Sex and the Psychic Witch (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-nine

AT his grandson’s bald question, King swallowed his tongue and coughed up a fur ball, at least that’s how he felt.

Morgan and Aiden grinned like baboons.

The triplets were going swimming . . . in the beautiful, beautiful buff. And
they
were nearly as pleased as King and his friends were. Well, at least he was cool with the idea—well,
hot
with it, actually—though he was only hot because Harmony was doing it.

Damned if he didn’t want to get naked and swim with her. Not too smart after her symbolic key, and their night of glorious sex, during which he’d lost all control, which he hated more than, well, coughing up a fur ball.

Nevertheless, last night had been the best, and scariest, sex ever. It was out of body scary. I want
more
scary. I can’t live
without
her scary. And who could blame him? Any man who had sex with the Orgasmatron would be turned on, and scared, except that he didn’t want any other man having sex with her.

Harmony Cartwright had perfected the art of the multiple orgasm. She took charge and rode the big
O
into extended multiples, times infinity, one after another. He should be wearing slings and bandages, after last night. What a workout. Good thing he was already using a cane. He ached everywhere: in his back, his arms, and especially in his contented cock. Except it wasn’t that contented anymore, with the naked swimming and all.

She’d ridden him hard all night, and he was ready to do her again. Go figure. More than ready, because, well, she’d inspired, manipulated, choreographed . . .
his
first multiple orgasm. Okay, only two in a row, but he’d nearly died of rapture. Damned if he hadn’t wanted more . . . until that emotional commitment key thing, a gift he didn’t have the guts to use.

Some pleasures in life weren’t good for you, and he guessed Hellcat Harmony was one of them.

“Dad,” Reggie said, pulling him back to his surroundings.

“You rang?”

“Jake and I are going upstairs to take our own ritual baths. Harmony gave me some of the eucalyptus, lemon-grass, rosemary, and lavender oil she and her sisters are going to put on before their swim. After that, Jake and I are taking a nap . . . a
long
nap.”

“I think that’s a very good idea,” King said as he watched them go.

When he turned back to the room, he saw Harmony watching him, as if she could peel away his layers to reveal his secrets. He wasn’t fond of that probing, intrusive look of hers. But, great guns, was he fond of
her
.

“Let’s go undress,” she told her sisters, while she watched him. “We’ve got a bonfire and a ritual to prepare for.”

King shook his head. “Shouldn’t you conserve your energy for a ritual?”

Harmony tilted her head, as if she were about to impart a great secret. “Certain . . . sensual . . . exercises . . .
increase
our power.”

“Then you must be pretty damned powerful.” The echo of his words mocked him. Good thing Reggie and Jake had gone up.

Eighteen minutes later, the gorgeous, sexy, unselfconscious trio came downstairs wearing identical short black lace beach robes . . . and what—if anything—beneath them?

After the girls crossed the kitchen to go out the back door to the beach, Morgan and Aiden rushed to the kitchen window, and King limped sedately behind. “Did they make it to the beach yet?”

“Not yet,” Morgan said, his face plastered to the glass.

King looked down his nose at their hormonal-teen-type snooping, and yet, he was going to join them. He turned to go back into the great hall. “We can get closer and see better from the old tower,” he called from behind the stairs. “Beat you up there.”

“No fair,” Aiden called as the goofs went running up the stairs, “we don’t remember the way.”

King hit the Up button on the elevator.

When Aiden and Morgan got to the tower, trying to catch their breaths, he had already opened the shutters and casement. “Two grown men racing up the stairs to play Peeping Tom,” he said.

Aiden chuckled. “The way I see it, we’re three sexually healthy adult males, watching three sexually healthy adult females, who invited us to watch. There go the robes.”

“Now that’s what I call a sand-witch,” King said. “Must be why my mouth is watering.”

Morgan clapped a hand to his chest. “They’re spreading oil on each other. I think I’m having a heart attack.”

Aiden looked to the heavens as if in thanks. “Life doesn’t get any better than this.”

Morgan scoffed. “Sure it does.
We
get to spread the oil on them.”

“Then they spread it on us,” King said, fueling the fantasy.

Aiden lit up. “You think it’s
edible
oil?”

Morgan barked a laugh.

“We’re sick bastards,” King said, transfixed by the sight. “Look at them, three stunning, voluptuous mermaids, symbols of feminine sexuality, stars of the sea, returning to the place of their birth.”

“The mermaid,” Aiden said, “is the siren whose irresistible call leads men to their doom.”

Morgan shook his head. “Not really. The mermaid as siren is only an ancient myth, though her lure
is
powerful.”

King gaped. “They teach you that at the seminary?”

