Chapter Four
In the back of his mind, his inner suspicious son of a bitch asked, Where did this come from? Is she playing some game?
He told it to shut up.
Olivia drew back a fraction and stared into his eyes, her gaze desperate and searching.
A little wild.
Something about her expression sent another little jolt of unease through him.
Until she fisted both hands in the material of his shirt and dragged him along as she backed toward the couch. Leaning in again, she drank at his mouth. He slid his tongue between her parted teeth, swirled and licked. Sliding his fingers into her hair, Rhys tightened them into a fist. The platinum strands felt incredibly fine against his skin.
She spun him around with a strength that made him blink, then pushed him down on the couch to land in a sprawl. Olivia pounced, landed astride his hips, her amethyst gaze hungry over a hot, sensual smile. “Do you want me?”
“God, yes,” he gasped, as the blood in his veins went molten from the warm pressure of her groin over his. Arousal surged in him, filling his cock, lengthening it, even as his balls grew hot and swollen.
“Good.” She growled it as she fell into another kiss, even more ravenous, her tongue thrusting. With a rumble of hunger, he took over, suckling that greedy little tongue, then nibbling her lower lip as his hands sought out her ass, her breasts, relishing her soft heat.
“Rhyssss. . . .” Panting, Olivia pulled back, bracing one knee on the couch beside his hip as she braced her other foot on the floor and ground her crotch against his erection. Her eyes glittered, wide and wild.
“God, you’re making me crazy.” Rhys dragged her head down so he could kiss her again, tongue swirling in her mouth, drinking in the sweet intoxication.
From the corner of one eye, he spotted the flare and flash of magic, sparks dancing in the air. Her magic, and his, twining together, hers gold, his own cool blue-white. Sparks of emerald rotated lazily around them.
Olivia reached for the edges of her shirt and jerked. Buttons flew, hitting the hardwood floor with tiny plastic clicks.
Rhys glimpsed a pretty lace bra . . . and it was gone, along with the rest of her clothes.
Leaving her completely, spectacularly naked. His eyes widened as he took in the high curves of her breasts, tipped with hard rose nipples. She was as lithe and athletic as he’d thought, between the narrow waist and deliciously lean and muscled arms and legs, but her hips had a sweetly feminine curve, and her ass was just soft enough as she rode his groin. An intriguing little triangle of soft silver hair peeked at him between those long thighs, and he could smell her lush arousal. Sweetly captive beneath her weight, his cock bucked in lust against his zipper.
“I need you naked.” She slid a hand the length of his chest, and his own clothing disappeared.
“Wench!” Laughing, he jackknifed to sit up, reaching for her breasts. They didn’t quite fill his hands, but they felt deliciously sensual between silken skin and tight nipples. Caressing one tip, he relished the way it hardened even more at his touch. He engulfed the little peak in his mouth, suckling hard, raking his teeth over the point.
“Harder,” she gasped and fisted her hands in his hair, almost tight enough to hurt.
Enjoying the arousing sting of her grip, Rhys bit down with care. He was far too turned on, and he didn’t want to hurt her.
She released his hair to dig long nails into his shoulder with a sweet, arousing bite. “More!” Gasping, growling, she rose from his lap and reached down for his cock.
Rhys released her breast to grab her wrist. “No, not yet. I have more I want to do to you.”
Wrapping both arms around her, he rose from the couch, ignoring her squeak of surprise. Flipping her onto her back on the couch, he sank to his knees between her thighs. When he parted her pussy’s plump folds, they were red, shining with arousal.
She’d be wetter yet by the time he got through with her.
Rhys covered her juicy sex with his mouth and stabbed his tongue deep. Her strangled gasp made his cock rear over his belly in lust.
* * *
Olivia whimpered as Rhys ate her like a peach, licking and sucking, nibbling the delicate flesh until white-hot stabs of pleasure jabbed through her body. She’d known a lot of men with a talent for cunnilingus, but Rhys was in a class by himself.
