Making Magick - Book One in The Soricelle Sisters Series

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Chapter Three

“More tea, Officer?” Iris asks, standing to refill her own cup.

“There isn’t caffeine in this, is there?” Officer Lopez inquires. “It’ll keep me up all night.” Boy, he sure feels foggy. What were they just talking about? Where did his train of thought keep running off to? Oh, right. The younger one, Rose - she’d said something suspicious. But what did she say exactly?

“No, no caffeine,” Iris shakes her head, her soft golden waves swaying elegantly.

He cannot believe this woman is Rose’s mother. How is that possible? She can’t be over thirty…

“Rose,” Lopez begins again, attempting to redirect his thoughts. “Do you have reason to believe Rose and Dean are involved?” Again, his brain is fighting a cloud of smoke. Is the actual room becoming smoky? He can’t tell.

Iris leans across him to pour the boiling water into his cup. Her hair smells like flowers and rain and expensive perfume. He’s never smelled anything so intoxicating. He is mesmerized by the way the waves lay across her shoulders and brush her pale cleavage that is impossible to miss when she leans forward in this way. He lifts his cup to his lips and she places a hand on his shoulder.

“Careful. It’s hot.”

It sure is, he wants to say, unable to remove his eyes from this woman. She smiles a little as if able to hear what he is thinking. He finds his cheeks growing warm.

“I should get back to the precinct,” he states, forcing himself to stand up though his limbs are made of lead. He doesn’t actually think he should return to the precinct. He thinks he should stay and ask her hard questions. But the curve of her breasts and scent of her cause him a familiar sensation - and entirely inappropriate sensation for a professional situation.

“Oh, won’t you stay just a bit longer? It isn’t often we get male company at the Soricelle House.”

“I suppose I have always wanted to see this house,” he realizes. “I grew up in Crescent Hollow and…”

“And you’ve heard the stories,” she grins, knowingly.

Did she dim the lights when she got up for tea? It seems darker in here now than when he arrived.

“Let me give you a tour,” she offers.

He leaves his tea behind to trace every pattern she draws for him. She leads him from room to room, her hips swaying in her black dress, her bare feet padding gently on the pristine hardwood. He touches the doorframes where her fingers brushed over the fine woodwork a second prior. She caresses the curtains in the front room, where the window overlooks the dark garden and cliffside beyond. He caresses the curtain after her. She taps the old fashioned phone at the center of the house, and he repeats the action.

“My favorite part about this old house is the sun room. You learn what you really need as you get older, and I will always need a sunroom.”

And why shouldn’t she have a sunroom? This woman should have everything her heart desires.

Iris watches Officer Lopez, his sturdy build a little out of place, in a way. His muscles budge within his uniform. She notices a sheen of sweat forming on his golden skin as she leads him to the center of the sunroom.

The room is lit only by the moonlight pouring in through the glass roof and walls. Gwen has turned this space into a jungle, full of indoor plants and herbs, and created a natural space with a smell so pleasant it can calm even the most hyperactive soul. Aside from some wicker furniture and a few area rugs the space is just plants. Iris pulls the door shut silently behind Alex’s back with a gentle motion of her hand, her other hand tracing his broad shoulders.

He tightens his jaw, one hand on his belt and the other at his side. She can feel the energy coursing through him. He wants to touch her. Instead, he touches the plants. He distracts himself, attempting to hold onto common sense, running his fingers along the cat palm and monstera and fern. Then he turns to say something, and is struck by her, standing in a beam of moonlight, wearing that black dress, and no shoes, with that hair that appears to be made of real gold cascading down her perfect breasts.

He should make small talk. He should return to work. He is fighting hard against her and she can feel it. But Iris is not young enough to convince herself to shy away from a challenge. She smiles at him in a way that is neither coy nor meek, and he gulps.

“So you know the legends about the Soricelle women?” Iris asks him, brushing her fingertips over an overflowing pot of wondering jewell. “You know we ruin men? We break them down and remake them…?”

She is being sarcastic but he can’t help desiring for her to bring rhetoric to reality.

He can’t take his eyes off her dark red fingernails and toenails, almost black in the dim light. He want to feel those nails travel along his spine.

She crosses the space between them as he nods.

“I don’t believe those stories though,” he says, realizing their voices have dropped to whispers in the quiet room, all the noise absorbed by greenery.

“No?” she asks.

Again, she circles around him. He turns his head, trying to keep her in his sightline. Why did he come here? He can’t recall.

“No,” he lies. “Should I?”

She’s behind him now, leaning in as close to his neck as she dares. “Believe it gets lonely up here, in this big house. Believe loneliness drives people to unimaginable passions.” Her breath is warm and sweet on the back of his neck.

He turns to face her this time. And he isn’t sure how it happens, but he is kissing her - holding her at the waist and the back of the head, and pressing her into him with his strong hands. She returns the embrace, gently pressing her tongue against his own in a kind of introduction. She blinks heavily, looking up at him from under his eyelids as he releases her from the kiss, still holding her close. She runs a finger along his temple, then jawline, smiling in a way that tells him she’s neither surprised nor offended. She laces her fingers into the back of his hair and stares deeply into his dark eyes. She fiddles with the collar of his uniform, then uses it to pull him close.

