Magic Gone Wild Page 8

  “Seems a shame to let all your hard work go to waste,” he whispered, trying to slow the pounding of blood through his veins.

  “W… waste?” She looked at him from beneath her lashes and licked her lips.

  He cradled her head in his palms and flicked the corner of her mouth with his thumbs to get her to open for him. She was so much smaller than him. So feminine. So utterly gorgeous. And if she licked her lips one more time, he wasn’t going to be responsible for his actions.

  As if she’d read his mind—and seconded it—Vana licked her bottom lip.

  Zane groaned and covered that moist, beckoning lip with his own, cupping her head with one hand and raking the other through her hair, then down, lower, over the tight mound of her ass. His fingers strayed, cupping her there, the sensation so much more vivid now that he didn’t have to worry about Merlin stopping them.

  She moaned into the kiss, and Zane forgot the damn bird and tugged her closer.

  God, what she did to him. Every tiny hitch of her breath was a gong crashing in his brain. The crush of her breasts against his chest, that thin fabric that hid nothing from him, especially the fact that she wore no bra, turned him on. He’d noticed in the garden that he was feeling all woman against him, and he wanted the chance to taste every inch of her. And he would, if only he could pull his lips from hers.

  He would.

  Soon.

  Her scent surrounded him, captivated him, spun a web around him better than those sheer curtains did as the bed rotated among them.

  He nipped her bottom lip, needing to mark her, if only a little, and she nipped him back, sliding her hands beneath his shirt, her fingernails scraping his back.

  Her fingers dipped below his waistband, brushing the sensitive skin above his ass, and Zane felt his knees tremble.

  Had to be some residual from the broken legs she’d fixed because no woman had ever buckled his knees. None. And certainly this small slip of a genie wouldn’t be the first.

  He shoved the genie thought out of his head. Right here, right now, she was a woman and he was a man, and the most elementary communication their species ever had was all they needed.

  He twisted a hank of her hair around his fist, tugging her head back at just the right angle to drop kisses along her jaw. She tried to turn her head, but her hair held her captive. He held her captive. He could take his time and explore every hollow and curve and scent and taste for as long as he wanted.

  And how he wanted…

  He traced the beating pulse from beneath her ear down along the column of her throat to the base of her neck. Over to the hollow, her collarbone so pronounced yet delicate that he had to nip at it gently.

  She gasped and her fingers clenched against him. God, what he wouldn’t give to be naked.

  And, hey, she was a genie.

  His genie.

  “I wish we were naked,” he muttered between kisses.

  It was amazing she heard him, his words were so thick with desire, but she did, and before he knew it, they were naked. Just like that. No fanfare, no sensation of clothes being ripped from his body—they’d explore that option later—but one wish and it’d come true.

  He put a knee on the bed, trapping her between it and his other leg, letting her feel everything that he felt and wanted from her. “Vana…” He groaned as her belly fluttered, stoking the rush of blood in his groin. “Tell me you want this.”

  She didn’t tell him; she showed him, pressing against him, breasts to thighs, and Zane hardened almost to the point of pain.

  It hadn’t been more than six months since he and Stephanie had cooled things off, but right now, he felt as if he had years’ worth of desire bursting to get out.

  Cupping her backside again, Zane lowered her to the bed. Rose petals mingled among the silky strands of her hair and slid across his fingertips.

  He grabbed a few and traced them over her skin, all the while laving kisses and licks along her collarbone and the valley between her breasts.

  She sighed and slid her arms free from beneath him to cradle his head when his tongue found her nipple.

  “Oh, yes,” she whispered, her sigh singing along his nerve endings.

  There was the permission he’d sought, as was the tight bud pebbling for him. He rolled his tongue around it, eliciting gasps from her with each circle. He sucked her then and her fingers gripped his hair, her pelvis matching the tugs he made, rising with each, then falling back when he released. Tiny, short movements, almost nonexistent, but Zane felt each one with every cell in his body.