As he ate her, those big hands stroked over her body, urging the pleasure higher, hotter. Moaning, she watched the magic whirl around them, blue-white, gold, and emerald, spinning together in a storm of light. Her need grew into a clawing demand he fed with every tongue flick and skillful stroke. Until she felt half-mad, half-blind, deaf and lost.
Reaching up the length of her body, he found a nipple and began to tug and pinch it, adding another delicious layer of delight.
But what she really wanted was his cock. The long, thick jut of it, so impossibly hard. . . . She ached to feel it sliding into her, forcing its way into the tight, juicy grip of her cunt. “Fuck me!” she begged, though his mouth was the sweetest thing she’d ever felt.
He growled back and ignored the demand, swirling that wickedly skilled tongue. Her orgasm gathered with every flickering stroke, building like storm clouds rolling over the horizon.
She wanted more of his mouth, but her hunger for his cock was a hot growl in the base of her brain. “Please! Please, please, please, please, please . . .” Olivia chanted, grinding her hips up against his ravenous mouth. “Fuck me!”
“No.” His mouth sealed tight around her clit. Sucked. And sucked and sucked.
Her climax exploded in a white-hot fountain that shot up her spine, jerking her into a bow. Olivia screeched, both hands grabbing the thick muscle of his shoulders and curling into claws, digging in. She knew she must be hurting him, but she couldn’t seem to control her fingers. She was too hungry, too lost, too desperate.
Rhys reared over her, eyes shining bright gold as he took that massive cock in his hand.
“Yes!” She flung her legs wide. Shamelessly opening herself up for him.
He slammed all the way to the balls in one driving thrust that should have hurt. But didn’t.
And oh Goddess, that big shaft filled her up to her back teeth.
His body came down over hers, and he began to grind, digging hard, plowing in and out as she rolled up at him, needing more, wanting more. Half-mad with sheer desperation.
She had to have this. Had to, had to, had to . . .
The climax came rolling out of her core in a blazing firestorm that blinded her until all she could see was flying sparks of silver, gold, and green.
Rhys’s triumphal roar half-deafened her, and she matched it with a scream, the sound spiraling so high, her throat burned.
When he finally collapsed over her, she clung to him with arms and legs while the world seemed to revolve around them in dizzy circles. He felt incredibly right lying against her, his body dewed in sweat.
The fury of her climax left Olivia feeling as limp and weak as a sock. All she could do was lie there listening to their breath rasp in chorus.
At last she managed to pant, “Well, there are quickies, and then there are quickies.”
He lifted his head to meet her gaze, looking a little abashed. “Sorry about that.”
Olivia grinned up at him. “That was not a complaint.”
Then she spotted a trickle of red out of the corner of one eye and realized he was bleeding. She lost the smile. “Oh, God, I clawed you. I’m sorry!”
Rhys glanced at the scratches and grinned just as wickedly as she just had. “I’m not.”
* * *
They fell silent after that, enjoying the loose, delicious pleasure of the aftermath of good sex.
Finally, Rhys stirred. “I must be crushing you.”
Before she could tell him he wasn’t, he rose from the couch and scooped her up. Dropping full-length onto the cushions, he swung his legs up and stretched out, arranging her over his body as if she were a particularly long scarf.
Rhys reached out a muscled arm, grabbed one of the colorful pillows that had fallen to the floor, and stuffed it under his head.
Olivia smiled slowly, admiring the play of strong muscle as he moved. “You must spend a hell of a lot of time in the gym.”
He shrugged. “Not really. Oh, I lift, but not as much as you might think. I started beefing up like this when I was seventeen.”
Her brows lifted. “Then where does it all come from? Not that I’m complaining, mind you . . .”
Rhys gave her a lazy look. “Well, I don’t do steroids if that’s what you’re hinting at.”
“God, no.”
“You wouldn’t be the first to wonder. Even heard it from my baseball coach in high school.” He shrugged. “But they drug-tested me and I passed.”
