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

31. Magnolia

MOM HAS ALL of us out and about on the property bright and early Saturday morning, and I mean all of us, even Quinton and Riggs. Naturally, the two of them are best friends now, having both been victims of my sisters’ tea and still lived to talk about it.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” Clementine asks from beside me. “All buddied up and trying to figure out the difference between elderberry and nasturtium.”

I pull a handful of purple deadnettles and put them in the basket, then look over. They’ve both got their phones out and are angling them at the nasturtium, likely consulting some kind of identification app. We could easily tell them what it is, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, we can use both. “Nothing like a little PTSD to bond them,” I say wryly, then tip my chin at the ground. “How much do we need?”

“Mom said as many as we could get, so I guess all of them,” Clementine answers, rubbing her belly absently. “She’s got me pulling together one of my love potion knock-offs to put in some tea for Kera and her mom if we need it.”

I yank on another patch of deadnettles. “Which knock-off?”

“The one that puts you out like a light,” she grins like a fiend.

I laugh. “We’re a little notorious for our teas, Clem. Don’t you think they’re going to check before just drinking whatever we give them?”

She raises a perfect dark eyebrow as she snips off a cluster of black locust from the pioneer tree, then inhales the aroma from its white petals. “Our bees love these flowers. Best honey in the world.”

It takes a minute, but I finally get where she’s going. “Wait. We’re spiking the honey.” Wonder laces my words.

“Bingo. Kera is the only one who insists on using honey in her tea, so we’ll make sure to have plenty of it available.”

“I’ve been helping Mom and Aspen with spell research as well. We’re getting there.”

“It’s why Mom’s got all of us out here at the crack of dawn.”

“That and she’s just evil,” I joke.

“Accurate.”

When we all arrive back at the kitchen with baskets of flowering plants, herbs, berries, mushrooms, and a few river rocks and some mud for good measure, Mom looks everything over. “This will do it,” she announces.

Quinton and Riggs high-five each other. “Told you we got the right stuff,” Quinton says, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Clementine snuggles into him. “You did great, babe.” She meets my eye and giggles.

Riggs watches it all, his keen eyes catching everything like always. When he swings his questioning gaze to me and I give a minuscule nod of confirmation, he laughs silently. We all disperse a few minutes later, and Riggs pulls me back outside and studies me, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “How are you feeling?” His voice is low and charged, and it is unbearably sexy. I didn’t know how much I’d enjoy having someone be so concerned about me.

“You mean other than the fact that we’re all preparing to wield some wild witchy magic in a week in an effort to break a curse we only just realized I’ve been living under for more than two decades?” I joke.

The lines crinkle around his blue eyes as he smiles down at me. “Other than that.”

“Better than the other night.”

“Good. Because I’ve been terrible.”

Immediately, I tense. “What? Why?”

“Easy, tiger,” he chuckles, running his hands up and down my arms. “I didn’t mean to get you riled up. It’s just…” He looks around. “I’ve missed you in my bed,” he murmurs, leaning into me and nuzzling my neck, his strong hands coming to rest on my waist and pulling me close.

“Riggs,” I whisper, all thoughts of curses and spells falling out of my head.

He continues. “Turns out I really like having you in it. And I had a lot of ideas of things to do on a lazy Saturday morning. None of which I got to do this morning.” He pulls back and looks at me, his blue eyes darkening with desire. “So I think we should go to my place.”

“You do?” I ask, my voice a little breathless.

“I do,” he answers, his voice deep and reverberating through my chest.

For a moment, I think that maybe Clementine slipped something into our water, because my heart has sped up and my breaths are coming faster and faster. But that’s not it. No—it’s simply that Riggs is in front of me, telling me he wants me, and I want him in return. It’s as simple and complex as that.

Because I get it now. Love, this kind of love in particular, is more powerful than any magic. It is the kind of love that leaves me breathless with desire, and wonder, and an unwavering willingness to do whatever it takes to keep him safe.

So I let him take my hand and walk us the short distance to his house, his cadence a steady step-thump, step-thump in his walking boot. And when we get inside, he turns me against the door, threading his fingers through my hair and exposing my neck to his lips. He kisses me, nipping that sensitive spot right where shoulder and neck curve into each other, and I shiver with need.

“Your skin tastes like sunshine,” Riggs says, tightening his grip on my hair in one hand while the other traces a line down the side of my breast and waist before sliding into the elastic of my panties. “And now I want to know what the rest of you will taste like.”

Without hesitation, he drops to his knees on the hardwood floor, the hard plastic of his boot scraping across it as he pulls my loose, long skirt up and over his head and yanks my panties down and off. In an instant, his tongue is on me, licking up the seam of me before homing in on the tight bundle of nerves and swirling.

