WITCHCRAFT (A Paranormal Romance) (28 page)

Max wraps his hand around his manhood and pumps it a few times, trying get it even harder. “I'll go slow,” he says. “At first, at least,” he adds, a sly grin on his face. He places himself against her entrance, savoring her virginal heat before entering her and pushing past that last layer of skin.

Poppy gasps with the small jolt of pain, but then it subsides before Max has even pushed himself in all the way. By the time his balls gently tap at her ass cheeks, she's gripping Max's sheets and moaning loudly.

Her inner walls ripple and move with her moans, showing off her desire. Her muscles try to pull him in deeper. As Max pulls out, they protest.

He pushes it back in slowly, and pulls out again slowly. The third thrust is faster. Poppy screams as his cock hits her in just the right place, and Max does his best to do it again. His thumb rests on her clit between them, rubbing with each thrust, giving Poppy even more pleasure.

Her legs are wrapped around his hips. His hands are holding onto her hips tight, pulling her down onto his cock quickly. His balls are starting to tighten, and he know he'll cum soon.

That's when Poppy finally explodes, her orgasm filling the room with a shrill shriek and then panicked gasps. “Oh fuck, oh fuck! Don't stop Max!”

And he doesn't. He keeps fucking Poppy until he explodes deep within her and then, allowing the liquor to finally win over his body, he rolls over and passes out next to her. The last thing Max remembers is Poppy wrapping her arms around his chest and whispering, “It was better than I imagined.”

With a headache and drool on his pillow, Max slowly is brought back to the conscious world. Still laying down, he pulls his knees up to his chest to stretch his glutes, turning his head to look around the room. There, next to him, is Poppy, her makeup smeared but still beautiful.

“Morning, Rich Boy.”

His breath catches in his throat. Realizing with a sinking feeling in his stomach that his dream wasn't a dream at all. Poppy is laying next to him, one eye smeared with eyeliner, a sleepy smile on her face. She leans in and kisses him and a chill runs up his spine. The kiss feels nice, but it's wrong.

Poppy has always been more of a little sister to him. There's so many things keeping him from even considering her romantically. For one, she comes from a poor family and her parents hold his wealth against him. For another thing... she isn't Charlotte.

“Did we...?” He asks, too scared to finish the question he already knows the answer to. Poppy cocks her head to one side, her red hair falling in tangled waves down her back.

“Did we have sex?” She clarifies. “Yeah, we did. You were my first.”

Oh, God. I took her virginity and now I have to somehow explain to her that this wasn't ever meant to happen.
A bead of sweat slips down Max's forehead before dripping from his nose. Poppy watches him for a moment, suddenly realizing this won't be the happy moment she was hoping for. No, he's not going to suddenly want to date her.

“We don't have to be awkward about this,” she says. She smiles as casually as she can muster, hoping that it will fool Max.

“Okay,” he replies.

“I'm fine with taking our friendship to the next level, or not. It's like, whatever, right?” She says. He wishes he could give her what she wants, but he can't. He doesn't feel that way about her and never has. Max's heart sinks. How is he supposed to let this beautiful woman down?

“Poppy, look.” He stops and thinks, the pause long and awkward. He starts again. “Things with Charlotte are complicated but, you know. And you know that we probably can't ever work, since your family hates me.”

Max can't bear to look at her while he's crushing her heart in his own hands. Instead, he picks at his fingernails, and then at the callous on his palm from weight lifting. He hears her sniffle but still doesn't look up.

The bed shifts as Poppy stands up. She gulps down the bile in her throat, the taste of battery acid that always accompanies being let down. This taste is one she knows better than the taste of alcohol. “Hey, Rich Boy, that's fine. I meant that our next step could be like, friends with benefits or something. What did you think I meant?” She tries to choke out a laugh. It almost sounds convincing. “Anyway, I have work in a little bit, so I'm gonna go. Text me next time you're at the club.”

She covers her breasts and looks around the room before opening up Max's shirt drawer. “Gonna borrow one of these, okay?”

Max nods and looks away again as she slips his shirt on over her head. It swallows her, the bottom of the shirt going well past the bottom of her leather skirt. Glancing at her, Max catches her wiping away one tear and then fluffing out her red hair in the mirror.

“Later,” she says, sounding cheerful.
How does she manage to sound like that?

“Later.” His voice isn't much more than a whisper.

2

Charlotte has always been something of a health nut. Her meals are planned and her vitamins strict- a multi in the morning, plus a few extra vitamins that aren't covered in the multi. Gulping down the handful of pills with a mouth full of water, she leans over the sink as a wave of nausea hits her.