“It must have hurt to be suspected.” She gave him a considering look. Though he was certainly well-muscled, he didn’t have the swollen build of someone who took steroids. He looked more like some of the Sidhe swordsmen she’d known. Powerful, yes, but not so brawny as to be slowed down by extra bulk. “Whatever you’re doing is definitely working. I approve.”
Rhys gave her a wicked little grin. “I can certainly say the same.” His breathing was already back to normal, though Olivia’s was still a little rough.
Idly, she began to draw a circle around one taut male nipple with a finger, then spiraled in to flick and pinch.
“Mind if I return the favor?” He cupped her breast and scrubbed his thumb back and forth, sending delicious little pings of pleasure through her body. His eyes heated, going that unearthly yellow again. With his free hand, Rhys reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. He blinked in surprise at the elegant sweep of it. “Your ears are pointed.”
She grinned at him. “Fairy.”
“I could’ve sworn you had round ears earlier.”
“I was wearing a glamour to look more human.”
“You hiding a pair of wings, too?”
“No, that’s the demi-Sidhe.” Seeing his puzzlement, she explained, “They’re sort of like Tinkerbell.”
“Mmmm,” he purred. “I do believe in fairies.” Rhys smiled, smoldering at her in that way he had, and Olivia found herself tumbling into the intensity of his gaze. His eyes were no longer that shocking yellow, but a shade of amber a bit lighter than brown, shot through with streaks of burnt umber and raw sienna.
“Your eyes turn yellow when you use your powers.”
He lifted a brow. “They do?”
“Especially when you’re angry. I’m surprised nobody’s noticed it.”
“They probably never saw it. Mom and Dad always insisted that I avoid working magic when anyone was looking.”
“Even when you were a kid?”
“Especially when I was a kid, though I’ll admit to casting the occasional spell here and there. Anyway, nobody ever mentioned the eye thing.”
“Could be something you just started doing recently.”
“It’s possible. There’s been a lot of weird shit happening to me lately. I think . . .” He broke off.
“What?”
He hesitated a long moment before admitting, “I have a feeling I may be getting more powerful. It’s taking less and less effort to work spells.”
“Judging by what I’ve felt standing in the same general vicinity, I can believe that.”
Olivia found herself gazing into his eyes, half hypnotized. He really was a ridiculously beautiful man. . . .
He stared back, a half smile playing around his lips. His gaze was so intense, it seemed he could see all the way to her soul.
She wondered what he thought of the view.
For God sake, I haven’t known the man three hours, and I’ve already been to bed with him.
Granted, it wasn’t the first time she’d had a one-night stand on short acquaintance, but Olivia had never particularly cared what those men thought of her. She’d just been looking for something to dull the pain.
Using them, when it came right down to it.
But she hadn’t done anything like that in years. Sometime in the nineties? Something like that. Is it possible to be a born-again virgin?
And yet here she was, naked in Rhys’s arms.
What the man did to her . . . from the minute Olivia had walked in the door, she’d kept getting ambushed by the sight of his big hands or the strong line of his shoulders. Or the look in his eyes.
Had she ever reacted to a man with such intensity? Even her husband?
Olivia stiffened, shoving the thought away as disloyal.
Though it had been two hundred years since Coln’s murder, she could remember their life together with crystal clarity. It was one of the curses of being Sidhe. Her people weren’t afflicted with the mayfly memory of humans, for whom weeks or months was enough to blunt recall and soothe the pain of loss.
Olivia found herself drifting into memories of the twenty years she’d had with Coln Beynon. Her name had been Orla then; Olivia was only the most recent of her many pseudonyms. She’d been eighty when they met, a young adult by Sidhe standards, chatelain of one of her father’s castles.
Coln had been his father’s youngest son, a knight-errant in search of adventure and fortune. He’d taken service with Olivia’s father, Lugh, who’d been battling with a neighboring lord at the time.
Lugh had won that fight, but in the meantime, she and Coln had fallen in love. Their son, Ivor, was born five years later, a laughing little boy with his father’s leaf-green eyes and her iridescent white curls.
