Karaoke Chemistry: A Witchy Small Town Romcom (Sacred River Book 2)

12. Magnolia

IF I’M HONEST with myself, it was always heading here. To Riggs’s house. To his bed. A full year of stolen glances and flirting, of talking through both the songs we chose and the words we exchanged. Even if he’d never ended up as the high school principal, we’d been on this track for months.

I turn the radio off, needing the silence to steady myself as I grip the wheel and follow him out of the parking lot, my shoulders tense, my legs shaky.

The question isn’t whether we’ll sleep together. It’s whether I can harness my feelings and keep him safe, or whether I’ll fail completely and put him in danger.

Thinking of the way his bright turquoise eyes roamed over me in the bar, I have a bad feeling it’ll be the former. The sparks, those fucking sparks, have to be wrong. Or maybe they’re right and it’ll still be okay, because maybe the curse is limited to my family. Which means all I have to do is not marry Riggs and all will be fine.

I scoff. Marriage? Marriage? I’m literally following the man to his house for sex, and I’ve spiraled into thoughts of marriage.

There will be no marriage. Not with him. Not with anyone, if this curse is as bad as I think it is.

I stew the whole way to his house, then shove it all down when I turn into his driveway. He lives much closer to me than I expected him to; his backyard juts up against the edge of our property on the eastern side of the river. The proximity is startling; how did the Universe not tell me about him? How did Clementine not notice him? She walks the property regularly since she tends to it so carefully; there’s no missing a man like Riggs in a house right next to us.

And then, all rational thought leaves my head as he unfolds himself from his car and leans against it, waiting for me. The memory of his office slams into me, the way the sun slanted against his back. The way he looked at me as he made me come on his desk, as though he’d do it for the rest of his days. I shiver from head to toe as he waits on me. It’s clear what my body wants, what it craves, yet I still hesitate. There’s no missing the strength and power coiled in him, the pleasure he could give, but what happens after?

I could leave. The thought is treacherous, yet I turn it over in my mind anyway. I promised him I would come, and I’ve done that. I didn’t promise I would stay.

Riggs pushes off his car and strides to me, his thighs flexing beneath dark jeans, his face a quickly fading mask of patience. He opens my door, then leans in and turns off the ignition before I can process what he’s done. “Get out, Seven,” he commands, his voice low and gravelly.

My own thighs clench together at the roughness of his tone, the way it brooks no argument.

“Unless it’s Magnolia,” he says, his voice no less intense. “Either way, get out of your car.”

I stare at him for a beat and take in the absolute authority in his expression. It’s not that he’s pissed—not even close. I think he sees right through me, and he knows I want this just as much as he does.

How far am I willing to let this go? Can I give him just my body? Or does giving him my body immediately hand over my heart, too? My…everything?

The seconds it takes me to decide feel like an eternity. I’m on the precipice. I know I am, and I know that whatever I decide is going to change things. Not just for him, but for me. For us. For everyone around me. I don’t know how—that’s not a gift I have, or even want—but I know, with absolute certainty, that if I get out of this car and go to bed with Riggs, that my life will be irrevocably changed. What I don’t know is whether that change will be for better or worse.

“Fuck it.” I mutter the words, then launch myself out of the car and into his waiting arms.

I can’t tellyou what his house is like. I know the air is cool and it smells like him, woodsy and masculine, and I know it’s got hardwood floors because his boots scuff on them as he carries me to his bedroom, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hands digging into my bottom.

“Fuck,” he breathes as I yank my mouth away from his and slide my lips to his stubble-covered jaw, nipping a path to his ear and pulling his lobe between my teeth. He shivers in response.

Then we’re through a doorway and the scent of him gets stronger. His bedroom. Three more steps and he’s still holding me, still letting me have my way with every bit of skin I can kiss. A moment later, he loosens his grip and I let my legs drop, my feet hitting the floor and backs of my legs finding purchase against a bed.

He cups my face and forces me to look at him. The room is lit only by a faintly glowing salt lamp in the corner. “Tell me your name.”

I breathe, my eyes bouncing between his. The bright blue is deep now, a navy ocean waiting to take me deep into its inky depths. His touch is feather-light. I know what he’s asking, and for a moment, here on the edge, I don’t know how to answer.

