Page 102 of Magic of the Damned

“Why haven’t you used this on the Mors? Take away their ability to kill by touch?” I asked. This seemed like it would be the answer to all their problems. The threat of losing their magic was probably just as cruel as imprisonment.

“You’ll see,” he explained, taking my hand in his and pressing the knife against my skin while he waited for me to give approval.

Nodding, I sucked in a breath and waited for the blade to pierce my skin. Dominic exhaled a shuddering breath, hesitating before he pressed it into my skin. Placing the orb in my hand, he spoke the spell. That went on for a stretch of time. With all the spells I’d seen, this one had to be nearly four pages long. At any point, I could just drop the orb, end the spell. But I held on to it as Dominic spoke the final portion, magic slithering over every inch of me until it had bound me in an invisible cocoon. I forced out a wheeze as the magic poked and prodded with an aggressively intrusive touch. The pull became violent. Pain seized me. My body temperature rose to an inferno and I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth. Unable to steady myself, I collapsed to my knees, my fingers affixed to the orb. No matter what I did, I couldn’t pry them away. I wanted it to stop. Needed it to stop. Pain so excruciating, tears streamed down my face. Focused on the pain, I was faintly aware of Dominic prying my fingers from the orb and the heavy thud of what might have been him tossing it aside.

He pulled me to him, chest to chest, my legs curled around his waist. He lifted me and carried me to the sofa where he plopped down on it. The low, gentle brusque of him calling my name, soothingly rubbing my back, and telling me everything would be okay was fades of noise. I was too far gone.

Another sharp lash of words as he called my name. Cradling my face in his hands, he patted my face. It was so aggressively hard, I reared back to escape it.

“What are you doing? Stop that!” I snapped.

“There she is,” he breathed out in relief, pulling me to him, my face resting in the crook of his neck. After several beats had passed, I leaned back and asked, “Why did you stop the spell?”

His thumb was making rhythmic circles at my side. He scoffed, his mouth forming a slight O before pulling into a rigid line. His finger tangled in my hair as he drew me closer. “It needed to be stopped, Luna. I needed to stop it.”

“I was handling it.” That was an interesting retelling. But I would have handled it if it meant I’d be freed.

“You didn’t appear to be handling it.”

“I’m dramatic sometimes.” I managed a half smile, an unconvincing attempt at a joke. He saw it for the tactic it was, making light of a situation so I could better deal with it.

“There are other options to explore,” he said. I couldn’t determine if that was the truth or conciliation. His expression revealed nothing. When he dropped his hand from me and sank deeper into the sofa to look at the celling, I attempted to dismount. He quickly held me closer to him.

“I like you here,” he whispered.

So did I. I shifted, pressing against the generous bulge that showed his pleasure with my position. He was ruining magic for me. I’d struggle not to have a Pavlovian response. Magic meant touches, kisses, sexy straddling, and the naughty way he looked at my lips as if he was always moments from covering them and tasting me.

Driving in the point of me conflating magic with him, his hand slipped under my shirt, running a delicious path over my body. Nails edging over my skin sent pleasure through me. He yanked off my shirt, a deep rumble reverberating in his chest as his eyes drank me in. Unclasping my bra and freeing my breasts, he palmed them, his thumb teasing them to hardened pebbles before taking one into his mouth. Laving over it with moist lazy circles as the familiarity of his magic caressed my skin, pulling a deep, throaty whimper from me. Fisting his hair, tugging him away until we were face to face, I glared at the devilish glint in his eyes.

“You’re doing it again. When I conflate sex with magic, it will be your fault.”

“I’ll wear that blame with pride,” he growled, drawing me to him in a ravenous kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth. Tasting me in a kiss so intense it left me panting softly when he ended. He trailed lazy kisses over my neck, collarbone, before returning his attention to my breast. Giving it the same treatment. Slow languid sweeps of kisses and laves had me arching into him, desiring more. With a deep groan, Dominic shifted me onto my back, tugging my pants off, hungry eyes devouring me, sweeping over my form in just my panties. A quick jerk ripped them from me, and he discarded the torn material on the floor. He traveled up my body with kisses and hedonistic licks, demanding a sexual submission that I gave in to when he settled between my legs, his hard bulge resting between them, taunting me. The throaty way he said my name, replete with an unsated need. He shifted into me. I yearned for him and needed every inch of him in me. My desperate fingers clawed at his shirt, pulling him to me.