“You don’t happen to have a body cam on you… do you?”

He shakes his head. “No ma’am.”

“Oh, shucks.”

The blood flow is undeniable, and at the point of no return, so when she pulls him in for another passionate kiss he does nothing but kiss her back. They tilt and lean into each other, mouths exploring mouths while hands explore bodies. Before he can realize what he’s doing he’s slipping her black dress off her shoulders and kissing the exposed skin on her neck and shoulders, which is silky soft and cool to the touch. She bites his neck and ears with unabashed pressure, then slips her hand down his body to grasp the hardening cock within his uniform.

He takes in a sharp breath, and she grabs him harder. “Officer Lopez,” she smiles. “It seems your uniform is a little tight. Maybe you should take it off.” She stokes him through the fabric with a firm hand, up and down and up again.

It is one of the most erotic moments of his life so far, watching her thin fingers and dark fingernails begin to unbutton his shirt so slowly and so carefully. She knows what she wants and she knows she will get it. When the shirt is loose she peels it back and touches his tight, chiseled abdomen. She bites her lip, enjoying the view.

He wriggles out of his shirt and lets it fall to the floor of the sunroom. She runs her hands along his muscular arms and wraps them around her body. He kisses her as she backs up against the nearby patio table, made of wicker and glass. Her hands travel along his face and neck as her mouth, so red and full and perfect, gently opens and closes upon his own. He leans her against the table, so her ass is perched just atop. Then he peels her dress off her other shoulder, kissing it, and making his gentle way up her neck to her mouth again. As they kiss he reaches behind her, slowly unzipping the dress he’s been dying to see her step out of since they met. It rolls down easily.

She wears a black lace bra that cradles her plump, pale breasts. They nest attractively within the cups, barely touching her ribcage beneath. He pulls the dress down and she lifts herself off the table so he can get it all the way down her bare legs to the floor. Her panties are black too, high waisted with cutouts on her hips, accentuating her sharp hourglass figure. As he drops the dress he works his way back up her body, starting at those perfect, pale feet. He kisses the pale skin on the tops of her feet, then her toes, then her ankles. He runs his hands up her calves to her outer thighs, squeezing the fleshy bits as he kisses her inner thighs. One foot is still touching the ground, but the other leg rests on his shoulder as he travels up her slim form. He gently bites the inside of her thigh and she tilts her head back, her hair cascading over the tabletop. She feels his breath between her legs for only a moment before his tongue presses against the slick black material. He licks and bites at her panties as she moans and laughs with pleasure. Then he pulls the fabric aside, revealing a something that might have been molded by an expert sculptor. She is clean shaven, and pale, and welcoming. He uses only his lips at first to gently kiss her own lips, taking her labia into his mouth and sucking gently until she emits a little gasp of pleasure.

He extends his tongue to lick her entire vagina in long, hard motions. She surprises him by reaching for his head, placing her hand on the back if it and guiding him. She leads him to her clitoris and holds him there, and he takes her direction, sucking and licking with determination until she is panting from enjoyment. He reaches for her panties, rolling them down off her hipbones and rear, tugging them to the floor. He dives in again, aiming to make her cry out and tremble. He grabs her hips with his strong hands, squeezing as he devours her pussy, which is slick to the touch now. Then he stands, meeting her eyes and undoing his belt as she looks on. She keeps her legs spread, her glorious vagina open and slick. He steps out of his boots and drops his pants and underwear to the floor. He takes his thick cock into his hand and tugs at it while staring into her eyes. She is leaning back on her elbows, but folds herself flat, lying down on the tabletop and reaching her arms up under her hair. She feels the head of his cock as he rubs it on her wet pussy, petting her from ass to clit. Then he slips the enlarged tip into her vagina and inserts and removes it a few times. Then, when he can take it no longer he plunges his shaft deep into the pocket that fits him so well. He lifts her legs so that they are on his shoulders, kissing her calves and ankles, and inner thighs, her immaculate feet high in the air. He thrusts deep, and hard into her body, aiming to be felt in the pits of her stomach.

Iris moans at the sensation as he thrusts, and retracts, and thrusts, and retracts. She slides her legs off his shoulders to cross her ankles and he presses her knees to her own bosom, holding her down with one hand at her crossed ankles and the other on her hips as he shoves himself into her. She gasps, gripping the table, knuckles going white, and gripping his cock with her pussy in such a way he feels as though she’s sucking him in. He removes his hand from her ankles and pulls her towards him so that he is fucking down and into her. Her legs spread wide now. He leans forward, removing her breasts from the lacy bra. They fall to the sides slightly, heavy and round and ripe. He grabs them in his hands and squeezes, then runs his thumbs over her nipples. He thrusts deep inside of her and leans down to take one of her breasts into his mouth, flicking her nipples with his tongue. She caresses his head in her hands and wraps her legs around him, holding him forcefully in place with her thighs. She grinds on him, tilting her pussy so her clit rubs the spot just above his penis, which is buried deep inside her. Then he is standing, untangling himself from her, and turning her over forcefully. He knocks the air out of her when shoving her onto the table again and she laughs.

