Page 43 of Charmed, I'm Sure
“What?” she panted, panic lacing her tone.
I lifted my head to meet her gaze. “Mags, baby, you mean to tell me you haven’t been wearing a bra the entire time we’ve been locked in here together?”
Pink flushed her cheeks. “You mean you didn’t notice?”
“I do trynotto stare at women’s chests, Magnolia,” I deadpanned, earning a small smile as her flush deepened.
“I was so cold you could have cut glass with my nipples.”
My nostrils flared as I inhaled deeply, my cock throbbing in my pants as a very different visual came to mind: Magnolia topless, nipples hardened into peaks for an entirely different reason, her mouth parting in a littleoas her head fell backward and she rode my—
Nope. I needed to get my thoughts back on track before they completely derailed. I was already harder than I had any right to be, and she hadn’t even touched me below the waist. But it was hard not to let my mind wander when she looked at me the way she was—her breath slow and heavy, her lips swollen from mine, and a lustful haze shining in those aqua orbs.
Slowly, I slid my hands across her back until they spanned her ribcage. Keeping my eyes trained on her face, I watched for any inkling of doubt to flash in her eyes. There was none—not as my hands moved along her sides, nor when my thumbs brushed the edges of her breasts.
“Taylor,please,” she pleaded, her grip tightening on my arms as she arched her back slightly.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, dammit.” Apparently fed up with me, Magnolia sat up abruptly and wrapped her hands in my hair, pulling my mouth down to hers.
Throwing caution to the proverbial wind, I cupped her breasts, groaning when they felt like literal perfection. Soft and pliant—not too big or small, they fit perfectly in my hands.
Tweaking a nipple with one hand, I used the other to lift her shirt higher. I wanted—no,needed—to have them in my mouth. But just as the fabric reached her chest, the soft tinkling of a bell had Magnolia shoving me off of her and jumping down from the counter.
“Magnolia,” I ground out, banding my arm around her waist to haul her back.
“Hush!" She slapped my arm a few times until I let go, straightening her shirt as she frantically looked around her kitchen. “Meowfoy? Here, boy!"
“Baby, the cat’s not in—" The sound of a meow had the words dying on my tongue. Surely there was no way in hell that the cat had gotten through alockeddoor… right?
Before I could voice my opinion, a ball of wet, matted fluff wriggled out from beneath the counter where I’d just had its owner on top of.
“You havegotto be kidding me,” I muttered to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose as Magnolia’s excited squeal echoed in the small space.
Scooping up the large snowball she insisted was a cat, Magnolia nuzzled the big—seriously, a cat that big belonged in a zoo or something—fuzzball. "What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be home!"
The cat bumped its head against hers, its purrs loud enough that I could hear them from where I was standing a few feet away. Nodding like she’d had some kind of telepathic communication with the thing, she placed Meowfoy back on the floor and turned for the large walk-in cooler in the kitchen.
My gaze shifted from the soft sway of Magnolia’s hips down to the cotton ball on the floor. Its bright blue eyes were locked on me, and I was pretty sure it was scowling. But that wasn’t possible, was it? Cats couldn’t scowl… could they?
When Mags returned with a small dish, the cat tilted its head, eyeing me with a knowing gaze. It felt as if he understood exactly what he’d interrupted, as if he had been biding his time for that precise moment to make his presence known.
This was the third time something—or someone—had thwarted our progress. I was slightly relieved it had happened the first time since she hadn’t realized it was me, and we were both, at least, tipsy. But this was becoming absurd.
My arousal effectively diminished as the cat continued to stare me down—yes, I was certain that’s exactly what he was doing. I grabbed my shirt from where I’d draped it across the counter to dry. It was still damp and cold from lying on the metal table, but what could I do?
“I don’t think your cat likes me,” I said, pulling the shirt over my head.
“What? No, you’re fine. He’s just crabby because he’s wet.”
“If you say so.” I watched Magnolia settle on the floor by her pet, stroking her hand down his coat. I could have sworn the little bastard smirked at me before dipping his head to indulge in the food she’d placed in front of him.
I guess he took after his namesake.
Cat: one.
Taylor: still zero.
