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

26. Riggs

“NOT GONNA LIE, Mags. It’s pretty hot what you did back there.” I grin at her as we walk to the car.

She rolls her eyes. “Being a witch is hot? Have we unlocked a kink you didn’t know about?” she teases.

I grab her hand and turn her to face me. “You are hot. And you’re a witch. So maybe witches are hot, I don’t know.” I nuzzle into her neck and she giggles. “What I do know is that what you did is incredible, and it felt…I don’t know, meaningful. Which might be stupid,” I admit, pulling away so she can get into the passenger’s seat. I wait until she’s settled, then shut her door and round to the driver’s side.

“It’s not stupid.” She catches my gaze and holds it. “And, honestly—it was meaningful. Far more than you probably realize, but…yeah,” she finishes softly.

I start the engine, then steer us onto the road. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around there being witches at all, and now Pops is dropping knowledge that our family had witches.” I shake my head in wonder. “Who knows—maybe that’s why none of this has felt as bizarre to me as it should?”

“Or maybe you’re just an open-minded individual,” she tosses back.

I snort. “Don’t give me too much credit.” After a beat, I say, “We gonna talk about the new silver in your hair?”

“Sure hope you like the crone aesthetic.” She pulls down the visor and inspects the new streak going down the other side of her face.

“I love you no matter what.” I squeeze her thigh. “And honestly, it looks cool. Very…witchy.”

“Gee, thanks,” she says sarcastically. She plugs her phone in and navigates to the music app. She waves the phone in my periphery. “Feel like some karaoke?”

“Hell yeah. Do I get to pick my song?”

Now it’s her turn to snort. “Absolutely not.” She hums happily as she scrolls through what I assume is a list of her favorite karaoke songs. “Oooh, got one,” she laughs maniacally as she hits play.

The iconic sounds of Madonna’s “Like A Virgin” begin, and I laugh. Immediately, I start singing, pinching my vocal chords and singing high in my throat to get as close to Madonna’s sound as possible.

Magnolia joins me for the chorus, which is essentially her taking pity on me, but I don’t care. We belt out the lyrics, and she takes over to tell me how fine I am, and I make her feel like she’s got nothing to hide.

And even though the song is kind of ridiculous, the lyrics hit me like a freight train. As the song ends, I reach over to pull her hand into mine. “Do you really feel that way?”

“What way?”

I glance over at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright. She’s so damn beautiful that it hurts sometimes. “That I see you. Make you feel?—”

“Shiny and new?” she laughs.

I raise a brow. “You know what I mean.”

“Let’s see if this answers that question.” She hits play on a new song.

Well. I’m smiling like a complete and utter sap, because it’s Daryl Hall John Oates “You Make My Dreams (Come True),” and she can’t possibly know the love I have for this song.

“You make my dreams come true,” she sings, hamming it all the way up, using the pen she found in my glove compartment as her mic. “Yeah you!” She hits the falsetto perfectly, and I giggle. Literally giggle.

The drive goes by quickly as she picks song after song. “Just What I Needed” by The Cars. “Yellow” by Coldplay. “You Belong With Me,” by Taylor Swift. “Immigrant Song” by Led Zeppelin, which is no damn joke to sing. And plenty more.

I pull us off the interstate and pull up to a red light. We’re singing “Thrift Shop” by Macklemore—which I’m not embarrassed to say I know every word to; I studied that song like it was my job when it first came out because it straight pops—and I blame that for not seeing the bright yellow Mustang that comes flying through the intersection right when I hit the gas as our light turns green.

“Stop!” Magnolia screams.

I slam on the brakes, narrowly avoiding the Mustang as it speeds past. Adrenaline floods my system as I look over at Magnolia. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.” I repeat it, even as her eyes remain wide and fixed on the road in front of us.

“This is bad,” she whimpers, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes tightly shut. “We—you—so bad.”

“It’s okay.” If I keep repeating it, it’ll be true.

When she turns to me, her face is pale and drawn. “This is all my fault.”

I squeeze her hand. “No, it’s not.”

“The curse.”

“Nothing happened,” I insist. Thank god.

A car honks behind us, and after checking left and right, I drive us through the intersection and continue on. Only, instead of going to her house like we’d originally planned, I keep going, taking us to my house. She’d mentioned that my place bordered her family’s property, and once she did, there was no mistaking it. My backyard led into a thicket of trees and wildflowers, and before meeting Magnolia, I’d never wondered what lay beyond it. Now I know: every type of herb and flower that could possibly be grown was over there, along with who knew what else.

