Something About Witches

Tossing the washcloth to the side, he cupped the back of her head, tilted it back and settled his lips over hers, his body pressed flush against her much as it had been during the Five Fold kiss and afterward, when he lay upon her. She made a noise in her throat. In the wake of the Great Rite, desire was a lazy, slow river, organic and deep, something to take at a steady, pleasurable pace.



His hands gripped her face, held her as she held his shoulders. She twined her legs about him anew, and his cock was brushing her sex, the seam of her buttocks. Before she could angle him into her body with a flexible undulation of her hips, he cinched the arm he had at her waist, holding her close to him. His cock teased those tissues with a slow rub as he kissed her, so thoroughly and long that she was drugged with it, lost and hazy in the sheer, deep pleasure.



When he pulled back, he loosened her hands on his shoulders, made her lie back, float in the water with her arms out to the sides, much like she’d been on the altar, only here she had to tighten her stomach muscles to keep herself level. He studied her body, gaze coursing over her throat and mouth, her breasts, down the slope of her abdomen.



“Close your eyes,” he said.



When she did, he took them both under, dropping to his knees and bringing her down with him, sliding his hand up her back so she was straddling him on the pool bottom. It was there he penetrated her, taking her all the way to the hilt. Because of the pool lights, she was able to look at him beneath the water, that wavering impression of his face, jaw muscles tight as he experienced the same pleasure she did, in this silent, still environment.



When he brought them up again, she clutched his shoulders, wanting him to thrust, but instead he pulled out. Turned her around, and with an effortless move that took her breath, he lifted her and slid back in at the proper angle from behind. Bringing her back against his body with a hand on her throat and his other hand low, just above her mound, he kept himself deep inside despite the precarious angle. She wanted to lean forward, wanted him to be able to drive into her, but he held her there, making small, incremental movements that caused her to squirm, tiny, pleasurable shocks going through her.



“Derek.”



“Sshhh. Just feel it, Ruby. Feel what I am to you. Trust me. Relax.”



She couldn’t relax, not with him doing that, but she relaxed her need to try to direct things, instead experiencing the incredible sensations he was giving her. There were definite advantages to being with a guy who was centuries old, because he’d had lots of time to practice. The male libido never faded away, God bless it, as long as the body was strong enough to sustain it. And Derek was all power in this moment.



His fingers slipped over her clit, massaged, and she cried out. Her back arched, her breasts thrusting out, needing attention as well. The water lapped over them, increasing the sensation of friction over her nipples. She struggled instinctively, wanting more, wanting to go over, but abruptly he stilled again, his fingers a maddening pressure on her tender tissues, his hand locked in a gentle squeeze on her throat, holding her in place.



“Ruby…. take me to our daughter.”



SHE’D BEEN ON THE CUSP OF ONE OF THOSE LONG CLIMAXES like the endless stretch and twist of a rubber band. Now it came back with a snap, stinging her with reality. She wanted to move, but of course Derek had her pinned like a butterfly, his cock deep inside of her, that immovable hand upon her throat. A vivid reminder that she could run from him, but she could never resist him.



“No.” She shook her head, almost violently. “No. You promised not to read me.”



“It happened during the Great Rite. There was nothing I could do about it. The knowledge just unfolded in front of me.”



“Then pretend you didn’t see it, because no. I won’t.” With a burst of manic strength, she shoved away, breaking their connection, and backed across the pool. He turned to face her but didn’t move, those blue eyes dangerously still on her face.



“You have to, Ruby. She’s my daughter, too.”



“You won’t understand.” She made it to the pool edge, lifted herself out. Wanting her robe, she snatched at the bundle he’d left there. When she threw it on, she realized she’d picked up Derek’s. The robe came past her knees, the sleeves flopping over her wrists. She didn’t care. She began to retreat. Damn gravel path. She picked herself over it, tried to bolt when he came up behind her. When he caught her wrist, her reaction was instinct, power sizzling through her skin, sparking off his palm. Instead of letting her go, he countered. She cried out as the shock jolted through her nerve centers, forcing her to one knee.



With a curse, he caught her up, carried her back to the smoother concrete collar around the pool. When he let her back down, he held on to her wrist, his expression dark. “You try that again, I will wear your ass out,” he said. “I can get a lot rougher, and you can’t stand against me, Ruby. Now that I know you have a taste for rougher, I’m not concerned about being gentle.”



