Water Witch (12 page)

He let out a long regret-filled sigh near my ear. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Something about it made me laugh. “So go,” I chuckled.

“I—Okay…”

“What? Is something wrong?” I clasped my hands around him, not wanting him to leave my embrace.

“I don’t want to leave or…stop touching you.”

A sliver of worry snaked through me.
This isn’t normal.
“I don’t either.” I whispered, and hoped he had an explanation.

“We’ve been in bed too long. Let’s get up. I should put more wood on the fires.”

“Okay.” That wasn’t really an explanation, and he was obviously a little concerned. I forced myself to let him go, which he did slowly enough to prove it was hard for him.

When he returned from the bathroom, he slipped a thick tunic over his head—deep orange and embroidered with swirling gold lines—it skimmed his calves and covered his wrists. He threw another at me, a teal blue one, with beads stitched on randomly like tiny stars, or maybe scales. I put it on and walked to him, pulling him into a hug.

“No more, my love. Not now.” He pushed me aside gently, with sad eyes. “We can’t.”

“What is going on?”

“We are meant to be, Vincenzo. We are mates. We’ve discussed this already.”

“But what does that have to do with this? This feeling when I touch you?” I lowered my brows at his bland expression. “Tell me everything you know. Enough with the cryptic answers.”

He sighed and nodded. “All right. Here, wear these. It’s cold downstairs.” He handed me a pair of sheepskin slippers, the same as he wore, but newer. I put them on and followed him down to the living room.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

He started a fire in the large stone fireplace while I watched from his extremely comfortable armchair. No wonder he had smelled of woodsmoke. We’d been here two hours and he’d lit three fires. The long robe he wore hid his body, but when he stretched to place another log I watched the fabric strain over his back and I had to force myself to stay seated. I wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to slide together naked with him again.

He turned to me as if he’d felt my desire, and took a deep breath. “That should warm the house pretty well, let’s talk.”

I waited for him to sit. “What is going on, Salil? Explain everything.”

“If you accepted the concept of mates, this would be easier.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Try anyway.”

“I believe we have a bond, perhaps related to some shared lineage or perhaps designed by fate, I don’t know. My parents also shared such a connection. They explained it to me as a link, not essential, but pleasing enough to help cement the relationship and encourage them to stay together. They warned that it could be addictive, especially in the beginning, but that eventually we would build a tolerance. I know you don’t believe in it, love, but we are mates.”

“Build a tolerance? How?”

“Sex, I assume. Lots of sex.” His eyes danced and I laughed despite the situation.

“Why did you stop us, then? Why did we leave the bed?”

“Too much all at once is not good. We need to take breaks, let ourselves get used to the new connection, or we may become addicted. Have you eaten tonight? ”

Bond, connection, mates…all the language he was using felt scarily permanent. “Do you consider us mated already? What are you expecting?”

He looked away and I knew he was choosing his words carefully. “No. I don’t expect anything from you, no permanent commitments or strange rites. I would like to consider you my boyfriend, though. And I would appreciate it if you would no longer take lovers at your coven bonfires.” His cheeks flushed, and he frowned.

“I haven’t taken any lovers since I’ve been home.” And now that I thought of it, I wasn’t sure why. I’d had plenty of chances. But after that first night when he’d been watching me, it just felt wrong. “Except for you.”

He snapped his eyes to mine, studying me. “Truly?”

“I thought you knew everything.”

“You were right, we had no promises between us. After we parted I did not allow myself to watch you.”

“Can we go back to bed yet?”

He laughed and stood, shaking his head. “No. Let me get us something to eat.” He disappeared into the kitchen, and I stared at the fire, thinking. “Mates” was not something I believed in, even with the evidence, which I had to admit was rather compelling.

“You need any help?” I raised my voice so he’d hear me, though his talents at psychic listening were probably such that I could have whispered it.

“All set.” He called back, and I was reassured by the normalcy of his tone. Almost like he was a regular guy, not a Fae. Not my “mate.”

I caught a whiff of something cooking that smelled suspiciously like fish. I hoped he wasn’t going to serve me seafood. I realized I knew nothing about him, not what he ate, if he had any siblings or living relatives, not even how old he was. Well, I could keep my dick under control and talk to him a while. I should probably find out his last name, at least. That would be just the kind of thing my mom would ask and then be disappointed about me not knowing.

