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Annette Blair, NY Times & USA Today Bestseller

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Whimsical, witty, and wonderful,

Blair's Witches are a magical bunch that are sure to enchant readers everywhere."

~~Madelyn Alt, Author of HEX MARKS THE SPOT

GONE WITH THE WITCH

Triplet Witch Two

Storm's Story

A Bewitching Contemporary Romantic Comedy

Scene:

Aiden Quinn's Luxury Motor Coach

Art by Mickie Mueller

excerpt--an early turning point

Caught up in shock, the both of them—her at his words, and him at her actions—Aiden didn’t realize she’d cuffed one of his ankles to a bedpost until she cuffed the second one.  “Fuzzy purple handcuffs,” he said.  “I so want to find out why.  But listen, Storm, there’s something you should know.” 

She came for a wrist, but he pulled it from her reach and sat up.

“C’mere, Stud muffin.  Snapdragon wants to play.”

“Wait,” he said.  “We need to talk.”

“Why for the sake of my sanity would I want to talk now?”

“Because if we talk later, after I’m cuffed, I won’t be able to keep you from leaving.”

“I’m not the wanderer, here, Scruffleupagus, sweetie.  You are.  I won’t run.  Though you’ll probably wish I had.”

“Storm, listen.”

“I’m listening,” she said, cuffing one of his wrists, to his surprise.

“Will you cut that—”

His words went the way of his good sense, he realized, when she made a production, or a seduction, out of climbing over him, hands and breasts everywhere, one breast in his mouth, praise be, for one gloriously long minute, while she played with his erection through his boxers, a rod-raising, erotic exploit that could end their sex life before it began.

He tried to remember what he was supposed to tell her.  Why he wanted her to stop when he never wanted her to stop. 

“Wanna take this big boy out to play?” she suggested.  “Does he have a name, by the way?”

“I never named him, but someone else did.”

“Oh, yeah?  What’d she call him?”

“It’s a stupid name.”

“Try me.”

“Mr. Majestic.”

Storm chuckled.  “Was she drunk at the time?”

“I resent that.”

“I’ll call him Mage for short. It’s a good nickname.  It means wizard or magick.”

“Hold that thought,” Aiden said, remembering, unfortunately, what they needed to talk about.  Effin’ A.  “Storm, you might wonder why we’ve never—”

She raised a quieting hand.  “I wasn’t ready, either.  No explanation necessary.”

“Damn it, Cartwright, will you listen to me?”

“No.”  Snap!  On went the fourth pair of cuffs.  Aiden tested their strength and appreciated the fuzzy fact that they wouldn’t scratch his bedposts—small problem compared to the real issue here, but his sanity called for some form of compensation.  “Fine, I’m shackled to the bed.  I can do kinky,” he said.  “Boy can I.  Let me tell you about the kinkiest—”

“Save it for when we need it, Ace.  Any chance you’ve changed your mind about us going to look for your crying baby together?” 

Her question surprised him.  He’d hoped, for the sake of their sex life, that she had a longer attention span than that.  “Stop being a nutcase.  I already said no.”

“Your call.”  She took his tailcoat from the closet and slipped it on over her merry insanity maker. 

“We can talk later,” she said leaving the room, him spread-eagle on the bed, his rod pointed toward heaven . . . awaiting . . . a miracle?

The light went on in the kitchen.  Then it went off and something rumbled.  The engine?  Nah.  She’d killed that.

“Hold on to your shackles,” his seductress yelled, and Aiden felt the barely-noticeable motion of his motor coach rolling down the road.  “I want to get laid,” he shouted.  “I’ve got a boner the size of Texas, here!”

“It’ll go down,” she shouted back.

“It would if I could reach it!”

“Hey!  Don’t go turning me on.  And stop yelling at me!” she yelled.  “My PMS didn’t get cured, so I’m cranky.  Don’t piss me off!”

“What the hell are you doing?  How’d you get my dead engine going?”

“Dragon’s blood, you’re slow on the uptake when your man brain’s doing the thinking.  I’m abducting you, McCloud.  I didn’t kill your engine.  I’m not that strong.  I only stopped it.”

“What the?  Holy— I’ve got a flying cat in here.  Wha’d’ya know, it bounces . . . off walls, ceilings.  Off me.  Hey, your cat just ran over my face!  Ouch, my nuts!”

Aiden heard a soft click and looked toward the intercom beside his headboard.  “Sorry.  I didn’t know you had an intercom,” Storm said.  “He’s only a kitten.  He can’t weigh much.  I’ll rub your nuts later.  Warlock hates to ride; he’s motion phobic, according to the vet.  He’ll settle down.”

“Ouch.  Son of a—  Do something!”

“I did.  I brought his cat carrier, but you gave it to Morgan.”

Aiden swore beneath his breath.  “You planned this!”

“There you go,” she said.  “Man brain lets real brain take over.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“No,” Storm said logically.  “You’ve lost your baby.”

“I don’t have a baby.  I have . . . a super sized boner and . . . bruised balls.”

“Shrinking, is it?”

“Storm?”

“Yes.”

“Your cat bounced up but it didn’t come down.”  Aiden looked toward the ceiling.

“Where’d he go?” she asked.

“Uh, he’s hanging from the rotating ceiling fan, riding around in slow circles.  I think he likes it up there.  He seems to be calming down.”  

Aiden heard the intercom go off and realized he was calming, too . . . probably because he’d gotten a reprieve.  He wouldn’t have to do any explaining until they were ready to do the deed.  “Storm?” he yelled, and the intercom clicked on again.

“You called?”

“Oomph.”  The cat landed on his chest.  “What makes you think I won’t turn the coach around the minute you unshackle me?”

“I have my ways.”

Had she purred?  Oh no, that was her cat getting very close to sitting on his face.  “Your cat landed.”

“Glad to hear it.  Is he relaxing?”

“Imafrddssso.”

“Speak up.  Your voice is muffled.”

“Ctnnmffface.”

Storm chuckled.  “I’m beginning to get the picture.”

“Humph.”

“I know you won’t turn us around, because you want to get laid,” she said, “And after you do, you’ll want to do me again.  I promise.  Are you tired?  I could tell you a bedtime story about a naughty triplet and the man she shackled to the bed.”

Please no, he thought.  It’d be so embarrassing coming that way.  He sneezed and dislodged his feline face mask.

The brat in the driver’s seat chuckled.

“I’d like to get my hands on you right now,” he said. 

“That’s why I’m staying in the driver's seat.”

“I’m so damned mad, I could—” Come my brains out screwing my kidnapper, he thought.  For about a week.  Maybe three.  How sick was he?  “When you unshackle me, I’ll beat you, then I’ll screw you.”

“Did you say eat me then screw me?”

         “Good idea,” Aiden said.

 

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© Annette Lague Blair, Last website updates: 09/22/2014 06:12 PM