Wicked Magic by Madeline Pryce

been
electrocuted—but in a good way. Shouldn’t she feel lethargic and limp from her
orgasm? Instead, her heart raced. Her palms sweat. The damp flesh between her
legs throbbed. She tightened her fists above her head where Trent had her
pinned to the wall. Something hard dug into her stomach and she wasn’t sure if
it was his gun or his cock.
    “Do I get a choice?” Her voice was raw and, dare she say,
sexy?
    His eyes darkened. “No.”
    Before she could tell him to stop, he released her wrists
and dug his fingers into her waist. He pulled her to him and her head jerked
back at the impact. The hard slant of his mouth over hers took her breath away.
She twisted his shirt in her hands, pulling him closer. He moved both of his
hands up her ribs, and an earthy moan left her.
    She needed to do something, prepare for the ritual to give
herself to him. God, what did she need? Herbs. A candle. Something… All reason
vanished under the demands of his passion. She couldn’t think beyond the surge
of electricity that crackled inside her. Created deep in her soul, magic
consumed her. It ripped through her body like her climax had minutes ago,
drawing them closer together. Trent gasped into her mouth. The sound was raspy
and delicious. Those trailing whips of light tightened around them like a
lasso. They were bound.
    He gripped her waist, hands moving under her shirt. Where
their skin touched, heat exploded. He lifted, picking her up off her feet.
    They stepped from the elevator and the stale, musky scent of
the basement filled her senses. It was cool and damp, so unlike the upstairs
portion of the bar. The liquor she’d knocked back hit her. Or maybe it was her
heady reaction to Trent. Her head spun, making everything hazy and warm. He
cupped her ass, pressed their lower halves together, and rocked his hips. The
feel of him against her kicked her hormones into overdrive.
    She slanted her head and threaded her fingers through his
curls. Hugging him close, she dominated the mating of their mouths. He pushed
up on her thighs, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. She broke the
kiss and drew his lower lip between her teeth and nibbled. When their eyes met,
she could see how much he wanted this. Her. This was how it was supposed to be.
    He clutched her ass, harder this time, pulling her against
him, until the only thing she was aware of was the hard length of his cock
begging to be released. Trent walked forward.
    When she opened her mouth to speak, she knew it was going to
be the best idea she’d ever said out loud. “There’s a couch in the corner.”
Pointing past the rickety desk, she directed him to the leather sofa she
sometimes used as a bed. Although it was lumpy and bled white cotton from a rip
on the corner, she couldn’t get rid of it.
    Trent spun them around, changed directions. As his tongue
flicked against hers, she tried not to imagine what it’d be like if he was
doing that somewhere else. Her pussy slickened with arousal from the thought of
him gripping her thighs and burying his head.
    Trent knocked the breath from her when he slammed her up
against a hard, cool surface. It was the beige vertical filing cabinet that
hadn’t seen any type of organization in the three years since her mom had left.
    “Sorry,” he muttered and pulled at her tank top.
    She lifted her arms and he pushed it up. Her silver
pentagram thudded against her chest—she had the passing thought that she was
forgetting something important. Her hair fell in front of her eyes. When Trent
pushed the tresses out of the way, she forgot to breathe. He looked between
them, hunger clearly written on the hard angles of his face. She sucked in her
stomach and pushed her chest out.
    Her breasts, as small as they were, spilled from her black
satin bra. Thank God for laundry day. It was the one time biweekly she broke
out the underthings in the back of the drawer. He traced her exposed nipple
with a single finger, tightening the areola into a