Part of me wants to call one of her sisters and get them to bring tea, and the other part of me just wants to hold her. The holding side wins. I only let go of her hand to turn off the ignition and get out of the car, and I’m pulling her into my arms in seconds. She shivers against me, crying softly as I hold her tight, the fear wracking her entire body against mine.

I stroke her back, wanting only to soothe her. It’s been a hell of a day. I may have found out I have witch ancestors, but Magnolia is the one who took possession of the veilstone. I may not have understood what I was signing up for when I started loving this amazing woman, but that doesn’t mean I’m not up for the challenge.

“Can you walk?” I ask after a moment.

She shakes her head and sniffs, burrowing into me like she wants to make me her second skin. So I bend down and tuck her legs over my arm, and carry her into my house.

I’m probably an asshole for it, but I take her straight to my bedroom, because right now, all I want to do is make her forget about the near-wreck, and the best way to do that is to bury my head between her thighs.

I lay her down and unlace her shoes, pulling them and her socks off.

“What are you doing?” Her voice trembles with the question.

I pull my shirt off. “Making you forget,” I answer, not missing the way her eyes fall to my chest. “Will you let me do that for you?”

She hesitates, so I undo my jeans and push the flaps open, knowing good and damn well that it distracts her. When she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, I know I’ve won. “Okay,” she whispers.

I pull her shirt off, then her bra, followed by her skirt and panties. I shuck everything off and step out of my shoes. Once I have the both of us naked, I walk away.

She chokes out a strangled noise behind me. “Where are you going?”

“To start the shower. It’s a great shower.”

It really is. It’s a walk-in with two shower heads, one on either side, and there’s a built-in seat on one side that’s perfect for a certain someone to relax while I go down on her.

“You should come with me,” I call over my shoulder. Sure enough, by the time I’ve started the shower, turning on both heads and stepping out to let the water heat up, she’s in the bathroom. “Want your hair up?”

She tips the corner of her lips up. “You really think it’s going to stay dry?”

Caught, I laugh. “Probably not, but I figured it was worth the offer.”

She presses her forearms against my chest, sending that familiar spark into me, and I groan as her lips meet mine. She hums, then stops and pulls away.

“Mags,” I murmur. “It’s okay.”

Worry fills her eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“I know that you humming surely isn’t going to be the death of me. Come on.” I gently pull her into the shower and guide her under the spray. She closes her eyes and I take a moment to appreciate the view. Generous breasts and curves, a rounded belly and hips perfect for grabbing onto, and that fucking bare pussy.

Jesus.

I sink to my knees without a second thought, needing my mouth on her immediately. She gasps and grabs onto my shoulders for balance as I part her lips and lick.

“Riggs,” she breathes. “I can’t…”

“You can.”

She shakes her head. “I need…”

“Please,” I interrupt. “Let me make you feel good.” I wait, my knees on the tile and my hands on my thighs.

She inhales shakily, then closes her eyes. “Okay.”

Grateful she’s consented, I turn my attention back to her beautiful pussy. As I dip my tongue between her once more, I groan with hunger. I want this every day. Want to taste her, feel the way she melts around me, hear the way her voice goes to this particular smoky timbre only when I’m bringing her pleasure. Because my god, this woman.

I manage to pull myself from her long enough to growl at her to sit on the tiled seat, then move toward her. I pull one of her nipples into my mouth, swirling and nipping at it the way she likes, and feel her hands push through the buzz of my hair.

“Fuck,” her voice hitches. “That’s so good.”

I release her nipple, licking up her chest to her neck and the sensitive shell of her ear. “Tell me what you want, Magnolia,” I urge, palming and squeezing one of her breasts tightly.

She jerks. “More.”

“More what?”

“Put your mouth on my pussy, Riggs. Make me come.”

My cock thickens almost painfully as I growl against her neck. I fucking love it when she talks like that. “Good girl, Magnolia.” I pump my cock once for relief, then descend, pulling her foot up on the seat and pushing her knee wide, baring her to me. “God.” I stare, pumping myself again.

“Riggs.” She wiggles and moves a hand near her clit.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Change of plans.”

She heaves a breath and looks at me with glassy eyes.

“Touch yourself,” I demand.

“Only if you do,” she responds.

