Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 115860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
What if, this morning, he’d come to my flat, not to search for information but to ravish me? What if, when I answered the door in my lingerie, he was so overcome with passion that he undressed and pleasured me right there?
Mmm, heaven.
Sinking into the vision, I imagine us breathing together—during every kiss, at the end of each plunging thrust, panting as we approach climax. With strong fingers, he grips my hips as if he can’t get deep enough and won’t be satisfied until he’s claimed every inch of me.
I close my eyes and let the fantasy take me deeper.
Sweat trickles down his brow and onto my chest, as he rails me deep. Jaw set, he throws his head back and moans that he wants me the way he’s never wanted another woman.
Yes, I know he turned me down, and that he’s more interested in the contents of my stories than my knickers. But this is my fantasy.
Maybe…writing my wishes about Caden would be cathartic. If I get them out of my system, perhaps I’ll sleep peacefully and wake tomorrow with this odd obsession gone.
Flushed and tingling, I flip over the red book in my hands before cracking it open.
To hell with caution. I’ll worry later about what happens if Caden ever reads my late-night wishes. Or the unlikely chance that, with a few strokes of my pen, I could magically compel him to my bed. If such a miracle happens, I’ll deal with the damage to my heart then. Plus, I’ve earmarked this book as a potential story for Out of this Realm. If I’m considering writing about the little volume, shouldn’t I research it firsthand?
Impulsively, I grab a pen and begin to write:
Dear Magical Diary,
I have this fantasy. Mad, really. But I dream of Caden MacTavish storming my door, ordering me to strip, ravishing my body…
As the words flow from my mind onto the page, I slip into a trance. I can nearly feel Caden’s mouth caressing my nape, his fingers rolling my nipples, his erection sliding a burning path deep inside me. I can almost hear him say that he can’t resist me for another minute while he stares at me, as if I alone hold his heart.
An hour later, I let out a ragged breath as I put my pen and the book aside. Desire dampens my palms, the valley between my breasts, and the throbbing slit between my thighs. I literally ache for Caden.
Imagination is a powerful aphrodisiac that leaves me in urgent need for satisfaction. And while I want Caden to sate me, he isn’t here. Nor is he likely to suddenly appear and make my fantasy a reality, despite Aquarius’s claims.
I reach for the light, intent on dousing it so I can find my battery-operated boyfriend and some relief.
Before I kill the light, I glance at the open book. There, in script that isn’t mine, are two lines I did not write:
Sleep, dream, anticipate…
The fantasy you imagine will soon be your fate.
Chapter
Fifteen
Caden
Sunday morning comes, and though my head throbs after drowning yesterday’s memories in whiskey, I’m resigned. I have to ask someone to teleport me to London. I need to keep searching for Anka. I hate relying on magic, but I can’t waste another moment.
“You look like hell,” Bram offers from behind his massive desk.
No shit. Pervasive sweats, along with the tingles and dizziness, are now constant. My sex drive has kicked into overdrive, just for fun. How can anyone be fatigued and so bloody randy at the same time?
Magic.
Transition is coming, despite how hard I’ve prayed otherwise.
What the fuck am I going to do?
Shoving aside the implications, I wince at the obnoxiously bright sunlight streaming through the windows and glare at the Doomsday Brethren’s self-appointed leader. The wizard looks unusually disheveled and exhausted.
“You’re unlikely to win any bloody pageants, either.” I snort. Then I swallow the rest of my snark and my pride. “Look, about your sister… Sabelle is taking a huge risk to help my brother, and I’m grateful, but…”
“You’re worried about her.”
“Indeed. Helping Lucan is incredibly dangerous.”
“She’s always been too brave. I tried to warn her.” Bram sighs. “But she’s your last recourse, and you’re torn. I understand.”
“I don’t want anything tragic to befall her—”
“But Sabelle is the only person keeping Lucan from death. I know. Even Ice had words with me about the matter. But my sister does what she wants, so she’ll heed none of us and do exactly as she pleases.”
Before I can reply, a series of gongs and whistles sound through the house, startling me.
Bram stiffens and swears. “Fuck all. What does he want?”
From my childhood, I remember magical calling cards. “Who’s that?”
“Shock Denzell.”
Instead of mentally easing the barriers around the estate to admit the git, Bram stomps out of his study and across the foyer before flinging open the front door. In the distance stands a cross between a body builder and a Mack truck. He’s like something out of a Terminator movie. Big, bad, and hiding behind dark sunglasses, Shock stands with arms crossed over his leather-clad chest, wearing an unapologetic fuck-off glare.