“So good,” I gasp, then let out a moan at the glorious sensation, my hips beginning to rock of their own accord. “My god, your mouth feels so good.” I close my eyes and lose myself to it, letting nothing invade my senses but pleasure. Pure, undiluted pleasure. Riggs groans against my core, and the sound sends me soaring.

My legs begin to shake, and he takes one and tosses it over his shoulder, shifting his weight so he’s propping me up against the door and keeping me steady, all while his tongue, hot and wet and slick, glides over my center. In no time at all I’m right on the edge, and he teases me with his finger, pushing it into me, but only a little. “Riggs,” I moan through gritted teeth. “I need more. Give me more.”

He doesn’t. I swivel my hips, one hand on the doorknob and the other gripping his shoulder through the cotton of my skirt, chasing the orgasm that he’s keeping just out of my reach. The bastard.

He chuckles, and I must have called him that out loud, because he says, “Call me whatever you want, sunshine, but you’re not coming until I say so.” Then he stops, pulling away and standing, my skirt falling away as he does. A pulsing yellow aura surrounds him, deep and golden like the rays of the sun he called me, and I fist his shirt to yank his mouth to mine.

The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s teeth and lips and tongue, and I taste myself on him as I jump into his arms, the move as thrilling as it was the first time. He grips my ass and takes us to the bedroom while I swivel my hips against him, grinding against the hard plane of his abdomen, the need for release no less intense than it was a moment ago. When he loosens his hold on me and my feet hit the floor, we waste no time in getting our clothes off, and then it’s me who’s shoving him onto the bed and then his back, crawling up his body until my knees bracket his head.

With my hands on the headboard, I meet his stare, the aching need for release almost unbearable. “Make me come, Riggs,” I demand. “Now.”

His eyes flash with heat as his arms wrap around my thighs. “Fuck, Magnolia,” he growls. “You’re sexy as hell when you tell me what to do, you know that?”

I lower myself to his mouth, and he takes me. My eyes close and my head tips back in relief as a moan escapes. He sucks my clit, and the pleasure is so intense I nearly jerk away from him. Then he pushes his tongue into me, fucking me with it, before swirling back to press hard against the spot just below that bundle of nerves, and I’m bucking against him, fucking his face as my hips move on pure instinct, my blood fizzing with intensity, until finally, finally, I come.

“Fuck!” The word is almost a scream as the orgasm crests, my entire body convulsing with the waves of pleasure coursing through me.

Without warning, Riggs pushes my hips up and scoots out from under me. “Don’t move,” he growls, moving onto his knees behind me. My core is still pulsing when he pushes into me from behind, filling and stretching me so completely that the orgasm kicks right back up. My inner walls squeeze him, and he curses. “I’m not going to last if you keep doing that, Magnolia,” he warns, seated deep within me.

“I don’t care,” I gasp, bucking my hips against him, desperate and needy for more. “Please, Riggs, fuck me.”

He pulls out almost to the tip, then slams home again. “Like that?” he asks, his voice low and raspy. Sexy. He does it again, pulling out slowly, then ramming into me.

“Yes,” I rasp. “God, yes. Please. More.” I tilt my head to the side, exposing my neck. He bites down on it, still pulling out slowly and thrusting into me hard, one hand finding my breast and pinching the nipple as the other holds onto my hip, his fingers digging into my skin. “Yes,” I hiss, then beg again. “Please.”

“How bad do you want it?” His fingers find my clit again, swirling around it.

I arch my back, holding onto the headboard. “So fucking bad, Riggs.”

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts. “Don’t move.”

My knuckles go white from the effort. “I need you to fuck me so hard, please Riggs.”

Finally, he snaps. Then he’s pounding into me, his hips pistoning into me again and again, and I sigh in relief. Because when we’re like this, two people making each other feel good, interested in and wanting only the other’s pleasure, that’s when I can relax and just be.

His fingers dig into my hips, his short nails surely leaving half-moon indents in the skin, and the painful pleasure of it is perfect. And still he thrusts, unrelenting, as another orgasm builds, driving toward release with every motion Riggs makes behind me.

“I’m almost there,” I pant.

“Let go of the headboard.” He slides a hand along my back to guide my head to the mattress, and the shift in angle is miraculous.

I groan in appreciation. “Fuck, Riggs, your cock.” My voice is deep and breathy. “So good. So fucking good. Oh god—” I can’t speak anymore, because his fingers are pressing against my clit, circling, and it’s as good as a detonation. I begin to soar, and Riggs goes with me, pumping once, twice, before cursing and stilling, his cock twitching inside me as he finds his own release.

