Wicked Magic by Madeline Pryce Page A

peak. He bent his head, and
his hair tickled her neck. He used the tip of his tongue to make a circle
around the bud before he sucked it into his mouth. Hot. Wet. Decadent. He
tugged on the sensitive flesh until she cried out. Sensation penetrated her and
her pussy clenched.
    He pulled her away from the chilled metal cabinet and her
tank top fell from his fingers. What would have taken her ten steps, he did in
four. He set her down on the couch and she spread her legs. She cupped his hips
and pulled him between her thighs before lying back. The sofa creaked and
dipped beneath their combined weight. She had a moment to wonder if it would
survive the promises she read in Trent’s eyes. From her mouth to her neck, he
rubbed his jaw along her skin, nuzzling her like a feline.
    He cupped her cheeks and looked down at her, his gaze moving
from her mouth to her breasts. “I’ve dreamed about you so many times, but I
never expected it to be like this.” His voice was husky, sexier than she’d ever
heard.
    When he found the stretch of skin below her ear with his
teeth, all she could do was suck in a breath. She surged forward, closer to the
heat radiating off his body. “We need—” She panted, arched her back as he drew
a circle around her nipple with his finger. She grabbed his ass and guided his
cock against her.
    Trent pulled away from her neck. “We need to stop talking.”
    He removed his shoulder holster and gently lowered his gun
to the ground. His badge hit the floor next. He reached behind him. In one
move, he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Her eyes widened at the marks across
his chest. The only thing that left a scar on a shifter was another shifter.
Trophies, she tried to remember. A lighter shade than the rest of his skin,
three slashes marred the perfection of his torso.
    She traced the lines with her gaze and her magic leaped. His
jaguar surfaced, its fur soft under her touch. The low rumbling purr in her ear
drew her closer. Trent shuddered and she wondered if it felt as if invisible
fingers were stroking him.
    “Sam.”
    If it was a warning, it wasn’t one she was going to listen
to. When she lifted her fingers and drew them down his stomach, his muscles,
all defined and sexy, jumped. He placed his palm on top of her hand. It was
hot, rough. He moved south, guiding her wandering fingers to his erection. His
eyes fluttered shut. She stroked his length through his jeans and his jaw
tightened. She watched, her arousal growing. He was thick and long.
    Using the weight of his body, he pressed her farther into
the sofa. The leather creaked. She ignored it. The kisses he pressed along her
jaw were slow, gentle—such a contrast to how she felt inside. He moved lower,
dragging his body against hers until his beard scratched her stomach. When he
breathed, the warm air kissed below her navel. Trent slid his mouth lower with
hot, open-mouthed kisses that left a trail of moisture in his wake. When he
brushed the top of her jeans with his fingers, he looked up as if asking
permission.
    Gaze never leaving hers, he trailed his touch under the hem.
He curved his digits, teased her stomach until a renewed rush of arousal left
her slick and ready, wetter than she’d ever been.
    The impact of what was about to happen had her sucking in a
breath. A low, needy moan left her throat. She arched off the couch and pressed
herself against him. He popped the button on her pants, parted the zipper to
expose the black triangle of satin covering her curls. It was the rasp of her
zipper echoing through the room that gave her pause. How far was she going to
push this?
    There was a specific ritual she needed to perform to inherit
her powers. Samhain. Candles. Rosemary and ribbons.
    The faint beat of the music pulsed upstairs. She couldn’t
hear the words, but she felt the tempo. Every couple of moments, a weak spur of
cheers would hit her ears. It was all so distant. It made her realize how alone
they were. As he pushed a finger under