She's never enjoyed taking pills, but never has she had the sort of reaction she's been experiencing the past few days. It's not just the pills, either. Any time she eats anything she feels like she might throw up.

Breathing in a few deep breaths, she swipes her dark hair from her face, going to the bathroom to grab a bobby pin to secure it. Being sick is killing her motivation to work, and that just won't do.

Checking her reflection in the mirror, she sighs at the bags beneath her eyes and the new puffiness in her cheeks. 6 am is about the only time in the day that she has to herself. She's in pre-law, constantly busy with more hours of homework than there are in the day.

On top of that, her dad has been pushing her to go to India to study. Her father is an Indian businessman with his hands in almost any kind of business there is, but most of his money comes from the movie industry there. Since she wants to work as a lawyer for the entertainment industry, she has to admit that working with her dad would make her life a lot easier.

She wanted to be an actress when she was younger. Actually, she dreamed of dancing and singing in Bollywood films until she learned how dangerous acting in Bollywood can be for women. Their every move is scrutinized and politicized.

Her dad wanted her to do something that would be more respectable. He's seen too many actresses lose their career over one scandal. Lucky for him, she found her passion in law.

Pulling her hair up into a tight bun, Charlotte leans against the wall for support against her own tiredness. Her bones ache. She considers breakfast before leaving for class, but the thought alone makes her feel ill. Still, she grabs a string cheese and sticks it in her purse.

Another car is pulling out of the garage as she nears hers. Its windows roll down and reveal her dad, a cigarette in his mouth. His forehead is creased after years of worry and stress, but he's still a handsome old man.

“Bye, Daddy! Have a good day at work!” Charlotte only ever calls her father 'Daddy' when no one else is around to hear her. She loves him, but her reputation is important and doesn't have room for being a Daddy's girl.

He grunts and snuffs out his cigarette, a last waft of fragrant smoke trailing out his window. “Are you feeling any better yet, my daughter?”

Charlotte shakes her head, and then shrugs. “No, but it might be the flu. Mama thinks it might just be my period.”

“I don't want to hear about that!” Mr. Spencer gives Charlotte a severe look. Charlotte just laughs and waves him off. “Your mom wants you to be home tonight for dinner. Do you have any plans?”

Charlotte thinks for a second, her dark eyes looking to the sky. “No, I'm free. I have too much homework to go out anyway.”

Mr. Spencer beams at his daughter, proud as ever at her work ethic and drive. “Good,” he says, his accent thick. When he's working, Mr. Spencer hides his Indian accent. When he's home, he doesn't bother. The window rolls back up and he continues on his way to work as Charlotte gets into her car.

Suddenly ravenous, she opens up her string cheese and scarfs it down with a few more gulps from her water bottle while sitting at a light. She's still tired, but she's felt this way for weeks. Throughout high school, while on the soccer and debate team plus an hour of ballet after school, she learned to work through and with her tiredness.

This, though, is something else entirely. While sitting at a light, she decides to let her eyes close for just a moment. They burn when they're open, but they feel so much better when they're closed. Shifting in her seat, Charlotte gets comfortable.

A loud honk brings her back into the real world. Blushing hard, she rushes the rest of the way to school. The sudden adrenaline wakes her up, at least.

Charlotte's private college requires every student to take one economics course before they can graduate. Ever pragmatic, she decided to take it early. It's a boring class, but not hard. Unfortunately, the ease of the class and the dull monotonous voice of the teacher lulls Charlotte into a nap.

After a few moments with her head resting on her crossed arms, she hears someone in the table next to her opening a bag of chips. Charlotte is only mildly annoyed until she catches the scent of the sour cream and onion flavored potato chips. The revolting smell almost makes her gag.

Glaring at the girl who opened the bag, she flips her head over and tries to nap facing that way. The scent isn't too overpowering, but then someone in the row in front of her unwraps a ham sandwich.

Where do these people get off bringing food into class? Technically the teacher hasn't banned snacking but this is absurd!

Frustrated, Charlotte can't relax enough to nap for the rest of the class, which leaves her cranky as she leaves the class and heads to one of her law classes. Unfortunately, her head is throbbing, and even though she's only walking at a moderate pace she's breathing heavily. She almost feels like she's been running a mile.

When she finally arrives to the room for her next class, she leans against the door frame and tries to catch a few more gulps of air. A girl she went to high school with passes by her and glances at her. The girl does a double take and then walks up to Charlotte.

“Hey, are you okay?” She asks, her eyebrows knitting together with worry. “You're really pale. Do you need me to take you to the nurse?”

Irrationality kicking in, Charlotte swats the girl away. “No, I'm fine. Really. I just have a headache and I can't really catch my breath.”