  His erection was hard against her thigh, aching to be buried inside her, but Zane couldn’t go that fast. He wanted to draw this out, make it last. Give her the pleasure she wanted. That he wanted.

  His tongue slid down to dip into her belly button and her stomach fluttered. The musky scent of her arousal called him lower, but he took his time, exploring. Each flutter of her muscles deserved its own kiss, each ragged breath a long, drawn-out lick. She tasted of salt and roses, of mint and that special something that was all her, and Zane knew he’d never forget it.

  His teeth nipped at her hip bone, and his lips played along the concave recess below, drawing ever closer to the heart of his desire and hers.

  Her fingers slid to his hair and she widened her legs, and the soft curls there caressed his cheek as he placed a kiss right above where they both wanted him to be.

  “Zane, please.”

  “I will, sweetheart. I will.”

  He knelt on the floor by the bed and lifted her left leg over his shoulder, raining kisses from knee to the inner thigh. Her foot flexed against his back with each one.

  He turned to the other leg, repeating the same maddeningly slow, tantalizing trek upward again.

  She clasped the sheets and crumbled the rose petals, which only released their oils, and the scent turned him on that much more.

  He had to taste her. Had to find the aching part of her to fill that ache inside of him.

  His lips feathered along her inner thigh, drifting ever closer, and she opened her legs wider. Pulsed down toward him, the sleek, aching part of her swollen for his pleasure.

  And he took it.

  Vana gasped when he touched her. Gods, the sensations. It’d been so long—too long—and this was beyond what she’d ever felt before with anyone. Including D’Artagnan.

  She clasped the sheets, crushing them in her grasp, her fingernails tearing through the delicate fabric. Each lap of his tongue made her catch her breath, each gentle rasp of his teeth making her tremble.

  She needed to touch him but couldn’t. All she could do was be a slave to her body as each wave of feeling grabbed her and swirled her around in a vortex of color blossoming behind her eyelids, the anticipation overpowering everything but the thunder of her heart in her ears, the magic whirling through her veins and racing along her nerve endings. She felt as if she could not only touch the stars, but create them, too.

  “Zane… I can’t…” She didn’t know what she couldn’t. All she knew was that if he ever stopped this, for even one tiny second, she’d fall apart.

  His tongue slid inside her, and Vana felt the end begin. Felt the first shudder wrack her body.

  He did it again and she moaned. Loud and keening. And she didn’t care. She pulsed against him, gasping when his fingers replaced his tongue, and she clenched around him.

  “That’s it, Vana. Come for me.”

  The candles flared and she could only thrash her head as his tongue once again worked its magic upon her.

  She came then, against his mouth, open and aching and holding nothing back. He wouldn’t let her; he was relentless in his pursuit of her pleasure, drawing out each wracking, shuddering tremor to its most painfully exquisite finale. Shimmering pink Glimmer rained down upon them until, at last, there was nothing left to give. Nothing left inside her but the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again.

  Vana caught her breath. What did that mean? What wouldn�
�t be? Why wouldn’t it?

  She struggled to clear her mind of the utterly sated sensual haze he’d created in her. She had to think. Had to figure this out.

  But then he moved over her, above her, as sleek as a panther and as determined as a man could be, kissing his way up her body, and desire rose up again inside of her. She’d think about it tomorrow.

  “I want you, Zane.” She kissed him, tasting herself and him and the rose petal he’d rubbed across her lips.

  “And you’ll have me,” he growled softly into her ear. “Where are the condoms?”

  She smiled against his cheek. “You’re with a genie. We don’t need condoms. Magic takes care of everything.”

  “Ah, God, I love magic.” He kissed her then, all tongue and lips and uninhibited desire.