It wasn’t like Derek to be cruel, but she had enough sense to understand why he was struggling with his temper. She’d been lying to him. He’d known that for a while, obviously, but now he’d seen the truth behind the lie. She didn’t blame him for being angry with her. Hell, she wouldn’t blame him for kicking the shit out of her if she pushed him to it. She thought she might prefer that to the alternative, so she stubbornly locked her jaw, closing her arms around herself.



“You want me to rip it from your mind?” When he bent close, she closed her eyes tight, locking her arms even harder around herself. His breath was hot on her face. “Ruby, cat’s out of the bag. It’s time to come clean.”



“You do what you have to do. If you’re that much of a bastard.”



“Ruby, for God’s sake, she’s my child, too.”



“She’s safe,” she burst out in a near scream, startling him. “She’s happy. Leave her be. Just leave her be. Let her stay that way. You left. You left. You didn’t care.”



“You told me to go,” he shouted back. “In every way, you made it clear you didn’t want me around. You used a fucking soul spell on me.”



“You weren’t supposed to listen! You never listen. You always railroad over everything I say or do, and that one time, I needed you to be that sexist bastard, to be stronger than the magic I used, and you weren’t. You didn’t.”



Derek didn’t know whether to laugh bitterly or scream himself, but then she tried to bolt again. When he snagged her sleeve, she came out of the robe, but it hung her up enough that she tripped in her attempt to get away from him. She went down with a cry.



The gravel would cut her knees, so he reacted on instinct, lunging forward. He controlled the descent, so that her knee landed on the top of his foot. As he knelt behind her, holding her between his thighs, he wanted to be furious. But all of a sudden, he couldn’t think of whipping her around to face him, shaking her to make her listen. Instead, that small sphere of light was in the forefront of his mind, the tiny hand pressed against it.



He wrapped his arms around her, wouldn’t let her shake him off. He found himself murmuring to her despite his helpless rage, his frustration with her, him and all of it.



“Okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here. I should have been here and I wasn’t. Please tell me. Tell me what happened.”



She was crying, having trouble breathing. He thought she was trying to speak, but then he realized she was trying to sing. That same little lullaby he’d heard her croon to herself a couple times now. She was trying to calm herself down with it. He picked it up, hummed it with her, stroking her hair, cursing his ineptitude for dealing with this, but in truth, he didn’t know if there was a proper way to handle it. He couldn’t remain detached, in control, and he didn’t think she needed that at the moment anyway.



He set his jaw, thinking about what she needed, what was required. It might be the wrong way to go, but if he was wrong, it could be rectified fairly quickly. Holding tight to her and the robe, he concentrated, and took them somewhere else.



THEY MATERIALIZED IN HER GUN SHOP, DARK AND locked up for her absence. He’d had them appear in her back stockroom and repair workshop, not wanting to take the chance some late-night pedestrians might be walking by the storefront. Seeing two naked people kneeling on the floor would be unsettling, like the opening of a Terminator movie.



A glance around showed him it was a good choice, because the back workshop was also the way to the upper level, where she kept her living quarters. Lifting her in his arms, he tried not to be concerned that she was still humming that lullaby in broken tones. It was as if she hadn’t noticed them disappearing from one place and reappearing in another, hundreds of miles away. He carried her up that staircase, a quick focus and tiny frisson of sparks unlocking the door to her apartment.



When he kicked it closed behind him, he saw a one-bedroom with a kitchenette, bathroom and small sitting room. The Ruby he’d known had loved flowers, knickknacks, had crystals hanging in her windows for both their aesthetic as well as their magical properties. The girl loved a sparkly. Colorful pillows and throws had always punctuated her living space.



Except for some small detritus— a coffee cup left in the dish drainer, the half-open door of the closet revealing an amazingly small amount of clothing and shoes for a woman, there was nothing of Ruby here. By the bed were a couple paperbacks on magical theory, some gun catalogs, and a no-frills radio.



It was like looking at a halfway house for a released convict. The convict didn’t accumulate much because she didn’t really believe she was out of prison.



He let her feet down. She’d quieted, and though she was still trembling, she seemed calmer. As he shrugged into his robe, belted it, he moved to the closet. A thin ritual robe wouldn’t be warm enough for her. His throat constricted as he found the most accessible article of clothing, hung on a hook instead of a rack amid the others. It was one of his long-sleeved shirts, obviously worn often.



Bringing it back to her, he threaded her arms into it. It fell to her knees and had long sleeves he rolled up for her so they were between elbow and wrist. She stared at his chest, her tawny brown hair falling forward over her pale cheek as he dressed her. It made her look young, whereas when she lifted her eyes, they were impossibly old, even more ancient than himself.