The Witch's Dream - A Love Letter to Paranormal Romance (Black Swan 2) (16 page)

As his hand started to massage the pressure of aching arousal he saw the wall beyond the foot of the bed begin to shimmer. Litha stepped out of a diaphanous light and walked forward to stand at the foot of the bed. She was a vision, wearing an old-fashioned white cotton nightgown, sleeveless and loose, with a low cut neckline revealing the swell and the sway of her unbound breasts. Even in the darkened room he could see how red her mouth was and he knew even without touching that her hair would feel like silk when he fisted it in his hands.

This dream was sexy. Sexy and romantic and there was something about having her stand there watching him caress himself that aroused him even more. On some level he knew that he moaned out loud in his sleep.

"Here," she said softly, "let me do that."

She raised the skirt of her nightgown above her knees so that it wouldn't catch and, never taking her eyes off him, started to climb onto the bed.

"I'm not interested in a relationship." His protest seemed somewhat compromised by the fact that he held an engorged penis in his hand. If he'd been awake, he would have been painfully self-conscious about that, but his dream self was not the least inhibited.

Kneeling on the bed next to him, she cocked her head to one side. "This isn't a relationship. It's a dream."

"It feels real."

"But it's not." Her gaze skimmed over Storm's exposed body appreciatively. When her eyes came back to his, she smiled. "You can be yourself. You can do what you truly want."

Without asking for permission she straddled him and then released the nightgown so that it drifted down and settled feather light on his legs. When she leaned toward him, he stared at the pendant that fell between her breasts and caught her rainstorm scent.

"Is this a dream spell? Are you using magicks on me, witch?"

She looked surprised and cocked her head to the side, studying him. "This is
your
magick, Storm. You called me from
my
sleep."

He considered that, assessing the odds and, oddly, coming to the conclusion that she could be telling the truth. "And you had to come?"

"No, of course not. It's my choice to be here." She looked down his body. "Were you thinking about me?" Gently, but insistently she moved his hand, replacing it with her own, wrapping around him. "Is this what you were thinking? Did you imagine my hand here instead of yours?"

His gaze darkened and his breath started to come faster. Seeing that he liked what she was doing, Litha leaned over him so that the loose neckline of her bodice drooped exposing her breasts to his view. His eyes locked on them like heat-seeking missiles.

She leaned even closer so that she could speak close to his ear, increasing the intimacy, and she felt his erection swell even bigger in her hand. "Beautiful knight. I love that you compelled me. You could have summoned anyone, but it was I you called to in your sleep. Would you rather I watched you?"

Storm was so switched on he thought he might come out of his own skin. He'd never been so hot. When the pad of her thumb skimmed up his engorged staff and began to massage vee just under the base of the head, he grabbed fistfuls of bedding with both hands, and gave a tight shake of his head in answer to her question. She smiled. Eyes never leaving his, she leaned down and lazily drew her tongue across the drops of precum that glistened in the darkness. His organ jerked in her hand and he let out a sound that was something between a moan and a shout.

He was too excited to continue to lie there passive. He had to touch her, had to feel in charge. He let go of the bedding, grabbed her face with both hands and pulled her red mouth into a possessive kiss, a kiss of claiming, one that said: "Mountains may crumble. Seas may go dry, but I will
never
let you go'."

His tongue invaded her mouth and then she was the one who was moaning. She let go of his cock so that she could lower herself and press her body where her hand had been. Her moans implied that her arousal was keeping pace with his own. Feeling the soft swells of her breasts and the vibration of her murmurs against his chest ratcheted his passion even higher. He was thinking he hadn't known that it was possible to want something so badly and, now that he did, he would never be the same.

When Litha pulled back from the kiss she was breathing hard. "Take what you want."

Suddenly he knew exactly what that was. He flipped her over so that she was under him, pulling her nightgown up as she curled her pretty legs around his waist. "Take what you want." Every repetition of that was said more urgently until his tachometer was on overload.

He sat up long enough to take the pretty white nightgown in both hands and jerk it open unceremoniously so that little pearl buttons went flying. For a split second he stared at the miracle of the woman who was laid before him, then he remembered it was just a dream.
Just a dream.

He lowered his body to hers and felt the dizzying rapture of skin on skin for the first time.
Perfect
. He wanted to slow things down, to savor touching her, feeling her. He wanted to learn her body slowly with hands and then slowly with his mouth, but his need was too far gone for that. The smoldering desire burst into hot flames and he was suddenly pushed to a frenzy by the demanding way the witch pressed her naked entrance against him.

When he pulled his hips back and drove into her she cried out in triumph and surprise. In response, he made a sound that was more animalistic than human. He didn't care. The only thing in the universe worth thinking about was the luscious witch who was writhing under him, chanting his Anglicized name in fevered whispers.

"Angel. Angel. Angel."

As their bodies moved together, she made him feel like his thrusts were heroic. She made him feel like he was the only man ever born who could make her ripple like a river. He wanted her to know that she was the
only
woman who could bring him out of a half-life haze and make him crazy for her.

In his dream Storm was so close to orgasm that he had taken a breath to yell out. Then he woke.

Both erection and dream dissipated almost instantly leaving him waking face down with his draw string pants around his knees and a draft of chilled morning air cooling his bare backside. He groaned, pulled a pillow under his face and muttered curses into the down. He stayed like that until he had to choose between moving his face away from the pillow or not breathing again.

After another moment's hesitation, he turned over on his back feeling empty, unsatisfied, disturbed, and inexplicably angry at Litha for reasons that were unclear even to him.

