Page 14

Chapter 14

Rowan gritted out a moan, nails digging into the bark of a fallen tree. The night air was sharp on his tongue, stinging and bitter against his naked body only to be thawed by Callum bowing over him, shielding him from the autumn cold. Sweet Hecate he felt so fucking good.

Claw gripped his ass, the velvety fur of his tail wrapping tight around his thigh. He collared Rowan’s neck, pulling his head back to slant his mouth over his. He tasted like summertime, strong and fresh and hot. Rowan devoured his kiss, wanting more, needing more.

Callum’s hand slid between his spread legs, cupping his balls. Rowan arched as Callum’s hard, huge cock worked itself inside him. He thrust and Rowan grunted, pushing back against him. “More.”

“You feel just as amazing as I dreamt you would, Witch-Boy.” Callum’s breath was hot against his ear, the low growl vibrating right through him. He stroked Rowan’s shaft in time with each of his thrusts. “You are everything I ever wanted.”

Another thrust made Rowan’s teeth clack. It had been so long since someone touched him like this, so long since he allowed himself to be touched. And now his beautiful, scarred male was worshiping ever inch of his body. Gods, Rowan was so glad he decided on that walk after dinner, so glad he had finally given in as soon as Callum’s lips were on his neck.

Rowan hissed as Callum’s hand slid up his length. “Fuck.”

Callum’s breathless chuckle danced over his back. “Precisely.”

No, don’t come yet. Too soon. He wanted this to last. Wanted this to go on and on and on. Gods, I want him. I want him for all time. Don’t stop. Don’t leave me alone. Please, please, please! Callum’s hands were all over him, his mouth was all over him, his hot wet growls consumed him whole. Callum thrust hard, fast, pushing him right to the brink until…

Until he woke the fuck up.

Moonlight flooded through Rowan’s window, bright even through the curtains on such a clear night. But instead of enjoying his silvery glow, he was panting, sweating, and hard as a damn rock. Rowan sat up willing his heart to slow to no avail. That dream was clinging tight .

“The curtains rustled despite the window being closed tight. Rowan could have sworn he heard the faintest of otherworldly giggles rustling between the floorboards. He looked to the ceiling with a scowl. “Not cool.”

It had only been a night since he agreed to be wooed and the house was already attacking with both barrels. It had felt so real’ Callum’s gorgeous, scarred chest, feeling his frantic heartbeat against his palm, his moans husky and low.

Rowan shut his eyes, doing his best to think unsexy thoughts; taxes, mowing the lawn, the weird plastic things on the end of shoelaces. But no matter what he thought of, it all came right back to Callum. His fangs scraping his neck, hand wrapping tight around his cock…

“Nope-nope-nope!” He flew out of bed. Pain shot down his thigh and he stilled, clutching the bed frame for safety. After an eternity, the pain ebbed to a dull throb. Cautiously, he put weight onto it, finding that it could hold him again. But he’d have to move, warm, and stretch the muscles a bit before crawling into bed or it would never go away. “Great. A hard on and muscle cramps. Anything else bound to happen?”

The winter air nipped at his bare chest as he limped around his room. The fire crackled, the house’s giggles carrying on every pop and snap of the wood. Another scowl was cast to the ceiling. Now he understood Callum’s irritation with the dwelling. “Just let me sleep, okay?”

A dry, crackling voice whispered, “Miiiiiine!” The air thickened with a tight cold miasma. The flickering orange fire dimmed, then stopped, as if someone had hit the pause button on the world. The sharp stab of a glare dug into Rowan’s bones. He felt it hovering over him, a blanketing darkness, waiting. Coveting. The shade.

“I’m…I’m still dreaming?”

A force slammed him against the wall. Rowan thrashed as fingers tightened around his neck, stinging like icicles. A shadow formed before him; two glowing green eyes in the darkness and a mouth filled with daggers. “You are mine, Witch! My prize! No other will have you!”

Help me! Someone help! He tried to scream, but his voice was torn from him. Fuck! Why can’t I speak!

