Your Magic or Mine? (29 page)

Without removing his hand, he lifted his body away, drew back from the kiss. She protested, raised up, tried to hold him until he said in a low, raspy voice, “Glori, look at me.”

She opened her eyes, stared into his. Only a thin rim of blue showed around a dark center.

“Glori, do you want this? Do you want me?”

There was an element in his tone she couldn’t identify, so she ignored it. Instead, she tried to comprehend his question. Didn’t he know every cell in her body was screaming for him? She did, however, have the answer. Her voice was scratchy like his when she said, “Yes, Marcus, I want you.”

Quickly he shifted to her side, sat up, tugged her panties down and off, and raising her skirt, bared her to his gaze.

Gloriana watched expressions of such wonder and possessiveness wash across his face that she felt no embarrassment. On the contrary, she trembled with longing for his touch. He stretched out his hand and cupped her again, sliding his fingers through her curls and along her sensitive folds. His caress only caused the ache between her legs to grow stronger, more insistent, and she squirmed against his fingers in hope of finding relief.

Her movement must have acted like a trigger, because he changed position to kneel between her legs, and tore at his clothing, finally pushed his trousers and underwear down.

Before she had more than a glimpse of his erection, he pulled her legs around his hips, leaned over her on stiff arms, and positioned himself at her entrance.

He locked gazes and asked again, “Do you want me, Glori?”

“Yes, Marcus, I want you.” As the words left her lips, she felt in her bones she’d given him the right answer. She was his.

He lowered his head and kissed her while he pushed into her, slowly, inexorably.

She arched to him, used her legs to pull him closer. She could feel herself stretching, but if there was pain, it was lost in the glorious wildfire rushing through her. Oh, yes, right here was where he was supposed to be.

When he was completely inside her, he drew back and looked into her eyes again.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he whispered in return.

Marcus stared into her darkened green eyes for a long moment. Satisfaction and exultation and lust raged through him. He was right where he needed to be, inside her. Where he was meant to be. She wanted him, and he was hers.

She was so scalding hot, so tight, so slick around his throbbing cock. Where she was meant to be. He wanted her, and she was his.

Being in her eradicated the excruciating torment in his chest that had brought him to his knees. But the pain had been replaced by something else—a want, a yearning, a need for release, for completion. He felt building within him the compulsion to move.

Control
. The word skittered through his heated brain and he acknowledged its worth. He had to be careful with her. It was her first time, after all.

Slowly, so slowly, he retreated. Slowly, ever so slowly, he advanced. Once. Twice.

On his third thrust, she crushed his coat lapels with her hands, dragged his lips down to hers, and used her legs to pull him into her—all the way.

She tightened the muscles surrounding him.

And his control disintegrated.

The world dissolved in a rush of fire and energy and magic as he thrust into her again and again, as she arched to him again and again. Faster and faster.

He broke the kiss—they had to breathe.

She moaned a “No-o-o-o,” and captured his mouth again.

Power intensified, built within him, raced between them, and finally burst in a simultaneous climax that lasted forever.

And ended in a sweet oblivion.

Marcus came to his senses lying on her, breathing like he’d run a marathon in a minute’s time, with the most marvelous euphoria he’d ever experienced. He was still inside her and could feel her aftershocks—small contractions that rippled through both of them. Heaven.

When his breathing slowed, he realized he must be crushing her and levered up on his elbows. She opened her eyes. When their gazes met, she had a dazed look. As he watched awareness return to her, he felt the world crash in on him.

Oh. My. God. What had they done? What had he done?

Gloriana blinked at the man above her. What was he doing up there? What was she doing down here on the floor? She frowned, searching her mind for memories.

He moved back, and she felt him pull out—
out
—of her body. He lowered her skirt, drew up his pants, zipped, and buckled. Before she could assimilate those facts, he said something. She had to concentrate hard to understand.

“I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened,” he said.

Sorry? What was he talking about? She pushed herself up on her elbows and looked down at her body, with her splayed legs and him kneeling between them. He retreated until she could bring her legs together and sit up.

“Holy …” she muttered. She didn’t raise her eyes to his, but she had to clear her throat before she could ask, “What happened? You were hurting, and I was rubbing your chest…”

“And you touched my center, and all hell broke loose,” he finished. “I couldn’t stop kissing you, and when our centers came together …”

“I couldn’t get close enough to you, and I wanted you badly …” Her voice quavered slightly on the last words. She could hardly believe she’d said them, but their truth vibrated through her.

“As I wanted you.”

She ran her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. She finally looked him in the eyes. His blue gaze was definitely warm, and some other emotion lurked behind the heat. He turned his head before she could identify it.

Memories came rushing back. “My mind simply shut down after that. I remember impressions of heat and magical power … and need … and then you were … and I was … ecstatic.”

“I managed to remember to ask you …” He sounded hesitant, unsure, not like himself at all.

“And I said yes,” she stated firmly, and he seemed to relax. She tugged her skirt down some more and shifted her legs underneath her.

He stood, seemed a little wobbly at first, but steadied and held out a hand to help her up.

Her knees shook as she rose, and he put his other hand on her arm until she said, “I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again after he let go of her. “I never meant for it to go this far.”

“Me, either.” She ran a hand through her hair again; the curls disobeyed her attempt to calm them.

She glanced down. What was that by her feet? Oh, no … She felt her face grow hot when she bent and picked up her panties—her white cotton bikini panties. Not exactly the sexiest things to be wearing to … to whatever that was. Damn, she had to get her mind working.

She looked up to see him staring at the panties with the oddest look—sort of a sexy longing, if that was possible. Wadding them into a ball in one hand, she put them behind her back.

“The imperative certainly upped the ante,” he said. “We have to talk about what happened.”

