Moira Rogers: That Old Black Magic

Polly finished pouring the potion, careful to leave no gaps in the protective line. “Parsimonious,” she whispered as she capped the flask.

Behind her, the man snorted. “That’s a hell of a magic word.”

She flashed him her middle finger as she slid the flask back into her pocket. “Are you always this pleasant to people who just saved your ass?”

He moved so fast she didn’t realize he was coming at her until his hands locked around her waist. She ended up half against the wall, half on the sink, and those dark brown eyes stared at hers in tense silence before a low, sensual laugh rumbled out of his chest. “Is that what you think you’re doing?”

“Shifter. Should have known.” Polly swallowed hard and gave him a bored look she knew he wouldn’t buy for a second. Her pulse pounded hard in her ears, and the vague tingling in her cunt gave way to an insistent throb. “You’re all bossy, holier-than-thou bastards.”

He laughed again as he inched closer, wedging his hips between her legs. “And we can tell when you like us that way. You’re wet already, just thinking about getting bent over this sink and fucked into next week.”

She held her breath and watched a drop of sweat roll down his neck and disappear beneath his collar. “Wrong.”

“Wrong?” He pressed closer, and she felt the hard ridge of his cock grinding against her. “What, you like to be on top?”

Don’t answer, Polly. Her hips arched and she bit her lip, but a whimper escaped. “What’s your name?” She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sweat-slicked skin at the base of his throat.

He swallowed, and his voice grew decidedly huskier. “Max.”

“Max.” She reached up, slipped her fingers into the damp hair at the back of his neck, and yanked his head toward hers. She could think of nothing but the taste and texture of his skin under her tongue, and she whispered his name again, then licked a path over his stubbled jaw to his ear.

“Fuck—” He shifted her just enough to drop her on the edge of the sink, freeing his hands to skim up her back and take her shirt with them. “I like the way you wrap your tongue around my name.”

The salt tang of his skin sent a thrill of desire through her, and she shivered. “Wait ‘til I wrap it around everything else.”

He groaned and tangled his fingers in her hair. His grip tightened and he jerked her head back to bare her throat with a soft growl. “Maybe later.” He whispered the words against the pounding pulse in her throat and dragged his tongue over her skin. “I have to be inside you.”

The low, rough sound of his voice made her cunt clench, and Polly fidgeted, trying to relieve the wet ache between her thighs. “I’ll even let you bite me,” she promised, then dug her nails into his scalp and guided his mouth to hers.

His tongue swept across hers with a lazy skill completely at odds with the leashed tension trembling in him. One hand stayed in her hair, but the other cupped her breast, his thumb flicking over the tight nipple. Another shiver wracked her, and he swallowed her sharp, needy moan.

Polly had to let go of his head to tug up his shirt, and she hissed in a breath when her palms glided over the hard, flat planes of his stomach and chest. “God damn ,” she muttered against his lips. “Take it off.”

“Not much room in here for stripping,” he murmured in reply. His hand dropped from her breast to the button on her cargo pants. “Maybe later.”

“There is no later,” she reminded him. She pulled her gun free of her pants and laid it on a shelf beside them. Then her own hand drifted down between them to stroke his cock through his jeans. “Just right now.”

He groaned and thrust against her palm before redoubling his efforts. Clever fingers wiggled into her pants and rubbed at her clit through the damp fabric of her panties. “Too bad. You’re hot when you moan.”

“You hate me and everything I stand for. That’s a built-in expiration date.” Stars painted the backs of her eyelids, and she pushed at his chest. When he stepped back, she jumped down and turned around. “Bent over the sink and fucked into next week, right?”

His fingers curled around her hips and he rubbed against her ass as his breath feathered over her ear. “I can hear him on the front porch,” he whispered. “Is your little perimeter going to keep sound in? Or do you want him to walk in here and find us? Is that what’s got you so hot?”

Polly wanted to lie, to tell him it was the danger and nothing else weakening her knees. “It’s soundproof,” she rasped instead. “It’ll hold.” She bit off a curse and dug a condom out of her back pocket. “Here.”

She heard the package tear open and his deep laughter tickled against her neck again. “Either you pack some weird equipment for your jobs, or you do get off on the danger. What were you going to do? Fuck the first guy you put hands on after you got out of here?”

The nonlubricated ones did come in handy, actually, and for a variety of purposes. “Do you have a condom in your wallet?”

His fingers curled into the waistband of her pants and tugged them down. “Don’t you have a wallet?”

She growled and curled her fingers around the sink. “This is the stupidest conversation I’ve ever had. And you’re a sexist ass.”

“Always a critic, huh, sweetheart?” Those strong fingers slid over her hip again, circling her clit as the blunt head of his cock bumped against her teasingly. His other hand trailed up her back and forced her to bend down. Heat exploded through her, an inexplicable, yearning hunger, and she moaned again when her bared nipples brushed the cool stone of the sink. “Fuck me,” she demanded, wiggling back against him, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m running out of mean things to say to you.”

“All bark.” His hand tightened on her hip and she cried out as he thrust home. The hand on her hip hurried up her back to curl in her hair again, and he tugged her head back until his breath fell hot and dangerous against the vulnerable curve of her neck. “No bite.”

“Don’t make me wish I’d shot you when I had the chance.” She didn’t wish any such thing, not with his cock huge and deep inside her. Polly pushed off the sink and rocked into him, whimpering when he ground against her.

His laugh turned into a groan, and she felt the sharp bite as he closed his teeth on the side of her neck. He bent over and brought her with him, leaving her trapped between the sink and the hard heat of his body as he pulled back and thrust into her again.

She tried to come up with something else glib and insulting to throw at him. Don’t bruise me up, maybe, or, Better make this good. It’s been a while since I had crazy sex in a closet. Her brain wouldn’t cooperate. It was just as well, since she couldn’t seem to control the pleading moans that slipped between her lips every time he drew back and drove into her again.

But he seemed to like the moans. He answered each one with a low, growling groan, and his fingers rubbed over her clit in an insistent rhythm as he sped his pace. “Come on, sweetheart—come—”

“Don’t rush me.” Polly shuddered and pulled his hand out of her hair. She twined her fingers with his and urged his arm around her body, guiding him to cup her breast. Together, they tugged and pinched her nipple, and her head hit his shoulder. “Fuck.”

“Workin’ on it.” He hissed in a breath and thrust into her hard enough to drive a low noise from her lips. “Tell me what you like.”

“Harder.” She barely recognized her own voice. Her toes curled inside her boots. Her heart pounded, echoing the throbbing tension inside her. “Bite me again. God, now —”