Spell Cat by Tara Lain Page 0,35

seared from his cock, up his spine, and into his head. Crash. Bliss. Crash. Joy. His semen boiled through him, ready to explode.

“Holy shit!” Blaine’s hips pistoned wildly. “God, baby, I’m gonna come. Oh, Killian, love….” Blaine threw back his beautiful, shaggy head. Killian saw the cords in his neck stand out. “Ahhhhh.” Gods, he was magnificent. And that cock. Killian could see in his mind the jets of cum pouring into his ass, but that cock just kept on pumping.

Crash! Inside the room! Maybe it was just inside Killian’s heart. The sound that poured from his mouth sounded like a scream. Every cell absorbed that lightning and then poured it out of his cock. Semen burst onto his belly and Blaine’s chest. His sight blackened and then blazed as light. Sweet sight, no spell or casting had ever equaled the majesty of this moment.

The most powerful male witch in ten generations finally knew true magic.

Light. Filled with light. Killian stretched and opened his eyes. Dark. What the fuck? Oh yes. Night. They must have slept through the late afternoon. He closed his eyes again, and everything blazed. He could make some bad joke about finally seeing the light.

So this was what sex could be. Not just sex, but being with another person in body and mind. He wouldn’t say heart. Not that far. He’d never known it was possible to experience anything like it. He reached out a hand and lightly touched Blaine’s smooth, muscled back. Oh gods, he was so beautiful. The feel of him was like velvet, but warm. Sigh. Blaine just wanted to curl up and go back to sleep.

No. Time to pay the piper. Pay attention.

He scooted a few inches away from Blaine’s very distracting heat. Take stock. What was left of him? How much was he depleted? How much “less” did he feel? He focused and let energy run through his arms and hands. The tingle felt like little lightning. Weird. Not less. If anything, he felt more powerful. Couldn’t be possible. Try again. Power. His hands prickled as if they were itching to be used. He released a little energy and heard a light roll of thunder. Nothing like the cataclysm he’d somehow launched earlier, but this time he’d done it with the tiniest wisp of power. A little fear trickled up his spine.

No. Had to be some mistake. Deep breath. Oh, bad idea. All he smelled was Blaine and sex. All fresh and clean, with wonderful musk underneath. Vanilla and memories. The feel of Blaine’s tongue in his mouth, his cock deep inside Killian’s body. Killian’s dick started to tighten just at the thought. Down, boy. Concentrate.

Try again. Power. The merest twitch. A flash of lightning. Cold chills. This was bad. He pulled himself to the edge of the bed. His power had to be less, didn’t it?

His hands felt cold. What could this mean? He was prepared to have one or two wonderful rolls in the hay with a hot human, sacrifice some of his power, and move on to his responsibilities. He’d made that choice, and he could live with it. But this was different. What if Blaine didn’t deplete him? What if he stayed the same or…. Gods! What if he got stronger? Then—shit!—he couldn’t dismiss Blaine as a walk on the wild side he could fuck and forget. He’d have to admit that the afternoon had been about much more than sex, and if that was true, his life was, in a word, crap. He cared for someone he couldn’t have. Was marrying someone he didn’t love. Everything he’d been told his whole life was in question.

He sat up on the edge of the bed. No. There must be an explanation. Maybe it took time. Maybe this was a false sense of power that had sucked in other witches before him and lured them to their ruin. He smiled. Control the melodrama, Barth. Maybe…. He had to get out of here. He had to think.

He looked over his shoulder and saw blue eyes shining at him from the pillow above Blaine’s head. Steady. Okay, witch, use your damned power. More quietly than any human could have, he slipped from the bed. He wiggled his fingers at Aloysius. C’mon, cat. Move. The feline didn’t flex a tail. Come on! Nothing. Fuck him. Killian searched for his clothes, found his jeans on the floor and his sweater and jacket on the chair by the window. Listening to the soft sounds