He came in and presented me with a plate, piled high with something that smelled fishy, a thick piece of bread, and a glass of water. “What is this?”
Please, Goddess, don’t tell me you’re a water Fae that eats fish.

“A seaweed omelet.” He smiled at me and left, returning with an identical plate, bread, and glass for himself.

I poked at the omelet while he wasn’t looking, found bits of onion, leafs of sea-vegetable, and chunks of cheese. It looked fish-free, so I risked a bite. “Wow, this is really good!”

“Thank you. It is better with mushrooms, but I had none.” He took a large bite and I was temporarily distracted by his strong jaw working, his eyes studying his plate, the long fingers wrapped around his fork.
Damn.
I shook myself back to reality.
Questions. Right.

“So, do you have any brothers or sisters?”

He smiled and drew his legs up onto the couch, the thick robe he wore covering his feet. “No. Just me. I have two cousins in India, and an aunt and uncle in France. Other than that, no relatives.”

“What is your last name?”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and I froze. “My last name is…a powerful piece of information. I trust you, but you don’t know enough to have that information yet. I am sorry.”

“Shit. I didn’t know that. Okay.” I took a large bite of the bread, which was grainy and slathered with a sweet butter.

“Do not be offended, my witch. I will tell you my name someday soon, just not tonight. Ask me something else, I am sure I can answer almost any other question you have.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

I nodded, happily surprised. I had been ready for him to say “two-hundred” or something freaky like that, but he was only two years older than me.

“What do you do all day?”

He cocked his head at me and smiled. “I make jewelry.”

“That’s your job?”

“I suppose it is. I make seashell jewelry and sell it to some stores in town. It does make me some money, though I have little need of it.”

“Why do you have little need of money?”

“I have plenty, from my parents, and my grandparents. And I live very simply. I buy firewood, and some food and clothing, a few necessities, but I have no car, or mortgage, or television, or telephone, or anything else that requires large sums of money to maintain.”

“Hmm.” I considered that. His lifestyle was fairly primitive. And though he was clean and healthy, and obviously well educated, it was a very different life than mine. How would we live together? I wasn’t ready to go off the grid for any length of time.

His lip twitched and I wondered if he’d been eavesdropping on my thoughts again. But he said nothing, just collected my plate and brought it into the kitchen. This time, I got up to help.

The kitchen was brighter than the living room, with a few hanging lanterns shining onto the counter. He scraped the crumbs from our plates into a small steel canister, and then rinsed them with a few pumps from the ancient sink. There didn’t seem to be anything else to be done, so I stood and watched him awkwardly as he rinsed and dried the enameled frying pan he’d used for our omelet. He must have cleaned as he cooked. Noni would’ve loved him.

Maybe it was the distraction of the environment, or the big cry I’d had that afternoon, but the thought of Noni didn’t upset me. It made me happy, in a wistful kind of way, and I let out a sigh.

Salil turned to me when he heard it, and then rushed to wrap me in his arms. “What is that look for?”

“Just thinking of my Noni.” He nodded and ran his hands up my back. Damn he felt good. “How did you get over your parents?”

Now it was his turn to sigh. “I was prepared. I knew they would die that day, I knew it for many years. I was still sad, but I wasn’t shocked.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say to that. How could someone grow up knowing the date their parents would die? “Do you know when you will die?”

“I suppose I could know, if I cared to look. When I foresaw my parents’ death, I was a very young boy. I didn’t know any better. That isn’t a mistake I would make as an adult.”

“Yeah, I can understand that.”

“Come sit with me?”

He took my hand and we went back to the living room, snuggling together on the couch. It took me very little time to decide I had no more questions, and we should really be kissing again. I straddled him and ran my fingers through his hair. I’d let my hair grow a bit since I’d been home, but it wasn’t anywhere near as long as Salil’s. He closed his eyes and let me play with him, like he trusted me completely. In the flickering light from the fire and the few small candles he’d placed on the end tables, his skin looked impossibly perfect.

“Does it bother you that I am not like you? You find my features too odd?”

“No! You’re beautiful. I wasn’t thinking that.”

He opened his eyes and smiled. “I had not read your thoughts, I just felt you studying me.”

“Well, does it bother you that I’m not Fae?”

“It pleases me. I enjoy your…earthiness.”