“Luna, close your eyes,” he demanded.

I obeyed. He repositioned, pulling me to him and wrapping his arms around me. Coolness breezed over me before swirling. I opened my eyes. When the clouding in my head eased, he lowered me onto his bed. Dominic gave me only a few seconds to take in our new location before devouring me with a kiss, hard and deep. A torrent of powered emotion. I was acutely aware of his raw masculinity and the command he had over it. He gave hard and still managed to leave me wanting more. Needing more. Aching to take everything he had to give.

Withdrawing one of the hands that fisted his hair, I used it to tug up his shirt. For a fleeting moment, I was aware that I was seeking sex instead of the answers we needed. It was a bad idea and I didn’t care. Dominic was a delicious distraction, and I was eager to let his all-consuming sexuality and presence be that disruption.

Dominic broke the kiss to help me with my clumsy attempts to remove his shirt. His lusty appetite matching mine, he shifted back, tearing away the shirt. Buttons rained onto the floor. I wanted to trace the cut muscles of his abs, the V that formed along the crest of his hips, graze my nails over his warm skin. He disrupted my intention when he removed his pants and underwear, revealing his hard, thick length. A smirk tugged at his lips when I bit down on mine.

A sharp moan escaped from me when he took my nipples in his mouth, teasing them before traveling to my stomach, hips, and inner thighs. His tongue nestled in my mound as he moved between the folds, caressing the area with his tongue. His thumb thrummed over my swollen nub and my body was begging for a release. The dark amused fire in his eyes at my moans had me writhing from his erotic touches. Stroking earned an orgasmic shudder. I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled him to me in a kiss as I urged him to his side so I could give in to my earlier desires, running my hand along his chest to his stomach. Edging back to plant ravenous kisses and nips along the same path. Nudging him to his back, I straddled him. Slithering down his body, tasting his skin and inhaling his scent. With each touch and kiss, his cock grew harder. Just touching him did nothing to satiate my need. Continuing my exploration, I slid down until I was face to face with his hardness. Taking hold of it, I stroked the length of it. Hot need burned in his eyes. He hissed a groan as my tongue ran over it. Taking him into my mouth, caressing him with my tongue. Stroking the remainder at a slow rhythm that had the Prince of the Underworld in an undeniable conflict: close his eyes and enjoy it or watch me. Biting down on his lips, he gave in to the latter, holding my gaze with his hungry eyes, showing his great pleasure with my attentions. His low groans filled the silence of the room before he twined his fingers into my hair, urging me up. When I was positioned over him, with his erection settled between my legs, I grinded against it.

He cursed before pulling me to him and rolling me to my back, taking me in a demanding, wanton kiss that became increasingly fervent and commanding. My body became pliant to his carnal, possessing touch.

I could feel his reluctance when he pulled away and opened the nightstand drawer. Pulling out a condom, he unwrapped it and rolled it on with efficient deftness while my eyes traveled over the length of it.

“Human women are far more fertile than we are,” he whispered in my ear, the heat of his body blanketing me as he settled between my legs. I thought briefly about mentioning I was on the pill, but the thought was obliterated as he slowly entered me, meeting a slight resistance as I accommodated his thickness. He slid deeper into me and I moaned with shock and pleasure. Moving at a fast rhythm, I wrapped my legs around him, meeting his unfettered thrusts. Our movements were hard, frenetic, desperate. It suffused over me like a wildfire. My fingers curled into his back as I climaxed with a shudder. His breath battered against my lips as his strokes came harder, more intense until he, too, shuddered from the pleasure. Sinking deeper into the bed, he rolled from me, discarded the condom. Nudging me to my side, he wrapped his arms around me.

He nipped at my shoulder and neck, the caress of magic gently skittering over my skin. I’d become quite sensitive to it.

“Stop it. No mixing magic with sex.”

His deep chuckle vibrated in his chest. “I believe it’s too late for that,” he teased into my hair. “But this may have backfired. How will I resist the urge to touch you”—his hands wandered between my legs, slipping into the wet folds—“to see how you respond whenever I perform magic?”

“Here’s the dilemma. Will I respond like that to just your magic?” I teased. He stiffened behind me, his touch possessive.

“Mine. Just mine.” The claim was in his words, along with the edge of something else. Contentment. I felt it in his nuzzling me.

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