He couldn't deny that there was a part of him being held hostage by the green-eyed witch with her red, red lips and her, oh so feminine and romantic nightgown; just the kind of thing a fantasy was supposed to wear in a dream. But the other part of him was repulsed by the idea of being teased and manipulated by magicks. And what other explanation could there be for such an occurrence?

***

CHAPTER
10

After breakfast the next morning, Storm waited on the mezzanine catwalk so that he could catch Litha and talk to her before going into the War Room. When she came into sight, she saw that his gaze was fixed on her so she headed straight for him. His expression bore down on her like a thing with physical weight.

He didn't waste any time on salutations or other pleasantries, but spoke to her in a demanding tone like a man who was used to having his way. "I'd like to know your philosophy on witchcraft."

A telltale look of injury flickered across her face before she gathered her protections around her and laughed. "Well! Not exactly the way I had imagined this conversation might begin. Would you like that in ten words or less?"

"This is not a joke. Do you use witchcraft to manipulate?"

Litha was instantly serious, narrowing her eyes as her expression became guarded. "Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Storm?"

"That's Sir Storm. And answer the question," he demanded as his eyes moved downward of their own volition and locked on the pendant that fell between her breasts.

"That doesn't sound like a respectful request..." With effort he jerked his eyes back up to her face. "I will answer you for reasons that escape me at the moment, but I want you to know that I resent the implication. No. I do not use Craft to manipulate humans in any way, for any reason. Never have. Never will. Witches' honor."

Storm barked out a sarcastic laugh that was both rude and startling. "That's very funny. Witches have no honor."

"Really?" she asked. "I hope that's not true, but in my opinion, a man who would say such an ugly thing for no reason other than to hurt someone else isn't qualified to judge who does and does not have honor. In my opinion, such a person shouldn't be knighted, Mr. Storm." And with that she turned and walked away, leaving him standing there alone and wanting to argue some more.

Certainly that was a first. No one had ever accused Storm of being short on honor before. And questioning the worthiness of his knighthood was beyond outrageous. He was furious for a few seconds until he heard his own voice saying that maybe no one had ever questioned his knighthood because he'd never behaved like a lunatic before. What he had said was uncalled for. That led him to the next logical question which was, why did he do it?

And the inescapable answer was because he
had
wanted to hurt her. Again.
Deep and wide.

Sure as he was that he was losing it, he couldn't stop himself from pursuing her. He took three long strides and caught her arm.

"Tell me the truth, witch. Did you use a dream spell on me?"

Litha slowly turned, pulled her arm out of his grasp, and studied him a minute before answering. "Like I already told you..." Her gaze bore right through him saying, 'listen up because this part is important'. "...the magick was
yours
. Maybe you have some latent aptitude that's surfacing in reaction to being around me. That's all the truth I have for you.

"I will say this though." She stepped back far enough to let her eyes drift all the way down his body and back again. Slowly. "If
I
was casting a dream spell, it wouldn't be over nearly so fast and it certainly wouldn't leave us both so... unsatisfied." She drew the last word out until there was absolutely no mistaking her meaning.

He wanted to tell himself he was shocked, but he wasn't that good a liar. It
had
been real. At least in the sense that their psyches had shared an extra-body experience. Of course it wasn't as real as intimacy with actual bodies, but it was a whole hell of a lot more than fantasizing. And he was the one who had originated the encounter? Was that even possible or was she just fucking with him? Well, yes, she was fucking with him.
Wait. Had she just accused him of being a rookie witch and a ham handed lover who pulled the trigger prematurely?

"By the way," she continued, wrenching his attention back from his own reverie, "if you try it again you may not find me so cooperative. If I respond at all, it won't be so quickly. Or so sweetly." She punctuated that with a smile that was sweeter than sugar. He wanted to grab her with both hands and kiss that provocative, taunting smile off her face and replace it with an expression of desire - for him - like the one he had seen just before he woke up.

And wanting that so much made him even angrier. And more confused.

Storm didn't know if that was a threat, but at the least, proclaiming that she would not be quick, cooperative, or sweet sounded like a promise of retaliation. He stared dumbly while she turned and walked away...again... taking with her his gaze firmly riveted on the graceful roll her hips gave that pretty, dark print skirt. The fact that she was so calm, so unruffled and so in command somehow cranked his agitation higher which was a feat because, at the moment, he was pretty damn agitated.

He stood in the hallway not knowing what to do next. That had to be another first. He was wondering if that was what people mean by indecision. Uncertainty didn't sit well with him. He was very decided about the fact that he didn't like how indecision felt. At all.

When he arrived at the War Room a few minutes later, Litha was stirring coffee and chatting with Elora about what colors were best for nurseries. She studiously avoided acknowledging his presence for the rest of the day. Not so much as a glance. He knew because he rarely took his eyes away from her.

Litha was undeniably distracted, her attention divided between the meeting and the exchange she'd just had with Storm. She alternately scolded and berated herself for having gone and fallen for a tall, outrageously handsome knight without knowing anything about him. Other than that he was tall, outrageously handsome, and surrounded by a magnetic field that almost pulled her off her feet when in his presence. What she hadn't known about him were the little things like, for instance, that he was rude with a nasty mean streak, and, worse, clearly prejudiced toward witches.

Not to mention that he was way out of touch with his own feelings.
Fine, then. Let him just sit and stew in his own poisoned pile of denial. Alone!
Let him stay there until he figured out that he was on the wrong side of his own argument. She had never seen a man more in need of being put in time out.