Yes, you do.

I do. On shaky legs, I give him what’s in my heart and prepare to drown. “Magnolia.”

He exhales and shuts his eyes, almost as if the answer is too much for him. Too painful. When they open again, they sear into me as he repeats my name. “Magnolia.”

And now I’m the one squeezing my eyes shut in pain, because the tender gruff of his voice tells me he’s already jumped into the chasm. That he’s waiting on me. I force my eyes open and swallow hard, my hands shaking, my heart beating wildly as he kneels before me, untying my Docs and pulling them off. He holds my gaze the entire time, letting me see every emotion that flits across his face: lust, wonder, amusement at the yellow socks with rubber ducks on them that stand in stark contrast to my all-black exterior ensemble.

He skates his fingers up my calves and thighs before undoing my jeans and pulling them down, helping me out of them and discarding them before turning his attention to my black cotton thong.

He growls. “You weren’t wearing a thong yesterday.”

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I have both.”

He presses his nose between my thighs, the move so sudden that I grip his shoulders for balance. “You smell so fucking good, Magnolia,” he says, then he yanks the panties down and takes me in. His voice is strangled when he says, “Bare?”

My mouth dries. “I…ah, I like the way it feels.”

He rubs his nose over me, the move so instinctual that my hips angle toward him. His shoulders rise as he inhales.

“Take your shirt off,” I whimper, desperate to have his skin beneath my hands.

He reaches behind his neck and pulls the Henley off in one smooth motion, then returns his attention to my center.

“So fucking pretty,” he says, then takes a languid lick up one side of my folds, and the next. “Like velvet. Fuck me.” He adjusts himself.

I’m struck mute by the sight of Riggs on his knees, his broad shoulders a golden bronze with a smattering of dark freckles on them. His strength is obvious, the muscles solid. His skin ripples beneath my palms, and the want that rises within me is so intense, so overpowering, that I keen for it. “More,” I whisper. “I need more.”

Riggs spreads me with his thumbs and licks my clit. My eyes roll back in my head as I grip his shoulders. Flicking his tongue once, twice, and a third time, he abandons all pretense of taking his time. His hot mouth is luxurious, his tongue the bringer of rapture itself, and words fail me again as he sucks my clit into his mouth and pulls me to the edge of reason. Riggs reads me like a book, learning with every lick and stroke the exact type of pressure to apply and where, and it’s no time at all before my orgasm is racing to the surface, sharp and sensual, and I gasp his name as I come. His hands are gentle against my legs as they give out, and I fall onto the bed, propping myself up on arms that feel just as limp as the rest of my body.

Yanking my hips to the very edge of the mattress and spreading my legs wide, he drags kisses along one inner thigh as he hums, then the next, before sitting back and taking me in. His hands stroke up and down my legs, his eyes holding mine, unflinching. He pulls all parts of me to the surface, and in his gaze I am whole.

“Clothes. Off,” I say, and for as much as I wish they would have come out as a command, they don’t. It’s a request, a pleading, an absolute need to see every inch of this man’s body.

Like a god rising, Riggs pushes up from the floor and quirks his lips. “Wanna see what you’re working with, Magnolia?”

My chest heats at the sound of my name—my real name—out of his mouth. “Yes,” I manage. “Please.” I drink him in as he stands before me. Broad shoulders lead to a solid, muscular chest that speaks to decades of living, his skin marked with a smattering of scars and freckles. As he bends to pull his cowboy boots off, his trim waist holding taut as he bends and straightens with the movements, I see the tattoo on his upper left shoulder. “You were a Marine?”

His feet bare, still clad in his black jeans, he comes close to me once again and chuckles. “There is no such thing as a past-tense Marine, sweetheart. Yes, I served, as did my father and grandfather before me. Did wonders for the skinny high school choir boy, let me tell you.”

I look up at him and can’t help but smile at the idea of this man as a teenager.

“Yeah, see, that look on your face tells me you’re thinking I was adorable back then. I was not,” he says ruefully. “Far from it.”

