Naughty Karma

humming. His fingertip was an electric charge, sizzle sizzle sizzling down her spine and out to her extremities in warm, heavy waves. She was tuned to his touch, each new stroke awakening another inch of her body she’d never known could be erogenous. And that was just from brushing the back of her neck. What would happen if she gave him carte blanche with her body? The thought worked a delicious shudder through her.

Why was she resisting this? Why was she resisting him? He was this wild, sexy, utterly unpredictable, insanely masculine specimen of a man. She was never going to meet anyone else like him and she was wasting it because she was too much of a prude to listen to her own body, which was currently screaming at her to pounce on him.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“Mm?” His eyes were closed, head lolled against the back of the sofa.

“About casual sex.”

His finger stilled on the back of her neck, then resumed its lazy stroke. “Oh?”

“And fun.”

“Sex should be fun,” he rumbled agreeably, still without opening his eyes or moving a muscle. “Otherwise you’re doing it wrong.”

“I’ve definitely been doing it wrong.” The profoundness of this statement seemed to echo in her thoughts, distracting her.

His lashes lifted, the ebony depths they veiled watching her with careful neutrality. “Now that is a shame.”

“I agree.” His hand fell away from her neck and she resisted the urge to pout and demand it back. She tucked her legs up underneath her so she was kneeling, facing him. “I need more fun in my life. And more sex.”

He plucked her glass from her hand and set both tumblers on the floor. “That’s enough of that,” he muttered under his breath. Then, louder, “Why don’t we see about accessing that gift of yours?”

“Okay.” She swung a leg over his so she was seated, straddling his lap.

Chapter Seventeen Save a Horse, Ride a Warlock

“Whoa. Ah, hi there.” If Prometheus had made a list of likely things to happen tonight, having Karma mount him like a cowgirl wouldn’t have made the top five hundred possibilities. Her skirt, which he’d never seen so much as wrinkled, bunched high, exposing the smooth lean stretch of her thighs.

“Hi.” She looped her arms around his neck, smiling dopily. “It worked last time when you kissed me.”

“I remember.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands—a gentleman would keep them to his goddamn self, but Prometheus was no gentleman, so he gripped her hips, squeezing gently, testing out the feel of her and discovering he liked the hell out of it. “I also remember that you wanted no physical contact to be one of our ground rules.”

“I have too many rules.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you, but I’m pretty sure I’m only agreeing with the Stolichnaya. The Karma I know lives for her rules.”

“Do you know me? Do I know me? Does anyone?”

“I know that you’re a flirty, weirdly philosophical drunk. Wasn’t expecting that one.”

“I’m not flirting. I’m making a pass.” She frowned, peering close into his eyes. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“You’re doing great.” If the erection he was sporting was anything to go by, she was world class. “But we’re here to practice working your gift, remember? Now that you’re loose—”

“I hate it.”

“What?” He was having trouble keeping up now that drunkenness seemed to have kicked Karma into overdrive.

Her eyes were wide, startled. “I’ve never said that to anyone.”

“Yeah, we’re both full of confessions tonight.” Next time he bespelled a bottle of vodka, he was going to be a damn sight more careful about what kind of juju he put into it.

It had seemed like a brilliant plan when he thought of it. Keep the charm wholesome and pure and put all the naughty, manipulative trust me, rely on me, confide in me crap into the vodka. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be drinking it himself—and when she’d told him to drink, he’d been reasonably certain that the magic was specific enough, designed to make her trust him, that he would be immune. Then the next thing he knew they were talking about fucking foster care. Jesus.

As soon as he’d realized what was happening, he’d switched the clear liquid in his glass to water. Luckily, with his faster metabolism, he was already starting to sober up and the trust me juju was fading as the alcohol worked through his system, but it looked like Karma was coming into the confessional sweet spot. He was sure she’d never be confiding in him otherwise—he hadn’t missed that it had taken her two shots of the spelled vodka before she’d trusted him enough to put on the perfectly harmless charm he’d made for her. Now it dangled between them, swinging against her breasts as she rocked forward in his lap.

“I hate my gift,” she said again with relish, like a child confessing long-held feelings for a despised stepparent. “The dreams are the worst. They come at you when you’re vulnerable and drag you under. They say you can’t die in your dreams, but you’d be amazed how close you can come. Stabbed, shot, burned, drowned, smothered, bones breaking like twigs left and right. The pain is bad, but the fear is the worst. The helplessness. I can’t change anything in the dreams. It isn’t me, you see. I’m not there. I’m just a passenger, living through the fear and the pain of someone else’s choice. All the consequences, none of the control.”

“Holy shit. No wonder you’re a control freak.”

He’d seen it happen with Ciara, but he’d thought that must be an aberration, a fluke brought on by Karma's panic. If it was like that every single time her gift engaged, how did she stay sane?

She gave a high, slightly hysterical laugh, and the words kept coming, tumbling out of her mouth, each one hollowing him out and making his empty chest ache. “I don’t think I’ve slept a full eight hours since I was ten years old. I used to wake up screaming every night, but it was killing my parents to hear it and it wasn’t helping me so I taught myself not to. I’d still be screaming in my head, I’d still hear it, but no one else would. So my parents stopped talking about sending me away to get me help. I hate the dreams, Prometheus. I hate them.”

She listed abruptly on his lap and only his grip on her hips saved her from toppling to the floor. “Easy now.” When she was relatively stable again, he squeezed her waist to get her attention. “Hey. You’re going to master those dreams. They won’t be able to touch you anymore if you don’t want them to. You’ve been holding yourself back, but you’re a force of nature like I’ve never seen. I’m the biggest badass on the block and I know my shit. While you’re keeping yourself in check, I can run circles around you, but when you let yourself free you’re going to be able to Hulk-smash my puny ass into next week. You just have to start working with your power rather than against it. You’ve got this, Karma.”

Her jaw dropped and she gawked at him, gaping in shock—whether at his words or his ferocity, he didn’t know. Then she closed her mouth with a click, blinked once and announced, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

And she did.

Her lips were as smooth and soft as he remembered and she tasted of vodka and something spicier. Cinnamon. Then her tongue teased past his lips, her hands fisted in his hair jerking him closer, and coherent thought waved goodbye as the kiss went from exploratory to incendiary in a heartbeat.

The couch was right there, so perfectly inviting. It was the most natural thing in the world to roll her underneath him as he ate into her mouth. His hips found the perfect cradle between her legs and he rocked up into her. Her breath hitched and he caught the gasp in his mouth, devouring it then nipping at the plush pad of her lower lip as he rocked again, the hard length of him catching her sweet spot again, but still begging for a firmer,