They’d all been gloriously happy until Ansgar summoned Olivia to court. It seemed he’d grown bored with the selection of available ladies, and some wretch had told him of her beauty.
Olivia had refused to go without Coln and Ivor, a decision she cursed herself for to this day. Had she left them at home, they’d likely still be alive. So would her parents and sister, whom Ansgar had ordered killed when she’d fled the castle.
But she had never had the Sight. Hadn’t realized the danger they faced.
Not until it was too late . . .
Rhys stretched under her, his powerful torso arching, jolting her out of her grim memories. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower.” He gave her a wicked little grin. “Want to share?”
Olivia just stared at him blankly. She’d never responded to Coln with such raw need. Oh, there’d been passion, but not this . . . half-crazed lust.
He frowned at her. “Olivia, are you all right?”
She forced a smile despite the sick guilt curling like a worm inside her. None of this was his fault. “I’m fine.”
Rhys looked a little doubtful. “I asked if you wanted to take a shower.” He hesitated a moment. “You could go first if you’d rather.”
She winced, belatedly processing the situation. Having invited her to shower with him, he was offering her a way to decline gracefully.
Olivia summoned a smile. “Let’s conserve some water.”
Rhys laughed, sounding relieved. He sat up with that effortless strength and put her on her feet, then rose himself. Despite her guilty conscience, she found herself admiring the way that big body unfolded. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”
The house was seriously impressive, with its open floor plan and high-beamed ceilings. The floors were hardwood, while the furnishings were simple and masculine, with touches of luxury. Paintings and photos hung on the walls, suggesting an eye for art, and bookshelves stood packed with paperbacks and hardbacks, all of them visibly well-used.
The bathroom suggested Rhys was a bit of a sensualist—though she could have guessed that from the way he made love. A glassed-in shower with multiple jets took up one wall, and a huge Jacuzzi tub sprawled across the other, long enough to accommodate his considerable height. Gleaming tile in blue and seafoam green covered the walls and floor in a geometric pattern, cool and smooth beneath her feet.
While she looked around, he stepped into the shower, turned on the water and tested it, then gestured her inside. Olivia joined him. The warm water pounded down on her hair while he stepped out to collect towels and washcloths to hang over the nearby rack.
The glass was pebbled, breaking her view of him into abstract blobs of color. Even so, she was struck by how gracefully he moved.
As he stepped back into the shower, need ambushed her with a craving to run her hands across the broad shoulders, trace the path of water droplets rolling down his chest. Lick them away. Taste his skin. Oh, for the Goddess’s sake, we just had sex. I can’t be this hot already. And if I jump him again so soon, he’ll think I’m a sex addict.
A bead of water gathered on one small nipple and clung there. She wanted to lick it off so badly, it was all she could do to keep herself from leaning forward.
Olivia dragged her eyes away and reached for the soap in the dish set in the wall. Rubbing it back and forth in her palms, she started working up a lather. White foam slid from between her fingers, the sensation seductive. Cut it out, she told herself.
Herself wasn’t listening.
Glancing down, Olivia realized Rhys must sense her mood. His erection jutted, even longer and more impressive than when they’d made love.
The shaft had a lovely bowed shape, so thick it was wider than the head.
Swallowing, she dragged her gaze away and started to stroke the soap over her body. The cool slide of the cake over her breasts was almost enough to make her moan. Lust scalded its way through her, so intense it could’ve been years since the last time she’d made love.
Something’s wrong here.
From the corner of one eye, she saw the sparks circling them again, gold and blue-white with darting motes of green. She knew the gold was her own power. The blue-white swirled most thickly around Rhys’s body, which meant it was probably his. The green must be, too; she knew it wasn’t hers . . .
She bent to run the cake of soap down one thigh. Which was when she noticed the green light was orbiting her body, not his.
A spell, Olivia realized. Oh shit, that’s the geas—but this time it’s trying to make me have sex with him.
* * *
A long stream of lather slid seductively down one of Olivia’s smooth, leanly muscled thighs as Rhys watched with absorbed fascination.