I sit up and hook my fingers through his belt loops, pulling him close and pressing my lips to his stomach, feeling it flex beneath me. His chest is covered with a light dusting of hair that angles down to a deliciously dark line that I lick as I undo his jeans and push them down. The bulge in his boxer briefs is thick, and before I can pull them down, he steps away, shaking his head.

“Not before I make you come a second time.” Eyes darkening once again, he pulls my shirt off and unclasps the plain black bra, then discards it. Running his hand over his face, he whispers, “Fuck, Magnolia.”

Goosebumps race across my body, and despite everything, my hands still shake.

“Scoot back onto the bed.”

I obey the soft command, the comforter cool against my overheated skin. He follows, crawling to lever his body over mine, then pauses, holding himself in a plank above me and gazing down at me. Pure wonder covers his face. “You are utterly and incomprehensibly stunning.”

His words set me on fire. “Riggs,” I manage. “Please. I need you.”

“Thank fuck.” He lowers his body onto mine, and a whimper escapes at the solid weight of him holding me down. I thread my fingers through his silky hair, the strands a dark silver in the dim light of the bedroom, and pull him to me for a kiss. He consumes me, his mouth claiming me relentlessly as his hips rock into mine, the cotton of his briefs providing just enough friction to keep me on edge. Then he moves down, pulling a nipple into his mouth while he palms the other, and I arch into him, hissing softly at the twin sensations of pleasure. He moans in response.

“Harder,” I say, dragging my nails over his back. He increases the pressure, pulling my nipple between his teeth and pinching the other, and I jerk. “Yes,” I pant. “Like that.”

He switches his mouth to the other breast, licking and sucking his way there, then palms my core, the heel of his hand pressed against my clit and his fingers cupping the rest of me. I mewl, and with a low chuckle, he pushes a finger into me. I thrust my hips to meet it, needing so much more than he’s giving me.

“Greedy, aren’t you?”

“For you,” I answer, meeting his navy eyes without hesitation. “Greedy only for you.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. Then he gives me a second finger, and my eyes flutter back into my head. “Come for me again, gorgeous. I want to see that flush spread all over your body.”

This man. He will ruin me, or maybe it’s me who will do the ruining, but I can’t find it within me to care as he angles his fingers and presses on that perfect spot inside me. I yank his mouth back to mine, needing the connection. Desperate for it. In seconds, a deep sensation of pleasure coils and tightens within me, and my nails dig into his neck, his shoulder. He presses his thumb onto my clit, detonating me, and I explode for him. The pulses wrack through me, my entire body shaking with the orgasm he’s wrenched out of me. He works me through it, his lips hovering above my own as I gasp for air.

When I sink into the mattress, boneless, he whispers, “Perfect. You are absolutely perfect, Magnolia.”

“You’re really good at that,” I purr.

His eyes crinkle in a gentle smile. “I’d do it every day if you let me.” He sweeps his dark gaze over me, head in his hand. “Every. Fucking. Day.”

All I do in response is thread my fingers into the band of his boxer briefs. He helps, and in moments he’s naked beside me.

My head empties as I roll him onto his back for inspection. He’s achingly flawless. There’s no six-pack here, just taut, delicious skin, and a dark trail of hair angling down to a thick cock that makes my mouth water. His legs are relaxed, tensing only when I run my nails over each thigh. I exhale roughly, unable to put into words what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling, and he preens under it.

“Not bad for an old man, huh?” he asks, his lips tilted into a half grin.

“You’re perfect,” I whisper, echoing his words back to him as I catalog the scar on his hip, the freckles on the tops of his legs. I straddle him and bury my nose in his neck, breathing him in as his hands grip my ass and position me right where he wants me. He lifts his hips to slide his cock along my clit, and I moan at the slick, hot intensity of it. I breathe his name, kissing his neck and moving to shift down, wanting my lips on his chest, but he doesn’t let me. Instead, he flips us, repositioning himself on top of me as I wrap my legs around him on instinct.

“God, Magnolia,” he grits out. “Fuck. Hang on.” He stops the rhythmic moving of his hips and leans over to his bedside table, extracting a condom and getting it on in seconds.

