Spellbound: A magical sequel to Bewitched by Daisy Prescott Page B

standing on the threshold of Madison and Sam’s doorway on November twentieth. I haven’t been invited inside the room, so here I stand, pleading my case.
    “You’re early.”
    “I’ve missed you. I might have circled the dorm a few times to stall for time.”
    She stretches and once again I’m reminded of a house cat. Other than vague answers to my half-dozen questions, neither my mother nor Madison will tell me about their meetings. Madison swears she’s not flying around Salem like a bird or stalking stone walls at night. As far as I know, the coven has never had a shape-shifter in our ranks since the eighteenth century. We’re overdue.
    Madison stands and I push off the doorjamb to cross the small space to hug her. I’ve missed her vanilla scent and the way my body envelops hers. Turning the hug into a kiss, I brush my lips over hers before sweeping my tongue inside her mouth.  
    Screw the party. We haven’t been alone in weeks.
    I walk her backward until her legs rest against the bed. Bending my right knee, I rest it on the mattress while I slowly lower her down on top of her books. With my free hand, I shove her laptop out of the way before settling on top of her.  
    Horizontal is my new favorite plane.
    She kisses me back and tangles her hand through my hair, letting the other hand trail down my back. I curse not removing my jacket before kissing her. The room begins to overheat. Or maybe it’s me.  
    Shifting her body, she wraps her legs around my thighs. Soft moans and murmurs escape her throat as we continue to kiss, letting our tongues spell out what words cannot.  
    Perhaps the key to surviving this curse or hex is to not speak and not be around others. We need a cabin in the woods. Somewhere remote like Maine or Vermont.  
    A phone buzzes and chimes with a text message. The annoying sound breaks our bubble.
    Madison pulls her mouth away from mine. I groan and try to recapture her lips.
    “I think that’s your phone.” Her voice is breathless.
    “No one ever texts me.”
    “Ever?” she asks as another text arrives.
    Still grumbling, I reach inside my jacket, contemplating throwing the thing out the window. Sam’s name lights up the screen.
    We’re ready. Update your ETA.
    Right, the party.
    I rest my forehead against hers. “I forgot we have reservations. We should probably go.”
    Reluctantly I sit up and rest my back against the wall. Madison is a beautiful mess from my lips and hands. Her mouth is red and swollen and her hair is a tangled nest.
    “I should probably fix this.” She attempts to run her fingers through her hair.
    “You’re perfect.”
    “I look ravished.”
    “Like I said, perfect.”
    With a soft laugh, she pecks my cheek before standing. “I’ll be right back.”
    Sitting on her bed waiting for her, I feel my resolve grow stronger. I’m not letting some two-bit curse or broken spell ruin things between Madison and me.  
    While we wait for my mother to present our case to the coven, there’s no reason why we can’t hang out in person.
    Other than every time we’re together I turn into some macho, asshole Neanderthal.  
    I don’t even deserve a cave to call my own. Honestly, I’d probably be banished to live alone and take my chances with the mastodons. An outcast even from cave society. How Madison continues to put up with me, I don’t know.
    Still waiting on her to return from the bathroom, I stack the books on her bed. I notice they’re all about the Puritans who settled Massachusetts, including Cotton Mather’s book on the witch trials. Nothing like light reading on a Saturday night.  
    Madison comes back and I want to throw her down on the bed for another round. I’m about thirty seconds from thumping my chest like a gorilla and dragging her away like King Kong. I’m sure some women like the whole chest-pounding, grunting he-man act, but that’s not me. Worse, apparently it annoys Madison. That’s pretty much the opposite of what I want to do.