Page 40 of Reluctant Wizard

“Don’t be pedantic. I want you inside me.” She enjoyed how his black on black pupils dilated with renewed arousal. “Or I can go down on you,” she added, feeling bold in the delight of taking him by surprise. “Return the favor.”

“Darling Alise,” he said, his voice hoarse, and he combed his fingers into her short hair, “you know it’s not an exchange of favors, yes?”

“A figure of speech.”

“Yes and no. I want you to understand that what we just did, I did out of desire, not to put credit into some kind of karmic savings so I can withdraw similar acts from you. Lovemaking, sex—this is for us to share. It should not be transactional.”

There was a bitterness behind his earnest words that made her wonder. “Did something happen to you, to give you such strong opinions about sex becoming transactional?”

He shook his head, not in negation, but brushing off the question. “That’s not a story I want in bed with us. My point is that it’s very important to me that everything you do with and for me comes from a place of consent, not from obligation.”

“Cillian.” She laid a hand on his bare chest, unable to resist stroking the fine, silky hairs. “I don’t feel any obligation. I just really want to give you pleasure also. I’d be more assertive, but I don’t know what to do.” Unexpected emotion swamped her. She didn’t like being the naïve, awkward one. If only she were older, more experienced, and could employ some exotic, seductive skills on him, startle and please him as he had her. Feeling a bit self-conscious, she pressed a kiss to his chest, then took a chance and kissed his velvety, pink nipple. He shuddered, his fingers clenching in her hair, close to the scalp. The shockingly erotic sensation made her melt against him.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, muttering something she didn’t catch, then released her hair and dragged her up for a devastating kiss. She clung to the kiss, to him, like a drowning woman. He slid his hand down the curve of her hip, making a sound when she eagerly spread her legs for him.

“So wet for me,” he said on a shuddering sigh, then turned on his back, drawing her with him. “Straddle me. That way you can control it, in case it hurts.”

She’d been shy to look at him too closely before, but now she gingerly took hold of his cock, marveling at the feel of it, so very different from her own body. Her knees on either side of his narrow hips, she carefully explored his member, surprised at the softness of the skin of his shaft, the tip even more velvety than his nipples. Cillian lay still, eyes closed, pained lines creasing his face. Halting her exploration in concern, she asked, “Am I hurting you?”

He cracked open one eye. “Yes, you’re killing me, but that’s no reason to stop.” At her hesitation, he trailed reassuring fingers along her hip. “This is my every fantasy come true, darling Alise, and I’m doing my best to ensure it doesn’t end too soon for you. And for me,” he added, with a hint of a smile. “However, allow me to encourage you to move on, if you’re determined on this.” He lifted both hands to her breasts, teasing and lightly pinching her nipples, renewing the flame of need that hadn’t abated despite everything so far.

She squirmed, breath growing short, her pussy aching with it. “Cillian,” she panted.

“I only stop when I’m inside you.”

Having quite a bit of trouble concentrating, she positioned the head of his cock at her entrance, sliding down a bit so he stretched her. His hands on her breasts stilled and they both let out a long, sighing groan of mutual desire.

“You feel so good,” he muttered, eyes closed again. “Please don’t stop.”

She had zero intention of stopping, though her tissues complained a little. The sting was nothing compared to the craving, and she wriggled, lowering herself more. Cillian dropped his hands to her thighs, holding her, his face once more a rictus that looked like agony but that shimmered with erotic pleasure. Watching every nuance of his expression, with him looking so beautiful with his nearly black curls spread on the pillow, his lips flushed from their kisses and play, she slowly lowered herself until he was sheathed to the hilt inside her. That last bit of contact sent bolts of pleasure through her. Having his flesh so intimately against hers came as a revelation. More than ever, she was beyond grateful she’d chosen him to be the one. It didn’t bear thinking how it would be with someone else, especially in violation.

A wave of tenderness washed over her, partly his quiet magic, partly her own gratitude and deep affection for this beautiful boy filling her so perfectly, completing her so deliciously. Slowly, Cillian opened his eyes, rubbing his palms up and down her thighs.

“That can be enough, he said, gaze roving her face with concern.

“Oh no, it isn’t,” she replied on a breath of a laugh. Moving judiciously at first, then with more vigor, she rode him, amazed by the bone-melting sensations flowing all through her, mirrored and enhanced in him. Their magic interweaving, commingling with profound intimacy.

The orgasm took her hard, her spine arching of its own accord, a cry escaping her as she threw her head back, utterly entranced and catapulted. Cillian grasped her hips, vising his hands on her and holding her in place as he drove upward, following her with frenzied, deep thrusts that extended the waves of completion carrying her to his familiar shore.

She collapsed over him, purged and limp, dimly aware that he stroked her back with long, affectionate caresses, his love words a gentle susurrus in her ear. The thought ran through her mind, though never clearly enough to reach her lips, that this, being with him, being so connected to him… there might never be enough.

~19~

Alise awoke sometime later, the room dim, the sky out the window a winter painting of slate gray, snowflakes swirling in the meager light shining from the window. Most of that light came through the open door to the living area, golden from the lamps and the little fireplace where the fire elemental danced, gradually devouring the wood chips fed to it.

The rich aroma of gingerbread flowed in also, and she smiled, touched that Cillian took her whim so seriously. Her stomach rumbled with interest, too. Slipping out from under the covers he’d clearly pulled over her, she stretched, feeling the delicious ache in every part of her body, then went naked to the window and gazed out.

Convocation Academy lay still under the snow, golden lights shining out from various windows illuminating the pristine cloak. Alise had never borne much affection for the school, but in this moment the old turrets and towers, the stone wings and boxy courtyards, looked almost romantic. It was simply a structure—saturated with magic, yes—but neither good nor bad in and of itself. The people housed within made their choices, pursued their dreams and schemes, plotted to win or merely to survive. They were the ones to decide on their paths. The school simply taught them what they needed to know.

More than anything else, Alise needed those skills. She could accomplish nothing without understanding her own abilities. Deciding what to do with them could come later. The grief over Maman’s senseless death, and Alise’s culpability in that, would never fully leave her. But somehow, in that brilliantly intimate time with Cillian, something inside her had settled. Not healed over, not now nor anytime soon, but she felt less raw. No longer so unmoored, like a ship in full sail with no crew or rudder, plunging through storm after storm, emerging from each battering a bit more ragged than before.

No, it would be up to her to learn to steer this ship, to trim the sails, and take the measure of the wind and waves. Somewhere along the journey, she’d abdicated that responsibility, what she owed to herself.

“I thought I felt you stir,” Cillian said from the doorway, a lean silhouette with wild curls. “Everything all right?”

“More than all right.” She went to him with a smile, feeling sensual and replete with relaxed abandon. Winding her arms around his neck, she kissed him, long and lingeringly, loving how his hands drifted over her body, as if savoring her, one hand palming her bottom and the other between her shoulder blades, holding her close to him.

Cillian had donned a soft robe, made of a felted material she didn’t recognize, and it rubbed tantalizingly against her nude body. When he drew back from the kiss, he grinned at her sound of protest and resisted her efforts to recapture him. “No, darling Alise,” he said with real amusement. “I am impervious to your wiles until you’re properly fed.”

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