I bite my lip as he once again lowers himself to me, then widen my legs as he notches himself at my entrance, both of us watching the movement. He pauses, looking up to me, and there it is. What the spark told me was coming. It’s terrifying, and maybe even unbelievable, but all I can think about is the ache of emptiness inside me, the urgency to have him to the hilt, rocking into me. I lift my hips in silent consent, and on a groan, he pushes in.

Bliss.

Pure ecstasy envelops me as he buries himself, sliding in easily as my body welcomes his. I whimper, unable to do anything with the emotions throwing themselves around within me. I tighten my arms around him as his mouth crashes onto mine, and finally, finally, he pulls out to the tip and thrusts in again. I moan, deep and guttural, and his hands tighten on me. “Need you,” I rasp. “More.”

He pulls almost all the way out again, then slams home, and it’s everything.

“Riggs,” I gasp and wiggle beneath him. “Goddammit. More. Please.”

He meets my eyes. “Say it again,” he growls.

“Say what?” I ask, nearly out of my head. “That I need you? That I don’t know what to do with all of this? With you? That you feel so good and if you don’t fuck me into oblivion I might unravel on this bed? Riggs.”

He moves, his hips crashing into mine with the urgency and intensity I absolutely must have. I don’t want slow. I don’t want sweet. I need this man to fuck me like he owns me, and he knows it, because his hand moves to grip my jaw and hold me in place while he does it.

Over and over he pounds into me, and I welcome it, nearly sobbing with how good, how right it feels.

“Tell me,” he commands, his fingers curling around my throat.

The sensation is thrilling, and I bare my neck even more. His grip tightens, his hips still pistoning into me. “Riggs. Your cock.”

“How good is it?”

“It’s perfect.”

He squeezes my neck, not enough to cut off my oxygen, but enough to send another wave of goosebumps across me. “More,” he urges.

“I need it,” I groan, understanding now what he wants. “That thick cock, so good, oh fuck Riggs.” My voice hitches up an octave as he shifts and hits even deeper inside me. “So deep, oh my god, so fucking good, so good, god, yes, please don’t stop, please don’t stop, please please please.” I’m lost to all of it, lost to everything but the feel of him fucking me, wrenching every last bit of pleasure from my body as I chant a string of praise, the words falling into sounds and keening because there, right there, is the abyss, and he yanks me into it without hesitation.

A sheen of sweat covers us as he pulls my leg up and over his shoulder, and somehow, he’s even deeper. We shout together, and I come, my body hurling over the edge in a deep, bone-wracking pleasure I have never felt until now. Until him. Until us.

Riggs growls again and thrusts hard, stilling and calling my name as his own orgasm falls over him.

I grip him as tight as I can, holding on as waves of ecstasy crash over the both of us, his head buried in my neck, his breath coming in stuttered bursts on my skin.

For a moment, the world stills. And in the recesses of my mind, a voice whispers that I could have this always if I want it. Shivers fly across my body in response.

“Holy shit,” he breathes a moment later, lifting himself off me and pulling my leg off his shoulder. “Thank god for flexibility.” He looks at me as he says it, and I laugh at the mirth in his eyes.

“Indeed,” I answer.

He kisses me then, slow and languid, as though we have all the time in the world. And maybe we do.

It’s only after he pulls a fourth orgasm out of me that I realize what a mess the room is in. The salt lamp is on the floor, and the chest of drawers upon which it sat is across the room and nowhere near the bed. The closet door is flung open, and the curtain rod is angled out of its holder on the wall, the curtain itself sliding toward the floor, as boneless as I feel.

Riggs props himself up against the headboard and follows my gaze, then huffs a laugh as he pulls me into him. “Is that your doing, my little witch?”

Warmth floods my chest as I shake my head. “I…have no idea,” I say honestly.

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I beg to differ. Because last time I checked, I’m not able to make things topple when I orgasm.”

I don’t respond. Later, as I get up and dress, I can’t stop the low-level buzz of urgency to be certain he’s okay. Can’t stop the way my arms tighten around him as I finally leave. Can’t stop the worry that tinges my every emotion as I kiss him one last time.

Because of course I’ve already fallen for him. I was a fool to think I wouldn’t. Which means it’s only a matter of time before something happens to him.