“You’re right.” She nodded and sighed. At least his mind seemed to be functioning. She, however, needed some space. “Give me a little time to myself first, please.”

He blinked at her for a few seconds, finally said, “Right. I’ll go over to my suite and be back in a few minutes. Is that okay?”

She nodded again and started for the bedroom.

“Take all the time you need.” He picked up her key card lying by her purse. “I’ll take this with me to get back in easily.”

“Fine.” She stopped in the doorway, looked back over her shoulder, and said, “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

She shut the door behind her and, eyes closed, leaned against it for a moment. Discombobulated and bewildered, that’s what she was. She opened her eyes and looked at the panties in her hand. Embarrassed, too. And something else … but what? No matter, she didn’t have time to think about it. She wanted a shower.

She threw the panties into her dirty-clothes drawer and quickly stripped. Leaving her clothes scattered on the bed, she walked into the bathroom. As she closed its door, she found herself face to face with her reflection. Her body didn’t appear different from the way it usually looked.

It certainly didn’t feel like her old one.

She felt somehow more alive, more vibrant, more …
something
. Until she finally looked into her own eyes in the mirror.

Satisfied, that was the “something.”
Satisfied
.

“Marcus.” When she said his name out loud, the satisfaction grew until she was literally tingling all over and almost dizzy. Her condition had to be similar to eating one of the more potent euphoria-producing plants.

She also felt sticky and sweaty. Muscles in unusual places ached, and even though they’d touched in only two places—very significant places—she could still smell him, even taste him.

First a tooth brushing, then a shower, that’s what she needed.

With the hot water beating on her, she washed thoroughly while her thoughts seemed to float—until she rubbed the soapy washcloth between her legs.

Oh. My. God
.

What had they done?

They’d mated!

No, no, no. Mating wasn’t possible. Practitioners were not capable of having sex with other practitioners—unless they were truly soul mates. It was the one true test of being soul mates. She and Marcus had agreed that particular test was too dangerous to try.

But they’d actually done
it
. They’d had successful sex. Oh, didn’t that change everything? What were they to do about their problem now? All their protestations and plans had been kicked into the next county.

So, what was she doing standing here? He’d be returning any minute.

She hurried to finish her shower and throw on clean underwear and the jeans and shirt she’d worn earlier. A brush through her hair did nothing to tame the wet curls; at least she wasn’t dripping. She slid her feet into her flip-flops and opened the bedroom door.

Wearing his afternoon clothes, Marcus was entering her suite. His blond hair was darker, still wet, so he must have showered, too.

They stared at each other for a long moment—until they each took a deep breath and broke the connection. She could feel her center humming.

They couldn’t stand there looking at each other all night. To get moving, she fell back on the manners her mother had drilled into her. She walked into the suite’s kitchen and said over her shoulder, “Have a seat. I’m going to have some water. Would you like something?”

“Water would be great.”

Pleased at her ability to sound normal when feeling the opposite, she took a couple of water bottles out of the fridge and filled glasses with ice. Thank goodness he hadn’t followed her into the small space. They didn’t need to be physically close to each other again.

He sat on the couch, and she placed the glasses and water on the coffee table. When she sat in a chair across from him, she almost gasped when certain muscles protested. They both opened the bottles, poured, and drank.

Gloriana put her glass down first and contemplated her strategy. Best to address the situation head-on, she decided. She propped her elbows on the chair arms and clasped her hands in front of her. When he had also placed his glass on the table, she looked straight at him and stated, “We have a problem. A big problem.”

He leaned back against the couch, his arms stretched out to either side along its back. His expression was grim, his gaze guarded, but his voice mild when he spoke. “If I understand correctly what happened, the imperative took over our minds and bodies and/or aroused us to the point that we became a man and a woman at their most primitive. We had no other thought or recourse except to have sex.”

Gloriana almost snorted. Wasn’t that exactly like a man, especially a professor? Reduce a totally emotional event to a cut-and-dried statement that didn’t even begin to consider the ramifications of the situation. Lulabelle had warned them about intellectualizing too much. Here was a perfect example.

“Wait a minute,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him from speaking. “That’s beside the point. The problem is that we had sex successfully.
We mated
. Therefore, we must be soul mates, and the imperative has
not
made a mistake.”

His mouth dropped open, his arms crossed in front of his chest, and he stared at her as though he’d been punched right in the stomach. His face went completely white.

“Do you have another explanation or theory?” she asked. “The rules say that a male and female practitioner who are not soul mates cannot consummate the union—they are not physically able. Period.
Having successful sex is The Big Test
. If the imperative was wrong about us being mates, as we’ve been thinking, we wouldn’t have been able to do it.”

He’d closed his mouth, still looking astounded and appalled. After several seconds, during which she could almost see him analyzing her words, looking for a way out, and finding none, he took a deep breath and spoke softly, “You may be right.”

Oh, wonderful. Denial. Not this time, buster. “What do you mean,
‘may be’?
Am I right or not?”

He grimaced and rubbed both hands up and down his face. “I’m not sure we should go that far. Nothing about the whole fiasco has made sense. It may still be the imperative dictating our actions.”

“That’s bull and you know it,” she said. “If we weren’t soul mates, we wouldn’t lose control like we did under the compulsion to mate. Maybe the imperative hasn’t been
forcing
us to do anything. It simply gave us a shove.”

“Some shove.” He crossed his arms again and pulled them tight to his body. “The entire situation is abhorrent to me. Not only am I involved in something I swore I would never be a party to, it’s making me into someone I don’t even recognize. I have never, ever lost control of myself like that. In my book, what I did to you was akin to rape. I apologize again for subjecting you to that experience.”

So, that was what he’d been afraid of. She’d let him off that hook, but not the other. “Marcus, that wasn’t rape. We both wanted it. Badly. Get that thought out of your head.”