  As his tongue slipped into her mouth, his erection slid inside her, the combination of the two invasions thrusting her right back into the throes of orgasm. She wrapped her legs around his waist and set a rhythm she hoped he could match, but really couldn’t worry about. She needed to feel him move, needed to wrap herself around him and accept whatever he wanted to give. She’d been so starved for human contact, mortal or djinn, that this… this was amazing. That it was him was beyond all her hopes and dreams and wishes.

  As Zane moved inside her, matching her rhythm, she knew she should be worried about that last thought… but he took her last thought.

  He pounded into her, the sweat on his back making her hands glide over his skin, seeking and grasping over the sleek, taut muscles there. She latched onto his firm, perfectly shaped butt to keep herself in place.

  “Yes, Vana… that’s it,” he huffed with labored breathing. “Touch me there, baby.”

  She kissed his throat, the muscles there straining as he thrust into her, then dragged her lips down over his hard, defined pecs, tasting him, savoring the scent of their lovemaking on his skin.

  “Oh god, Vana… Can’t hold on… Come with me…”

  She found his nipple then and flicked her tongue over it. He groaned, shuddering his release inside her.

  Vana felt every movement in slow motion, every contraction of her body, every surge of his, reveling in the utter connection she felt with him at this moment. One she’d never felt with anyone before. More than a little frightening, the realization was also utterly thrilling.

  At last he collapsed partly on top of her, the majority of his weight sinking into the mattress beside her, his breath warm on her shoulder.

  She turned her head. His blue eyes were barely open, the smile barely on his lips.

  But it was there.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, placing soft kisses along the curve of her shoulder until he couldn’t reach farther.

  She tilted her head and smiled when he kissed her cheek before burrowing into the curve of her neck. “I could stay like this forever,” he whispered.

  So could she.

  She stiffened. She actually could stay like this forever, but Zane… He had fifty, maybe sixty more years at best, but for her, eternity yawned out in an endless line. An eternity without this.

  Without him.

  The thought plagued her throughout the night in the sweet aftermath of each time they made love. She’d tried to forget it, tried to rationalize that it was just the sex talking, but every time he took her out of herself, every time they rode the wave together or they tried something new/different/exciting/poignant, Vana knew that what she felt with Zane was way beyond what she’d ever thought she’d feel with and for anyone. The ramifications of that scared her.

  Forever.

  With Zane’s soft snore and warm breath on her cheek, Vana stared at the one candle still burning.

  She brushed her fingertips over the arm he’d wrapped around her, too softly to wake him but enough to feel the texture of his skin. Zane wasn’t like other people, mortal or otherwise. He’d held her hand when the fire had gotten out of control. He’d calmed her panic and, in doing so, had given her the means to get her magic back in sync. He’d noticed her and listened to her and had cared enough to help her. He’d thought about her. Had considered her feelings and given her a gift merely because it had meant something to her. He’d wanted her, and that all was a dangerous mix.

  She could get used to this. Get used to falling asleep next to him. Making love with him. Waking up with him for the rest of his days.

  But every day would bring her one day closer to losing him. One day closer to being alone with only the memories. One day closer to feeling that emotion she shouldn’t.

  But how in the stars was she going to prevent it? She knew herself; he’d gotten under her defenses as much as he’d gotten under her skin. She could put on a smile and pretend all she wanted that there wasn’t some deeper emotion fluttering around her heart, but she couldn’t lie to herself. He was so different from any of her other masters or men she’d met through the centuries that it wouldn’t take much to tip what she was feeling to the side of something she shouldn’t. And once that happened, well, she’d never been able to mask her feelings, a failing numerous masters had pointed out to her. And if she couldn’t hide it, he’d know, and then…

  And then she’d lose everything: her powers, her life, her family.

  All genies knew it was a risk to become involved with their masters. It was such an intimate relationship, being able to fill another’s deepest desires, and this had been the most intimate of all.

  She shouldn’t have let tonight happen. Regardless of wanting to prove herself to him, she should never have invited him back here. And she certainly shouldn’t have done this to the inside of her bottle. What had she been thinking?

