Which Witch is Which - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,108

really? No man branded her. But she knew on some level that he would. She'd never be the same if she slept with him.

She should pick someone else.

That nice businessman who'd caught her eye when she'd first entered Sirens would be a better, safer choice.

But not memorable.

Hell, even if she didn't sleep with the dark, mysterious man across from her, she doubted she'd be able to forget him.

“Shall we go?” he growled. He tensed, and her pulse raced.

This was it. Did she want to go through with it?

If she wanted to know what sex was all about, this man dressed in black was the one to initiate her. He'd teach her more in one coupling than she'd learn with a dozen or more men. Might even discover the sexual power that Claire had hung in front of her like a carrot. She already felt more powerful just in his presence.

“Yes,” she said before she lost her nerve. She stood up too fast and wavered on her feet.

He was suddenly there to steady her. Tossing cash on the table, he grabbed his leather jacket and steered her out of the bar. “How far is this place in the woods that you spoke of?” His voice rumbled in her ear.

“Not far, but we'll need a vehicle.” She didn't even think her feet touched the floor as he ushered her out of the bar and down the stairs to Water Street. They came to a stop at a motorcycle. Pale in color and powerful in size, it had her misgivings rising back to the surface.

“Uh…”

“Come.” His voice thickened and went smoky as it slid over her. He held his hand out and without thinking she took it, surprised by the heat radiating off of him.

He straddled the huge motorcycle looking like some avenging god. He adjusted his seat, and she couldn’t help but look at his zipper and wonder what lay behind it. What size of condom would he need? She hoped the box burning a hole in her purse had something that could accommodate him.

“Wait! I-I need to do something first.” She inched closer, and his nostrils did that flaring thing again. Damn, she liked that reaction. “May I—we—kiss to see…”

“To see if we're compatible? Don't worry, my gazelle, we will be. Here.” He took her hand and placed it over his groin. His body shuddered and a curse escaped him. “Tell me how you feel, right now, touching me like this, knowing what you do to me?”

“Ache.” She said the first word that popped into her head. “I ache for you.”

He cursed again. “Hike up your skirt and climb on behind me and I'll take care of that…ache.”

Power coursed through her veins, and she slowly gathered the material of her skirts, showing off enough leg to make her sisters proud. Steadying one hand on his shoulder, she swung a leg over the leather seat and settled in behind him.

“Hold on to me.” He groaned when she wrapped her arms tight around him.

“Don't you have a helmet?”

“I don't fear dying. Do you?” He asked the question as if he really wanted to know her answer.

“No, I'm not afraid of death,” she breathed. Never really thought about death until recently, with those surprise attacks that had made her think of her own mortality. Which are what landed her here strapping herself to a man she didn't know on a motorcycle that seemed to have a life of its own.

“Let's see if we can change that.” He started the engine, and it purred against her already overheated nether region.

“Oh, wow.”

He chuckled and the sound rumbled like the beast between her legs. Her inner muscles clenched in response as they took off downtown.

This should scare the crap out of her, but it didn't. If anything she felt more alive than she ever had. She held on to him tighter as they negotiated the streets in town, but once he opened up the horses on the highway, she couldn't stop herself from releasing him and holding her arms out to her sides, her wrap flying behind her as her hair whipped and teased around them both. It was her turn to laugh, the air catching the sound like a song as they thundered down the blacktop.

Sunny had the shop and Moira would show up soon to help. Aerin and Claire had the house under control—as well as Aunt Justine—she hoped. The Horsemen had been quiet, probably still licking their wounds. And she was free, for at

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