I laughed and kissed him. If he wanted earthiness, I could give him plenty. I took his hand and guided it to my ass, pressed his fingers into my crease, and kissed him as I urged him to finger me. His touch was tentative and gentle, and I arched into him to offer some encouragement. Still, his fingertips danced over my skin, teasing and sweet but not the kind of touch I expected after his dominant behavior earlier. I pulled back and noticed his deep blush.

“What’s wrong?” Was I being too aggressive? Was that a turn off to him?

“Nothing, I just…” He shifted his hips under me and closed his eyes. “I have no experience with that kind of thing, I don’t know— ”

“Wait. You are not telling me the guy who just held me down and sucked me like a Hoover is some kind of virgin?”

“I’m, well— Not exactly, but— ”

“Are you kidding me?” Maybe it was a bit insensitive of me to ask in such an incredulous tone, but I was shocked. When he frowned and blushed deeper, I felt horrible. “Oh, I’m sorry. Please don’t be upset. I just can’t believe you never, I mean, damn. So, what, you’ve never done anal, is that it?”

He still looked embarrassed, and said nothing.

“Salil. Don’t be like this. If you really think we’re mates you can tell me anything. I cried on your lap like a fucking baby today, man. You can tell me this.”

That earned me a little chuckle, and he looked up with some strength in his gaze. “All right. The most I’d ever done was…what we did in the water that day. Only, you know, not in the water. And kissing, of course. Nothing else. Until you.”

His discomfiture was strangely endearing. It was the first time he’d shown any insecurity, and though I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable, I liked seeing a more vulnerable side of him. “Well then, we have a lot of ground to cover, don’t we?” I took his hand again, and slipped his fingers into my mouth, coating them well. Then I returned them to my ass and nodded at him to put my spit to good use.

He did. Watching my face the whole time, and growing hard beneath his tunic. I gave him a good show, rocking on his finger and moaning softly. Truthfully, it did feel pretty good. He might be a virgin, but he’d definitely played with his own ass, he wasn’t fooling me.

I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “You do this to yourself sometimes?”

He buried his nose in my hair and whispered, “Yes. And I think of you.”

I laughed, throwing my head back. There was my brazen Fae. The embarrassed guy was cute, but this was way sexier. I reached down and rubbed him through the fabric. “You want to take this off? Maybe try something new?”

He thrust his finger in, at just the right angle, and I sucked in a breath. With his free hand he reached up and caressed my cheek, then twined his fingers through my hair and pulled me close to whisper in my ear again. “I want to try everything with you, my witch. And when I learn what pleases you best, I will make you scream for me again.” He sucked my earlobe into his mouth and added a second finger to my ass.

“Oh, Goddess.” If he could do this to me as an almost-virgin, what would he be like with some experience?

“Take that off.” He jerked his chin at the oversized tunic gathered in my hand. I pulled it over my head eagerly. “Up.” He commanded, and I smiled, moving off his lap, and off his fingers, to stand near him. He pulled his own tunic from his shoulders, and then seemed unsure what to do.

“How about the floor?” I pointed to the area in front of the fire, where the rug was flanked by two small chairs piled high with throw pillows. He glanced at the stairs, but nodded and pulled me to the rug. “We could go back to bed if you want.”

“No, this is perfect.” His arms wrapped around me and he bumped his forehead to mine. “Just…tell me what to do?”

I’d been with virgins before. My first time was with Bobby Morgan from the coven, and we’d both been virgins. And in college I had a few guys for whom I was the first. But never had I been with someone who had so little experience. And never someone who wanted to please me so badly. The combination had a lot of potential.

“Lay down, let me start us off.”

He nodded and stretched out on the thick rug, his cock long and stiff, arching to his belly button. I kissed it and licked the head, trying to coat it with as much fluid as possible. I’d be fine with just spit, I actually liked it that way. But I was used to Scott, and other humans, who usually insisted on a condom, and that offered a little extra lubrication.

When I had it dripping, I positioned myself over him and slowly worked him in. It went easily, he had loosened me up well and I was more than ready. His cock was perfect for me, not too thick, with a nice strong curve, but the real show was his face as he watched me lower myself. Goddess, he was gorgeous. And the way he studied me--as if he were learning what to do, how to move, what I liked - it was thrilling. I rolled my hips in a circle when I had him fully seated, and then I bounced on him, moving up until I hit just the right spot. Oh yes, he had the perfect curve. I let myself enjoy it, confident he would be happy with whatever I did. My knees slid over the carpet and I planted my hands on his chest to support myself.