I don’t answer. Instead, I wrap my hand around the base of my cock and give it a long, slow stroke.

“Is that how you like it?” she asks, dipping a hand between her legs and beginning to swirl her middle finger around her clit.

I nod, transfixed on her hand, the way her fingers are bent, the angle of them against her pink flesh. “Don’t stop doing that.”

She shifts a little, but keeps her legs spread for me, and keeps circling her clit, up and down. I grip myself harder, worried I’ll come way too fast at the rate we’re going.

“Talk to me,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the shower.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” I choke out. “I’ve wanted you from the minute I saw you singing, and fuck.” I trail off as she pushes that same middle finger into herself, then a second finger, using her thumb to stroke her clit. “Baby.”

“Does it feel good?” Her gaze meets mine. “Fisting yourself? Fucking your hand?”

Holy shit. I grip myself harder and move faster as my breath comes in short, choppy bursts. “Yes. Fuck, yes. You?”

She arches her back and moans. “You’re so sexy, Riggs. Watching you.” She pumps her fingers in and out, circling her hips and writhing on the bench.

I can’t say anything, simply hope that I can hold off long enough to watch her take herself to the brink.

Holding my gaze, she says, “I can’t wait to have your cock inside me. Filling me. Spilling into me.”

“Fuck, Magnolia,” I growl, nearly out of my head. I use my free hand to brace myself against the tile, dangerously close to passing out from pleasure.

“Riggs. I’m almost there,” she pants.

“Look at me,” I plead, feeling my own release build.

She locks eyes with me as she cries out with her climax, and I let myself go, the heat of the water nearly my undoing as my vision narrows with the intensity of my own orgasm. Braced against the tile for support, I open my eyes to see Magnolia, gloriously undone on the seat in front of me. As she pulls her hand away from herself, I step forward, grabbing her wrist and guiding her fingers to my mouth. Her eyes darken, then flutter with desire as I suck them into my mouth, tasting her release on my tongue.

Not even remotely satisfied, I kneel before her, intent on finishing the task I’d begun.

“Riggs, I can’t—” she starts.

I ignore her, dipping my tongue into her wet heat before swirling it back out and around her swollen clit. “You taste so fucking good.” Her hips jerk in response, and she grabs the hair on top of my head. “There you go,” I mutter, then suck her clit into my mouth, flicking it with my tongue and pushing two fingers into her without warning.

Water beats down on my back as I take her, curling my fingers inside her to find the spot that sends her soaring.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants above me, then stiffens. I pump harder, and flutter my tongue just below her clit, on the spot I’ve found is her most sensitive.

She screams, the sound echoing beautifully, and I half expect the panes of the shower glass to crack in response. As she goes nearly boneless in the aftermath, I straighten, hiding the wince of pain that kneeling on the tile with fifty-year-old knees brings.

She pulls herself upright, palms on either side of her, and blinks up at me.

I smile. “Now that’s the kind of blissed-out face a guy loves to see.” She blushes as I turn to get some things to wash her with.

After we’re done washing, I pull her out and wrap her in a towel, then squeeze the water from her hair. “Do you want to dry it?”

She looks at me quizzically. “With what?”

I open the sink cabinet and point to the hair dryer that still sits in its box from where I bought it a week ago.

“That’s sweet,” she coos.

“I know,” I chuckle, then duck the swat she tries to give me.

“Don’t be so egotistical.”

“I know what I’m good at.” I step behind her and kiss the skin between her neck and shoulder. She makes a sound of contentment, then squeals as I spank her ass. “Dry your hair. I know you don’t want to come to bed with it wet.”

“Who says I’m going to bed?”

“Me,” I answer, kissing her skin again.

I notice she doesn’t argue when I leave her to it.

She also doesn’t argue when I pull her into the bed and put my head between her legs again. Or when I push into her, groaning her name as she tightens around me. Her arms are banded around me, and we move together in the dimness of twilight, our breathing in sync.

“I love you,” she whispers against my skin.

I pull her mouth to mine as our hips meet again and again. “I love you, too, Magnolia.”

“And I’ll kick your ass if I have another streak in my hair after I come.”

I thrust hard into her and smirk as her eyes flare. “You’re saying it won’t be worth it?” I push again.

She moans and her eyes flutter shut. “Keep doing that and I won’t care.”

I’m happy to say that when she comes, her mouth fused to mine in a kiss so deep I nearly lose my breath, she does not get another streak of silver in her hair.