The grip on his throat released and the shade screamed, lightening crackling over its body. It burst apart into thousands of ragged whisps as the house worked its magic. Rowan covered his head as the shadows battered him. He ran to the hallway, dragging his injured leg as fast as he could. The door at the end of the hall swung open, welcoming warm lights coming from the other side. He dove through it, sliding across the slick floor before rolling onto his back. The door slammed shut and the world went black.

Rowan woke, sleep blurred haze clinging to his eyelids. His head felt full of air, spinning in empty space. He reached for his blanket. There were none. Or a bed. Or his room for that matter. He was on the floor, surrounded by dark wood paneling and torches flickering in welcome. “Wha..?”

A sharp prick stung his temples, his dream returning in a rush; the shade, the chase, the hand around his neck squeezing until his insides were frozen. He leapt to his feet, but his leg wobbled, still stiff from the cold. Down he went, hitting the floor with a huge thud, pain shooting right into his hips.

“Witch-boy?” Callum was silhouetted in the torchlight, tail lashing like a whip. He was clad only in Rowan’s talisman, his body glistening with a light sheen of sweat.

Rowan rubbed his eyes. “Am I in your wing?”

“You are.” Callum was beside him in an instant, pulling him into a sit. “What are you doing here? Are you all right?”

Rowan tried to rise but his leg was unwilling to support him as he scrambled for purchase on the wall. It”s Callum. He’s here. You’re safe. “Yeah. I was… I must have been…uh…uhhhh….”

The words fell right out of his mouth as he found himself eye-level with Callum’s massive cock. Right there. In his face. The one place on his body that bore no scars. Wonderful, semi hard, and just waiting for him to press his lips to it. The first, and more pleasant, half of his dream hit him like a semi-truck.

“Sleepwalking?” Callum finished for him. Rowan tried to look to his face but continued to stare at that beautiful phallus. Thick, and long, surrounded by dark curls. Gods it was just like he remembered. Heat flooded his cheeks then shot straight to his groin. Callum cleared his throat. “Witch-boy…”

“Penis!” Rowan slapped himself. “I mean Callum! Uh…Yes?” What was he saying again? Oh Yeah. Nothing. Because he was too busy staring at satyr dick. The shooting pain in his leg managed to snuff out the oncoming erection and Rowan finally dragged his attention away.

“Are you sure you’re well?” Callum asked.

“Yeah. Gods, I haven’t sleepwalked since…” The shade showed up. He bit his lips shut, afraid to mutter that omen out loud. “Guess I felt like a little sleep stroll. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He gestured to the length, and length, of him. “…interrupt?”

Callum’s pointed tongue flicked across his lower lip, and he grinned. “Nothing I can’t return to, later.”

Rowan bit back his groan. Oh shit, was he jacking off? Was he thinking of Rowan while doing it? The thought of that powerful scarred body straining, bathed in sweat and firelight as he stroked his length, Rowan’s name heavy on his lips. And we are hard again! Great. “I should probably let you get back at it, um to it…whatever. I’m probably bugging you.”

“Of course not. I’m wooing you now, Witch-boy. You’re always welcome.” Callum swept Rowan up into his arms, marching him down the stairs. “The fire is warm in my territory. You’ll rest with me, and I won’t hear otherwise. Besides, you can’t walk out even if you wanted.” The tiniest of smiles curled his scarred lips. “And you won’t want to walk out.”

That arrogance. Oh, sweet Hecate when it made an appearance, it was so fucking hot. Rowan tried to mask his shivers as Callum jostled him down the stairs, the hypnotic smell of pine and musk luring him deeper into Callum’s arms.

None of Ivy’s cheery touches were present on this side of the house. No sheer curtains, family pictures, colorful wallpaper, or ornate rugs. Just bare, polished wood and heavy leather furniture, accented with piles of books. The only piece with any personality was the huge chandelier that spanned the living room ceiling, composed of antlers and hurricane lamps, glowing with oil lit flames. It was probably an exact replica of the one that Finn tried to crush Ivy with. “This place doesn’t seem like your style.” Rowan said.

Callum snorted. “It’s the warlock’s.” He jerked his head to an oil painting hanging over the mantle. The only picture in the room. A handsome man stared back at him; eyes so amber they were almost yellow. His dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, an old-fashioned suit, possibly Victorian, on his broad body. “The house saw it fit to replicate this part of the house with Thaddeus’s original decor.”