“Have you eaten yet today? I have a bag of chips-”

“No!” Charlotte shouts, and then blushes. “Sorry, I think I might be feeling worse than I thought.”

The girl watches her for a moment before tucking her arm around Charlotte's back. “Come on, Charlotte.”

Grateful for the help, Charlotte allows the girl to help her down the hallway. She doesn't get more than a few feet, though, before Charlotte bends forward and spills the entire contents of her stomach.

“Introducing... Poppy! The party-girl waitress!”

Standing in front of her bathroom mirror, Poppy looks nothing like a party-girl right now. Mostly because her job doesn't allow heavy makeup, so she can't glam it up. Holding her brush in front of her mouth like a microphone, she waves her other hand toward an imagined crowd.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she rolls her eyes. “Boy, I still do this teenager act, huh?” She pouts for a second. “Maybe that's why Max isn't interested in me.” The thought stings, but it's not the worst thing she's told herself today. Her mind has been throwing insults at her non stop, calling her a whore and desperate.

Shrugging, she throws her brush onto the floor. It's not as if that's unusual for Poppy. She learned that from her mom. Bending over and opening the cabinet beneath the sink, she reaches past the pads and tampons to get her makeup bag. Her periods have never been regular, so they tend to go unused for months at a time.

“Now, how am I going to do my makeup so that I look professional for work, but sexy for the club later?” Dabbing some rose pink lipstick on her thin lips, she settles into her makeup routine. Thin black eyeliner, drawn out to a sharp cat eye look. Heavy mascara. Only enough foundation to cover her few blemishes.

It's been weeks since she's gone out dancing. It's not as if she's purposely stayed in, she just hasn't felt great and needed time to get over the whole Max thing. Even dancing isn't fun when all you see when you close your eyes is the face of the one man who's never been interested in you.

Poppy hasn't even spoken to Max since that night. She doesn't hate him. Not even a little bit. But she knows it will hurt too much to see him and think of that one night together, or how good he made her feel.

Throwing her work shirt on, she makes her face and tugs at the collar. It's tight and restricts her breasts, which are already sore. “I'm probably going to start my period,” she mumbles as she massages her chest. She reaches down to grab a pad to throw in her purse. This morning she realized she was spotting, and nearly ruined her favorite panties.

Poppy is about to head out the door before she realizes she has to pee... again. “What the hell,” she says with a groan, stomping back into her apartment.

Poppy works at a small Mexican diner called Comida Caliente. Jenne Brown is her manager and one of her closest friends.

“Thanks for coming in on such short notice,” Jenne says. She pulls her short hair back and clips it into place. “Brenda called out sick again. How are you feeling? You look a little pale.”

“I'm always pale,” Poppy answers.

“I mean, you don't even have your usual rosy cheeks.”

Pulling out her compact mirror, Poppy checks her face. Jenne isn't wrong. “I don't feel too bad, aside from a backache.”

“Alright well, as long as it's nothing contagious you can head out.” Jenne hands Poppy the board that has the names of the waitstaff over their sections. Poppy is serving the bar. “If you start feeling sick, come let me know.”

Poppy is feeling a little gross; she decides not to tell Jenne. She wants to go out clubbing tonight and needs the money from tips to make up for lost time buying shots. “Will do,” she says, waving to Jenne before heading out to serve her tables.

Her shift flies by quickly, even though she's dizzy and has to pee every five seconds. In the end she comes away with over one hundred dollars in tips, plenty to get her party on.

In the back room, she bumps into Jenne again. “You sure you're feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I'll be alright!” Poppy answers, smiling bright.

“You going out tonight?”

“Always!”

Jenne laughs. “Maybe I'll see you there. School has me so stressed, I need a break.”

Poppy nods. “Text me if you come by!”

Poppy leaves the break room and heads right to the bathroom. When she sits down, she feels a familiar wretched rumbling in her stomach and an awful clenching in her throat. As quickly as possible, she reaches next to the toilet and grabs the trash can. The strawberries she was craving earlier that day comes spilling out of her.

A strange feeling overcomes her, a niggling thought at the back of her mind. Is there a reason she's feeling like crap?

Paradise's floor is already full, even though it's still early. A pack of Poppy's friends have her surrounded, begging for details on the man who broke her heart enough to keep her away. She still feels sick but she dances to exorcise the demons of her depression.

Still, her stomach turns and flips, and she can't drink any alcohol. A few of her friends give her a weird look every time she orders a water or soda instead of martinis, but no one says a word. They're all wondering the same thought that came to Poppy in the bathroom. Maybe it's not a broken heart that has her down. Maybe it's something else entirely.