  Okay, it was obvious what she’d been thinking, but that had been her subconscious. Which made this attraction way too dangerous if her subconscious could override her common sense and self-preservation.

  If only she could turn back the clock and make it so that it’d never happened—well, to him. She would always remember, but it would just be a reminder of what couldn’t happen.

  But, the irony was, she couldn’t turn back time. Not for this. Because a genie could do something to her master’s person only with his express wish. He’d never agree to her wiping this from his memory, and what was the point of undoing it if she didn’t undo the memory as well?

  He murmured something, his breath tickling her, and Vana scooted away from him. It wasn’t the best idea to stay snuggled up in his warmth, surrounded by his scent, his breath, his touch. It brought on too many “what if” thoughts. Too many dreams and wishes she shouldn’t have.

  With a pit in her stomach, Vana slid farther away from him until she was perched on the edge of the mattress. There had to be some way out of this predicament. She couldn’t be the only genie who’d fallen for her master—

  There, she admitted it. She was falling for him. But she couldn’t be the only one. If only she knew what those others had done about it, but she couldn’t very well go on the Djinn Network and spout out that question or ask DeeDee. Oh, her sister would answer her; that wasn’t the problem. The problem was, she didn’t want to ask DeeDee about this. She didn’t want to have to go crawling to her sister yet again. DeeDee had always been there for her, helping, teaching, catching her when she metaphorically fell… But this kind of falling? No, Vana couldn’t ask DeeDee how to prevent becoming more of a failure in their parents’ eyes than she was right now.

  Besides, DeeDee was away at a study retreat, preparing for the biggest test of her life. So she’d have to consult the next best thing: DeeDee’s Djinnoire.

  Vana slid out from under the sheet and tucked it around Zane. His fingers clenched the spot where she’d just been, and she held her breath to see if he’d wake up.

  He didn’t. His fingers released and went slack. Just as well.

  Maybe.

  With one last lingering look, she pulled on her robe and tiptoed to the desk tucked in front of the palm trees that had replaced the wi
ndows ringing the changeable interior of her bottle. She opened the top drawer and removed the griffin-hide-bound tome.

  Calligraphic artistry decorated each page in a move right out of a monks’ school of publishing. The book was a work of art in so many ways, and Vana acknowledged a tug of pride that her sister was the author. DeeDee had never made a big deal about it; it’d just been one more sign that her sister had excelled where Vana had failed.

  She touched the ivory-framed picture of DeeDee on her desk before turning it around. The portrait had comforted Vana during the time she’d been shut up in her bottle, but researching solutions for falling in love with her master while her twin looked over her shoulder was anything but comfortable. Her family had had such high hopes for her; a discussion of this sort would end those more completely than all of her magical mishaps combined.

  She opened to the Table of Contents. Written in Phoenician, those little squiggly drawings were tough to tell apart and Vana had to concentrate to make out the words. She’d never gotten the hang of the language, merely one of the many reasons she’d hated school.

  She read each chapter heading, knowing she wouldn’t find one entitled, “How Not to Fall in Love with Your Master and What to Do If You Do,” but the one titled, “Explanations of the Master-Djinni Relationship” looked promising.

  The drawing of a big red scythe adorning the upper left corner of the page, however, did not.

  Phrases and familiar passages of the Genie 101 mumbo-jumbo (a term borrowed from the Witches’ Ruling Coven) jumped out at her: the logic behind sealing each djinni’s bottle or lantern (transferring from the magical realm to the mortal one required a large expenditure of magic that could do great damage to the mortal realm unless it was released one djinni at a time); how the seal was broken (hope was always a big factor, but mostly it was dumb luck—those Fates liked to give Karma a run for her dirhams); how often a djinni could change masters (every time someone opened the bottle; theoretically meaning that a genie could have one person as a sequential master for as long as that mortal lived); what to say upon meeting one’s master (a mantra every genie knew by heart after the first day of school); and what qualified a master to be a master.