“Why?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I believe it was very attached to its former master before Ivy moved in.”

A sickening twinge nudged Rowan’s brain, vibrating from a bear skin rug sprawled before the fireplace. Another jab came from the mounted stag heads on the walls, their final moments screaming at him. His stomach churned, the acidic taste of vomit coating his mouth. Of all the hobbies for a warlock to have, they had to be hunting and taxidermy, the dickhead. “Ol’ Thaddy had taste for crap.”

“His strengths lay with magic, not decorating.”

Callum lowered Rowan onto the couch. Once again, his dick was at face level, like an engraved invitation. Rowan turned away, only to lock eyes with the stag on the way. His thoughts instantly went to sweet Broderick who was probably on the porch right now, wrapped in his blanket and snoozing away. Oh shit, what if that was his uncle or some other Broderick in his family? Rowan gagged, slapping a hand over his mouth before the dry heaves took hold.

Callum arched a brow. “What vexes you now? Surely, it”s not my cock.” He grandly gestured to the length of it, as if Rowan hadn’t noticed it.

“No. Your cock is great. It”s fantastic. Always had been.” Rowan waved a nervous hand towards the hunting trophies. “I can sense their last moments and they’re not pretty.”

Callum’s mouth thinned into a tight line. “You can sense that?”

“Remember when you kept gifting me dead animals when we first met? That’s why I kept giving them back. The curse of a veil walker.”

Callum looked towards the rug, then to the stag heads on the wall. He hummed then jerked his chin with a determined nod. “I see.” He rolled up the bearskin rug, tucking it under his arm and marched towards a window. He pushed it open and out the rug flew, landing in a pile of snow.

Rowan shook his head. “You don’t have to-” The crack of splintering wood drowned out his protest as Callum pried each stag head from its perch. The chandelier shook with fury making Rowan wince. “I think you’re pissing off the house.”

“Well, it’s always pissed me off, so we’re even.” The trophies followed the rug, along with the stench of their death. Callum wiped his hands on his thighs and pulled the window shut. “Better?”

His belly settled. “Better.”

“Why did you sleepwalk?” Callum settled beside him. “Did you have another nightmare?”

The lamp like eyes of the shade shimmered in Rowan’s memory. Long dagger teeth. boney fingers sharp in his throat. He balled his fists, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing.” Callum examined him in silence, his penetrating stare digging right past Rowan’s lie. “Really Cal. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to relax.”

Callum’s mouth tightened, ears pressing against his skull. Then patted Rowan’s head and trotted away, cock swinging. “I can help you relax. I will change that nightmare into your greatest dreams.”

Gods, I bet you can. Rowan bit his cheek. “I didn’t come here to get laid. Honestly.”

Callum chuckled. “Doesn’t mean the night can’t end that way.” Rowan swallowed hard. If this night took another sharp turn, he’d get whiplash. He watched Callum throw open a steamer trunk. The sounds of bottles clinking followed. “Ah! Here we are!” He held up a wine bottle, its silver label embossed in Italian.

Rowan puckered his lips to the side. “You’ve been stealing Ivy’s wine?”

“Your sister has an entire vineyard in her kitchen. She can part with one bottle.” Callum slit the foiled paper from its neck with a claw. “...Or five.” He jammed the tip of his horn into the cork, pulling it free with a pop then held the bottle out to him. “Drink.”

“You stole wine but not glasses?” Rowan took Callum”s wrist, turning it so he could read the label. “Oh shit! This is one of her expensive bottles! Cal!”

“Enough grousing. Drink.”

“She was saving this for a special occasion!”

“You are a special occasion.” The mouth of the bottle bumped Rowan’s lips, the rich smell of wine tickling his sense. “Drink.” Callum repeated, his demanding tone sending heat right to his groin.

There was no way he could refuse that deep, seductive command. Rowan took the bottle, taking a quick drink of the full bodied, oaky drink. Delicious. Just like the satyr standing before him. He blotted his lips with the back of his hand. “That tastes expensive.”