Which was why he started when she swore viciously and slammed her palm against the shower’s glass door. It banged against the wall as Olivia stomped out. “I cannot believe this!”
Dumbfounded, Rhys stared after her as the shower pounded his shoulders. A minute ago, she’d been as laid-back and aroused as he was. Now she was furious and he had no idea why.
“What’s wrong?”
As he stepped from the shower, she whirled toward him, her eyes bright with fury. “It’s the geas! I’m still under that bloody compulsion spell.”
He frowned. “But I thought we broke it during the fight.”
“No, because I can still see it. Look at me, Rhys.” She spread her slender arms wide, displaying her lush body. “Tell me what you see.”
He fought to ignore the droplets of water glistening on her skin, the lather sliding over her curves. He had the definite feeling a leer wouldn’t be appropriate. “What am I looking for?”
“The magic. What does the magic look like?”
When he concentrated, he saw flashes of golden light specked with sparks of emerald green, a lovely fireworks display against the backdrop of her nudity. “Gold and green sparks.”
“The gold is mine.” She pointed at him, drawing attention to the pulses of blue-white light orbiting his body. “The blue-white is yours. So who the hell does the green belong to?”
He studied the swirl of sparks orbiting his body. “Blue and yellow do make green.”
“Sure, if we’re talking paint, but that’s not the way magic works. Sidhe magic falls in the yellow part of the spectrum. Yours seems to tend toward the blue end, just like the Direkind’s. I have no idea what generates green magic.”
“So you think the geas is still working on you?” He reached toward one of the flashing green motes, instinctively trying to capture it. His skin tingled, and he heard something like a high and distant cry. Definitely inhuman.
She was right, though he wasn’t sure what made the spark feel so alien.
Olivia drew in a sharp breath. He looked up to realize she was staring at his hand, her gaze fixed, full lips parted.
Because your fingers are about half an inch from her nipple, dumbass. His instinct for self-preservation told him he’d better pull that hand away if he wanted to keep it.
But as he started to step back, her eyes flashed up to his.
The next instant, his arms were full of deliciously naked woman, kissing him with a starved intensity. Which made no sense whatsoever, since she’d been furious a heartbeat before.
And that’s what she’s so pissed about. She thinks I’m doing this.
Catching her by the shoulders, Rhys pushed her gently away until he could meet her gaze. She wore an odd expression, her eyes dazed, even as her mouth drew tight with anger.
“Are you saying that you made love to me because of the geas?” The question emerged in a low growl. He forced himself to take a deep breath and release her carefully. You didn’t really want to make love to me? He didn’t ask the question out loud. He didn’t really need to. The answer was too humiliatingly obvious. “Are you sure you’re not just . . .”
“Horny?” She shot him a bitter look before whirling away on one bare heel. “I thought that was what it was at first, but it came on so damn fast. I noticed from the first how fascinated I was with you—the way you moved, your hands, your mouth . . .”
“So obviously you’re under a spell.” Hearing the sheer offended male ego behind the question, Rhys gritted his teeth. “It’s not my spell, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Of course not.” Olivia made a dismissive gesture. “As you said, your magic’s not green.”
“I’m also not in the habit of using magic to force women to have sex.”
At that, she shot him a wary look and sidled a pace away. “Your eyes have turned yellow again.”
Frustrated, he dragged a hand through his hair. “What’s the point? Why make us have sex?” Though there wasn’t much “making” to it as far as he was concerned.
He realized a good chunk of his anger was born of disappointment. Rhys had thought he’d finally found a woman like him. A woman who understood magic, who shared his abilities. Shared his passion.
He should have known better.
“I have no idea why they’d cast a spell like this on me,” Olivia said, eyeing him warily. She evidently realized just how pissed off he really was. “None of this makes any sense.”
I’ve got to get some distance from her before I say something I’ll regret. “Look, you take the shower. I want to think.”
Snatching a towel off the warming rack, Rhys started drying himself off. “I’ll make up the guest room.”
He managed not to slam the master bathroom door on the way out.