I breathe hard, gulping in air as my upper body collapses, spent, onto the mattress. Behind me, Riggs bends to my back, peppering it with gentle kisses as he pulls out of me. “Lay down, sunshine. I’ll bring you a washcloth.”

He’s off the bed and running hot water in the bathroom in an instant, and I take the opportunity to see what damage we’ve wrought this time. I’ve gotten better at containing my reactions here, too, but there comes a point where I simply…can’t, and that’s when I’m coming. Honestly, who can blame me?

As Riggs walk-thumps back into the room with his cast, he catalogs with me: the salt lamp is tilted on its side, because that poor lamp is always affected, and the closet door is open. “Not bad by you,” he says, a satisfied smile on his face.

I hum as he tends to me, the washcloth the perfect temperature, his touch gentle. When he’s done, he angles his body to the hamper and balls up the washcloth, tossing it like he’s going for a three-pointer. Then he lays back down, gathering me into his arms.

I snuggle in, my head on his chest, and breathe in his cedar scent. He kisses the top of my head and threads his fingers through my hair. I trace his muscles, appreciating the compact solidity of them that comes only with age, the fine dusting of hair that’s more silver than black.

When Riggs speaks, his voice is gravelly. “I want this all the time, Magnolia.”

I tip my head back to meet his eyes, the irises a warm turquoise in the light. Even though I think I know what he means, I joke, “What, orgasms?”

“You, Magnolia.” He doesn’t take the bait. “I want you. I love you, and I want you, all the time, with me. Waking up with you is a dream come true. Seeing your beautiful smile first thing in the morning, tumbling into bed with you at the end of the day. Being able to touch you, hold you, kiss you.” Then he cups my face and bends down, pressing the gentlest of kisses to my lips. “Stay with me.”

“Stay the night?” I whisper, hardly daring to believe what he’s really asking.

“Stay always,” he answers, sending my heart into overdrive. “Live with me. Be with me. I know your family is important to you, and I don’t want to get in the way of that. You have utterly and completely changed me, my little witch.”

All I manage is a squeak. Inside, I’m a puddle of gooey emotions.

His eyes, so calm and serene, the complete opposite of how I’m feeling in the face of this, search mine. “You don’t have to answer now, and even if it’s yes, you don’t have to move in immediately. I will always want you, and I will wait as long as you need. I. Am. Yours.” He peppers my face with kisses with that last part.

It takes everything I have not to cry. Because getting to this point, lying in bed with a man who knows all the parts of me and still loves me, even the parts that scare me and may always keep him in danger, is almost too much. “How?” I croak. “How are you so perfect?”

He huffs a gentle laugh. “I’m far from perfect, my love.”

I shake my head. “No. You are. You are completely and totally perfect, and you make me want to cry and also put you in bubble wrap.”

He raises a dubious brow. “Um…thanks?”

I sniff and give him a watery smile. “What if this doesn’t work?”

“You mean next week?”

I nod.

He takes a deep breath, holds, and releases it, making my head rise and fall. “Then you’ll try again.”

It sounds so simple. Try again. Is that even possible? When was the last time I saw any group of witches try to take down another witch’s curse? Right: never.

“I don’t know if I’ve done enough. Haven’t studied enough. Read enough texts. Gathered enough herbs and plants and freaking river mud, of all things.” I wipe at a rogue tear. “And if it’s not enough? If it fails? What if something happens to you, Riggs? I couldn’t—” I choke on a sob.

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, wrapping his arms even tighter around me. “It’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t possibly know.”

“Okay, you’re right, I don’t know. We’ve been over this, remember? You have to let me do things my way. You can’t control Kera right now, and you can’t control the world around us.”

He sounds like my mother. “I control my own emotions and reactions—believe me, I know. But if that’s not enough…”

He flips us over and settles between my legs, the hard plastic of his boot scraping gently against my skin. Grinning mischievously, he takes a nipple between his teeth. “Then we’ll figure it out. But right now?” He closes his mouth over the tight bud, then licks and sucks until I’m a squirming mess beneath him, all thoughts of the curse gone.

Later, when I wake in the middle of the night, I’m wrapped tightly in Riggs’s arms, my butt to his crotch, only the flat sheet on top of us. The salt lamp, put back to rights, glows dimly in the dark. Could I do this? Stay here? Let myself love and be loved like this? I want to. God, I want to so badly.

A sense of determination sweeps over me. I’m going to fix this. I have to. Because losing Riggs is not an option.