“Then it will relax you quicker. Stop worrying tonight and do what you desire. Relax.” Callum pushed the bottle towards his lips, eyes stern as he watched Rowan take another drink. That pointed tongue flicked across his lips once again, calling to him. Gods, Rowan could practically feel it, wanted to feel it. The nightmare faded from his mind, thoughts only on what Callum could do with that wicked mouth of his. Rowan offered the bottle back to Callum. He took a long pull, wiping his red stained lips with his forearm before he settled beside him again and patted his lap. “Legs up here. I’ll rub the hurt away.”

Rowan chuckled. “Wait, I get wine and a massage?”

“I’m wooing you, am I not? Be my good Witch-boy and obey me.”

Rowan”s breath went ragged, pulse racing as Callum took his ankle, He pulled his leg into his lap, pressing his warm hands into his thigh, kneading. Pain gave way to slow relief as the knots released. An unintentional moan quivered out and Rowan bit his lips shut, trying to ignore the smug smirk on Callum’s face. In a few minutes, Rowan was rendered into butter.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Callum asked.

“No. This is great.” Rowan laid his head back on the arm of the couch. “You’re damn good at this. Ever think of opening a business? You can call it…Satyr Strokes.” Callum snorted, making Rowan waggle his eyebrows. “I’d make more massage-themed puns, but they’ll rub you the wrong way.”

“Your puns are horrible,” Callum chuckled.

“And yet you laugh. Just embrace it, dude.” Rowan watched Callum, hypnotized by the firelight playing over the roped muscles of his forearms, each scar rippling from movement. Callum’s fingers brushed his hip, then his inner thigh. Higher. An all too familiar fear stabbed Rowan’s heart, and he swung his legs out of Callum’s lap. “I should…” Callum placed them right back and returned to work. “…Sit right here?”

“Yes.” Callum locked eyes with him. “Do you want to go back to bed? Answer me truthfully, Witch-boy.”

Gods, Rowan longed to be coddled, to be needed and wanted and touched. But the damn words wouldn’t leave his mouth. Rowan was pushed backwards onto the settee, caged by Callum’s thick arms.

“If you don’t accept my care…” Callum purred. “Then you’re not leaving.”

Rowan’s laugh trembled. “Cal! Come on!” He wanted to sound forceful but was weak as Callum’s hardening length pressed into his thigh. “You’re not playing fair.”

“You’re a strong witch! How can you be so easily waylaid?”

“You’re heavier than me.”

“Then use your wits! I thought witches were supposed to be clever-” Laughter exploded from Callum as Rowan shoved his hands in his armpits and wiggled his fingers. The satyr squirmed, kicking his hooves against the cushion.

“Oh my gods you’re ticklish!” Rowan moved his hands to Callum’s ribs, dancing them across his scars. “How did I not know this?”

Tears of mirth trickled down Callum’s cheeks as he struggled to speak between his hysteria. “Now who’s not playing fair?!”

“Me. Totally me.”

A sharp thwap of Callum’s tail hit the side of his ass, and Rowan squeaked, jerking his hands away long enough for Callum to snag them. He pinned his wrists over his head as Rowan continued to giggle. “Almost got you.”

“Almost, Witch-boy.” Callum pressed his forehead to his. “But I’m tenacious.”

His weight was a reassuring blanket, soothing away the aches and pains Rowan suffered moments ago. Their giggles faded and Callum tucked his face in the crook of Rowan’s neck, his ragged breath tickling his skin. The crackle of the fire filling the gentle silence. If only he could close his eyes and just fall into this comfort, just forget the crap that plagued him for so long, but he tensed on reflex.

Callum pressed a kiss to Rowan’s collarbone “You need to be unburdened.” He moved upward, nipping and licking his way to Rowan’s throat.

“I…I don’t…” All thought left Rowan as Callum pressed his mouth to his. Rowan parted his lips to welcome him in, tongues entwining in a hard, and biting dance. Gods, he missed Callum’s kiss, missed his closeness. He longed to wrap his arms around him, but they remained pinned in Callum’s tight hold.

Callum fingered the waistband of Rowan’s pajama bottoms, tugging them down an inch. “Don’t fight me.” He pulled them further, the cool night air skimming Rowan’s hips.

Rowan’s knees parted and he cradled Callum between his thighs. “I won’t.”