“Aren’t mermaids a link between passion and destruction?” Aiden asked.

“Then give me passion,” King said.

Aiden nodded. “And give me destruction.”

“Hey how did we get on a mermaid kick? Oh, yeah,” Morgan said. “King started it.”

“Pretty poetic for a straitlaced brass ass.” Aiden slapped him on the back. “Are you converting, King?”

“To what? Witchcraft?”

“No,” Aiden said. “Humanity. Are you growing a heart?”

King nodded toward the girls, up to their beautiful asses in water. “
She
wants me to.”

“Fancy that,” Aiden said. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Didn’t you pay your penance yet, King?” Morgan asked. “About time you got a life, don’t you think?”

“Son of a bitch. That’s the third time I’ve heard that this week.”

“I rest my case.” Morgan leaned out the window. “Third time’s the charm.”

“Let’s mosey on out there and sit on the beach,” Aiden suggested.

“Who are you, Doc Holliday? Mosey?” King shook his head.

“Oh come on,” Aiden said. “You know you want to go down there as much as I do.”

“I don’t know,” Morgan admitted. “You know the witch everybody else thinks is the gentle and quiet Pollyanna?”

“The one you call a bitch,” Aiden said.

“Yeah, her. She looks me in the eye, and I shut down.”

“Sexually?” King asked.

Morgan blew out a breath. “I’d probably be better off. No, my brain shuts down and I stand there dumb as a rock. And my cock, well, that’s like a rock, too.”

Aiden looked confused. “How can she scare you, if you don’t believe in the paranormal?”

“It’s not the witch that scares me, but damned if I know what does. She’s the most mysterious of the three, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” King said. “But Harmony’s the most open. Too open, I think. Scary open.”

“’Cause you could fall in, huh?” Aiden kept an eye on the girls. “Storm, she’s the rebel. I could really get into rebels.”

Morgan elbowed him. “Cut the crap. You already have.”

“I wish.” Aiden paled. “Did you forget about the islands?”

Morgan shook his head. “That was more than a year ago.
You
turning celibate on us now?”

“He’s right,” King said. “You gotta let the beast out of his cage. You won’t find a woman more open to adventure than Storm.”

Aiden nodded. “I’ve been thinking along the same lines lately.”

“Think harder,” Morgan said.

Aiden winced. “Couldn’t get any harder.”

The girls’ laughter caught their attention, the sound sluicing over King like cool air on a warm day, except that it raised his body temperature instead of cooling it.

Morgan did a double take and gave his full attention to the scene on the beach. “Guys, Harmony’s waving us down. Let’s go.”

Chapter Forty

KING stood there alone, for some time after Aiden and Morgan left to go down to the beach and ogle the mermaids, and he wondered how long he could keep the construction on the castle going so as to keep Harmony around.

If construction stayed on target, he’d lose her.

If it took too long, he’d lose his buyer.

If he sold the place, he’d break his daughter’s heart.

He closed the window and latched the shutters. If the mermaids
were
witches,
real
witches, and if they did get Gussie the hell out, Harmony would have no more reason to stay. Talk about a case of good news/bad news.

Ten minutes later, like perverts fresh out of peep school, King and his friends sat in the sand beside the girls’ lace robes and watched like drooling goobers as the sexpots frolicked in the water.

“They do look like mermaids,” Aiden said.

Morgan laughed. “Aiden, you got a little drool on your shirt.”

“Come on in,” Storm called.

Aiden cupped his hand around his mouth. “What?”

“Join us . . . in the water.”

Aiden shot to his feet.

King threw a handful of sand at his horn-dog ass. “Hey, Rover, try not to sit up and beg.”

Morgan grabbed Aiden’s shirttail. “You’re
not
gonna let them see how eager you are.”

“The hell I’m not.” Aiden slipped off his shirt, ran and dove in, pants and all.

Storm screamed when he came up beside her and pushed her under; then she shot out of the water and returned the compliment. They swam away from the pack, around an outcropping of rocks to the left, and into a world of their own.

“I always admired Aiden’s up-for-anything-attitude,” King said.

“I admire it so much, I’m going in, too.” Morgan walked into the water, removing his shirt and tossing it toward shore, but it drifted out to sea.

King chuckled.

Morgan gravitated toward Destiny, despite his dumb-as-a-rock fear, and the two of them treaded water as they talked and left Harmony to her own devices.

King felt like a loser until she swam his way. Maybe she’d walk out of the receding sea like a nymph, lure him to the tower, and ravage him. A pretty scary thought when you figure where the toy room and parlor car got them.

Harmony stood in the water, her perfect body glistening from the sea, her sun-kissed hair riding her shoulders and partially covering one breast. One. The other, a testament to perfection, with its wide, dark aureoles, became the focus of his heated attention.

