Positive. Stay positive.”

“As positive as dying and reincarnating together? Right. Sorry. I’m the strong one. We’re safe.”

Harmony huffed. “Strong and humble. But, King, we’re about to get caught with our pants down, so that macho thing’s about to drown without us. It’s going down to the sea in ships . . . with your tight-ass rep.”

“Ah,” King said. “Something to live for.”

The sea carried them on a huge, rocking surge, and the men’s shouts became frantic.

“Are we floating?” Harmony asked.

“No,” King said, watching water bubble into the car along the breaks in the floor. “We’re sinking.”

“King? You should know that sex was never as good as it was with you.”

His panic receded. “You never do say the expected thing. It was the best sex I ever had, too, and I’ve never said those words before.”

“High praise.” She kissed him, and for his part, if he was going down with the parlor car, he wanted to go kissing Harmony.

The car rattled like when it crashed through the door, but it also heaved, groaned, and moved. Really moved.
Not
toward the sea, but away from it. “Thank God,” King said.

“We’re okay,” Harmony said. “They’re using pulleys and winches—is winch a word?—from the construction site to pull us from the water.”

“You got that from your sisters?”

“Des is trying to reassure me, keep me calm, but she’s giggling, so be ready for some teasing.”

He met her brow with his. “Great.”

Harmony started laughing, low at first, then with unbridled humor, until she could hardly breathe, and damned if it wasn’t contagious. A woman who could laugh at herself and make him laugh at himself . . . What kind of magick would she pull from her bag of tricks next?

While their rescuers pulled the parlor car wreck up the beach, the shed door slid off, and King felt as if his casket had been rescued from its vault. “Spotlights on the world,” he said. “I hope there’s a blanket over my ass.”

“Do you feel a breeze?”

“Nope, my butt’s still kissing the dome.”

“Hey, the storm’s over.”

“In more ways than one. When we get out of this, can you do something about Gussie? I don’t care how drastic. She’s gotta go.”

Harmony sighed. “That saves an argument. Glad I’m gonna live to appreciate it.”

“See any of our rescuers?”

Harmony stretched to peek beyond the side of his head. “Pretend . . . you’re a fish in an aquarium.”

He groaned. “Who’s peering in at us?”

“Everybody. The gardeners, Gilda and her husband. They’re waving, and they appear to be able to see us quite clearly.”

“How can you tell?”

“They’re all grinning. Did you
ever
see Gilda’s husband grin before?”

“Never.” King groaned again.

“Storm has her
snout
pressed to the glass like a Peeping Tom porker.”

“I heard that!”

“Then get us the hell out of here,” Harmony snapped.

“Ouch!” King felt a lessening of pressure and a fresh breeze. “I take it the dome’s coming off?”

“Inch by inch,” Harmony said. “Why? Did it hurt?”

“Only when it ripped my butt bandage off.”

Harmony snickered. “Thanks for climbing on top to protect me. Bet you never thought you’d get rescued sunny-side up.”

King gazed into her eyes. “I think I have the shape of you imprinted on my ha . . . happy man brain.” He’d nearly said
heart
. Must be a near-death thing. “Feels good to lift and turn my head,” he said. “Hey, I can flex my ass cheeks again . . . in public, of course, kind of like living my worst nightmare.”

“
We’re
living the nightmare,” his curvaceous mattress said, “but in my version, we die. Suck it up, McBulls-eye, and thank the stars you’re here to be humiliated.”

The dome fell to the sand beside them. More spotlights went on.

Their rescuers applauded.

“Way to go!” Storm yelled. “You nearly fucked yourselves to death.”