The hold on his wrist released and Callum sat up, chest heaving. He was chipped granite, and as hot as a forge, but so soft, gentle, and eager to please. Rowan moved to take his cock. He needed to feel that steel in his hand, to slide it between his lips and drink him down but a sharp click of Callum’s tongue stopped him short. “No using your hands, Witch-boy.”

“What do you want me to do with them?” Rowan wanted that sound sassy, not like the quivering mass of words that melted out of his mouth.

Callum moved his arms back in place over his head. “You keep them here like a good boy.” He studied Rowan with his hand, tracing a map across his pecs, his belly, all the way to his hip crease. “You are so beautiful.” He circled Rowan’s navel with a single claw. “You deserve all the pleasure I plan to bestow on you. Would you like that?”

“Yes.” The word came easy. Rowan didn’t want anything else more in this world.

Pleased, Callum slid his hand under Rowan’s pajama bottoms, palm running the length of his shaft. One firm stroke and Rowan arched but was stilled with a hand to his belly. A warning rolling from Callum throat. “No moving. Be my good Witch-boy.”

Rowan didn’t believe he could get any harder than he was, but he was stone, aching and throbbing, desperate for Callum’s touch. He nodded, swallowing in restraint. He wouldn’t move, wouldn’t breathe unless Callum told him to. He’d be a good Witch-boy.

Callum peeled Rowan’s bottoms down his legs, tangling the flannel tight around his ankles “I’ve longed to see you bared to me again and here you are just as magnificent as I remember.” He sat back to look upon him as if he were a deity. He thumbed Rowan’s slit until precum beaded at his tip, wetting the pad of Callum’s fingers “Will you taste just as sweet as well?”

That wonderful, pointed tongue flicked the top of his shaft. Rowan whimpered like a trapped animal, almost tearing the armrest free as Callum probed, the hum from his throat vibrated his very core. “Oh Gods!”

“You’re even sweeter.” Callum’s lips closed around him, hot, wet heat, sealing his length. That divine mouth bobbed sucking and licking as the satyr cupped his balls, kneading another long moan from Rowan. Rowan kept his hips still despite the urgent need to thrust. No. You’re his good Witch-boy. You won’t move a fucking inch. When Callum pulled away Rowan finally released his breath, his legs tingling.

Callum fished under the settee, brow knitted in concentration. Rowan almost asked what he was looking for when he produced a small bottle. Callum looked at it then at Rowan with a sideways smile. “I suppose it was fortuitous you interrupted me when you did.” He popped the cork. “You may release your hands. I have something to occupy them.” He snared Rowan’s wrist, pouring the clear, viscous liquid into his palms coating every finger. “I need you to prepare me.”

“You want… uh…” A bucket of ice-cold reality hit. Oh, Gods this was really happening. And you’ll run away again because you don’t deserve this. Too fast. Too much. Way too fucking real!His passionwaned staring at the lubricant dripping from his fingertips.

Lines of concern deepened across Callum’s face. “You’re quiet.”

“Um, I…” Shit, what was he going to tell him? Sorry Callum, but despite what the talisman says I’m destined to be alone forever so I can’t finger you. He looked away.

“You don’t have to hold back. Not with me.”

Yes, I do. Rowan shut his eyes tight, trying to shove his guilt back. Not tonight. Why of all nights did this have to come back tonight?

Callum pressed a tender kiss to Rowan’s forehead. “Would it be easier if I commanded you?”

Rowan opened his eyes as Callum brushed hair from his forehead. He swallowed, rolling that thought in his head before he whispered. “Yes.”

Callum clutched Rowan’s nape, pulling him close, his growl deadly. “When you’re with me, you will not hold back. You will scream. You will howl. And you will obey. Do you understand?”

Lust returned with a roar. Rowan tightened, body on fire. He needed to be free, to buck and writhe and bellow Callum’s name to the heavens, to get lost in his strong, brutal satyr. “Yes.”

The corner of Callum’s mouth rose. “Excellent.” He leaned down guiding Rowan’s hand between his thighs. “Now finger my ass, Witch-boy.”