With his blood running south and his heart in his dry mouth, King stood and shed every stitch while she watched. He used his cane to walk into the water, and when he got deep enough to swim, he threw the cane to the sand with a better pitch than Morgan. He wouldn’t need it later. Harmony would help him walk back to the beach.

As he swam toward her, she backed away, leading him like a siren toward the right and away from Destiny and Morgan.

When he got close enough to touch her, his mermaid dove into the water and disappeared.

Like a goddess, she rose to stand beside kissing rock, of all places, waiting for him until she disappeared behind it.

The space between kissing rock and the next outgrowth formed a small entry into an area that had always reminded him of a private lagoon. There he found Harmony floating toward the mouth of the magick water cave—or so he’d dubbed it as a kid—a seductive mermaid awaiting, no,
inviting
ravishment. Or was she waiting to lure him to some dark, underwater doom?

She tossed back her hair, revealing her glistening breasts, her nipples pebbled with dew and arousal. The salacious sea licked at the triangle of blonde curls between her legs, washing away the sand as if preparing her for his invasion, while she looked as if she felt every pleasurable sea stroke.

Harmony—the goddess of magick who’d invaded his life and invited him with sultry looks to invade her body.

When he reached her, King hovered over her, his legs floating while he held himself over her, skimming her with his body, her hair making slick waves in the wet sand beneath her head. His ready rod probed at her flowering center.

The sun warming his back, his heart beating like a drum, he slipped into her hot, slick core. She arched to pull him deeper, and he buried himself to the hilt.

He stopped to appreciate the amazing experience of her pulsing around him, milking him with her greedy muscles, a feminine magick he’d never experienced or never took the time to notice and savor until Harmony.

Every pulse of her womb shot darts of pleasure to every remote region of his body, even his heart. At the insight, King nearly pulled out, but he couldn’t tear himself away. Couldn’t bear the shock of separation.

Again she arched, their eyes meeting, her look pleading. And after he pulled back, almost, almost all the way, he buried himself again, deep and hard, and she smiled, closed her eyes, and sighed.

He tried to make peace with the degree of heightened sexual energy this woman provoked, his every nerve ending scraped raw, but she wrapped her legs around him and claimed him, and there was no more thinking for him. Then she clawed her fingernails down his back, branding him, enlarging his rod, expanding his capacity for pleasure and his awareness of the woman who inspired it.

Sex for sport no longer seemed enough.

The hellcat drew in her claws and cupped his balls, easy—praise be—but unmerciful in her frenzy to give and receive pleasure. When she stroked him deep at his root, she made him thicker and heavier, but he stubbornly clung to rising pleasure.

She bit his nipple, and he snapped.

Unable to stay the course, he rode her mercilessly, while she wanted harder, deeper, faster. She said she wanted pleasure to lift them from the sea and carry them so close to the sun they’d burn . . . and, by God, it did!

He buried his shout in their kiss and swallowed hers whole.

A series of tiny tremors, small waves of ecstasy, remnants of quiet rapture and unquiet satisfaction, stayed with him as King lay entwined with his mermaid, the water lapping lower along their torsos, causing a pleasant stir against his sensitive nerve endings. He rinsed her mound with seawater, and dusted the sand from his hands before he found her center, stroked her, and raised her up again, and when she took his comatose rod in her hand, and rinsed him of sand as well, he rose like Lazarus from the dead, and they did the dance again.

Nothing slow, just a mind-shattering bliss that came and went as fast as a jet through the sky. A minute later, she fell back to catch her breath. “That was some itch, Paxton, or was it an urge?”

“More than that,” he admitted, against his better judgment.

“Ah, well, good sex then, if a bit sandy now and again.”

“A notch better than sex, I think.”

Harmony raised her head. “Not lust? It couldn’t have been lust. That’s rather intimate. Scary intimate,” she added. “Your words.”

“I might have a problem,” he said.

She rolled to her side to face him and give him her full attention, eyes bright, her head in her hand. “Do tell.”

“I think it might’ve been passion.”

“Whoa. Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you feel a partner-focused short-term-commitment type passion . . . for me?”

“Well, I don’t feel it for your sisters, and you
are
three peas from the same pod—”

“Technically no. We’re not. See the first pod split, and I grew in one half. Then the other half split, but didn’t separate, so Des and Storm grew in the other half.”

“
That
would explain why I’m not attracted to them,” King said. “They
are
different. Maybe it
was
just an itch.”

Harmony rose like a furious sea nymph and kicked wet sand in his face! “Thickheaded dumb-ass jerk! Scratch your own itch from now on!”