Rowan he slid his hand into the cleft of Callum’s ass, one finger circling the rim. Gods, it had been forever since he’d done this, but when Callum’s eyes rolled back and he bared his fangs, his boldness grew. Rowan slid his finger inside. A low purr vibrated Callum’s throat. Another finger stretched the satyr before sinking further into his heat.

Callum rolled his hips. “Deeper.” Rowan obeyed, curling his fingers, working them in and out. as the satyr pressed into his hand, rocking slow. “That’s it, Witch-boy.”

Rowan’s breath hitched, Callum’s belly brushing his cock. His own hips rose for more of that delicious friction. “Is this what you want?”

“Almost.” Callum slid free, the fur on his legs soft as velvet against Rowan’s thighs. The last of the bottle’s contents were emptied into his palm and he gave Rowan a long stroke. Rowan almost exploded at the touch, he bit his lips shut. Oh Gods, I shouldn’t. I can’t. I don’t deserve…

“No.” Callum grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes to his. Molten gold and sapphire, searing like fire, branding him with longing. “Release it, Rowan. Remember, my good little Witch-boy always obeys.”

Callum straddled him, taking his shaft and guiding him between the cheeks of his ass. He slid down Rowan’s length, his snarl rumbling through them both as they joined in tight, hot perfection. Oh, Gods this felt so good. He felt so good. A moan whispered from Rowan, afraid to make its presence known.

“Louder.” Callum commanded. His tail flicked Rowan’s belly as he adjusted to his girth.

Another moan, stronger this time, one that made Callum grin. That small release chipped at Rowan’s walls, crumbling them down.

“Hands back over your head.” Callum said.

Rowan tossed his hands up against the cushions. Callum took himself in hand, stroking slow. He was gorgeous, bathed in firelight and glistening in sweat as he rode Rowan’s cock. This wasn’t fair. He needed to be the one to make Callum come, to be the only one.

He thrust, nails digging through the leather of the settee. “Let me touch you.”

Callum smile was pure sin. “Say please.”

“Please, Callum,” Rowan whimpered.

“Shout it to the heaven’s Witch-Boy.”

“Please let me touch you!” Rowan howled. “I need it so fucking bad! Please!”

Callum pulled one of Rowan’s hands free, curling it around his length. “Good little Witch-boy.”

His words turned into a hiss as Rowan slid his still wet hand along his shaft. Callum’s claws flared as he pressed his hands to Rowan’s chest, pushing him deeper. Rowan couldn’t hold back any longer. He drove into him harder, basking in his satyr’s lustful grunts. Callum. He was heaven, he was everything. He’s mine.

Sweat coated their bodies, sticky and smooth. Rowan clutched Callum’s hips while he pistoned his own. He needed to be inside him needed this connection like he needed to breathe. Callum took his mouth, their teeth clacking together. A fang nicked Rowan’s lip, the coppery taste of blood tainting their kiss. He didn’t care, only wrapped his arms around his satyr, pressing him close, moving as one.

Their cries shook the chandelier, Rowan’s orgasm rising fast.One last thrust and he shattered, arching so hard he was sure he’d split in two. Callum followed, throwing his head back with a mighty roar. White lines of seed lashed Rowan’s chest and throat, a hot brand on his flesh.

Their bodies slowed, the frenzy of their joining ebbing like the tide. Callum collapsed, lacing their fingers as he showered Rowan with kisses. Rowan stroked his back, reveling in the touch of his mouth. No shade haunted his thoughts. No guilt. No responsibility. There was only Callum. There would always be Callum.

Callum gathered Rowan in his arms, groaning as his cock twitched inside him. “By the Goddess,” was all he could muster.

“Tell me about it,” Rowan replied.

Callum chuckled, playing with sweat coated hair on his nape. “I’ll command you more often. It sets you aflame.”

“Yeah, I guess…Guess I just needed permission.” Rowan brushed his cheek. “Thank you.”

Callum brushed his mouth over his then untangled their bodies. He wrapped an arm around Rowan’s waist, pulling him close. They laid together sweat slicked, breathless, and covered in cum. And it didn’t matter one bit. Rowan’s fears faded as their heartbeats touched, the pewter of his talisman between them. Protection. Sanctuary. Here he was cared for and safe. And he would stay here for the rest of his life.