Iris bends over willingly for the police officer, giving him a perfect view of her muscular, slim back, and round, pale ass. He undoes her bra and she allows it to fall forward. He takes two handfuls of ass before bending forward to bite the fleshy part. He reaches between her legs to touch her clit, tracing firm circles around it and dipping his cock into the silky slit. She gasps and grips the table as he grabs her hips again and dives into her. He only lets go of her hips to get a handful of hair, gripping it and tilting her head back, turning her body into a beautiful arch of pleasure. He lays down on her back and takes a handful of breast, kissing and sucking her neck. Then, still pressing his body on top of hers, one hand in her intoxicating waves of hair, he reaches for her ass, caressing the tight opening with his thumb before pressing into it.

She gasps, and says “Fuck yes,” so he knows she likes this.

He continues thrusting rhythmically, his thumb in her gripping asshole. He can feel her trembling beneath him, getting close to euphoria. He’s thankful for that, because he’s nearing orgasm too.

He presses her head into the table slightly and she moans, so he presses harder. Iris surprises him by fully submitting, her knuckles white on the edges of the table. When Alex releases her head she arches her back. She is curling her toes and shoving herself onto his lap, grinding into him. She gasps and moans as he grunts. He tries to slow down but she tells him, “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

And if he knows how to do anything properly it is to take a command. He thrusts into her as she squirms, groaning gutturally. He’s never bent a grown woman over a table and just gone for it, but he hopes she doesn’t realize this. He understands now how mind-blowing it feels to be with an older woman - if she is older. She knows her body, and seemingly, his. His eyes are practically rolling back in his head, but he forces himself to focus. Not yet, he tells himself. He realizes she’s rubbing her own clit, determined to get herself off, which turns him on even more. She curves herself into a foreign shape, exclaiming her pleasure rapidly and with great volume.

“Oh god, oh god,” her pitch raises. “Oh god, fuck yes. Fuck yes, right there. Stay right there.”

He keeps the speed she likes. “Um… I’m…” he tries to tell her, cringing, trying to hold back.

“Stay inside me,” she demands. “Cum inside me. Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. How did the roles reverse so quickly? He’s realizing he was never in charge in this scenario…

Iris’ hand moves rapidly up and down, stimulating her slick clitoris with the perfect pressure and speed, the officer’s dick deep inside her body, stimulating her internally. She can feel him sliding in and out of her, jamming himself as far up into her vagina as possible. She begins to see stars, then feels it. A pop. A snap. An explosion of colors and light and warmth and liquid as she bursts like a water-balloon.

The officer groans and gasps, unable to contain it a moment longer. He fills her up, continuing to thrust as she climaxes. His cum is seeping from her pussy, coating his dick and dripping onto the table, and then he realizes there is liquid coming from her own pussy. It squirts out of her in short bursts, spattering the table, and his own thighs. She is whining and trembling, when she removes her saturated hand from her throbbing vagina. She has stopped rubbing herself, but it is still pouring out of her with each visible beat, dripping onto the floor.

She’s gasping for breath, her knuckles slowly regaining color along the edge of the tabletop. She turns her head to the side and smiles, unbelievably relieved. Officer Lopez gently slides out of her, kissing the back of her neck as he does so. She hands him a moist towel and he doesn’t even wonder where she got it. He just takes it and begins wiping himself off, still breathing heavily. Then he mops up her own euphoria from the floor while she stands up, dabbing at her own self.

He’s in a daze, watching her fold herself into her dress sans undergarments from his position crouched in the floor. He shakes his head, unsure of what just happened. But the way she smiles at him, so peaceful and satisfied… he is proud to have brought her that sensation.

A few moments later she walks him to his cruiser, his legs shaky, placing a kiss on his cheek and bidding him goodnight. He somehow makes his way home and into the shower and into bed. He then falls into a deep sleep. The next morning he will wake with the belief he was enchanted, and these women are dangerous, and wonderful, and he will battle with the desire to return to Iris, begging for an ounce of her attention. But he will not return, because that too is part of the enchantment.

In the morning Iris is glowing, but that goes unnoticed, because another surprise wakes the women. With a call up the stairs and a lots of banging and clattering, they are greeted by Aunt Camilla, back from abroad, her black hair tied up prettily, her skin tan from the Italian and Spanish suns.

“Ahhh it’s good to be home,” she sighs, removing her oversized sunglasses and leaving her suitcases in the middle of the entry way.

All the women greet her and inquire about her trip.

“Bellissimo. I ate too much, drank too much, and I’m thoroughly puffy with saltwater. Breakfast cocktails, anyone? We must celebrate my return.”

Rose and Esme share a glance about their hurricane of an aunt.

“What have I missed? Who’s the hottie outside?” She settles herself at the breakfast bar, awaiting a cocktail Iris has begun to make.

Rose stands abruptly when Gwen begins to slip from the room.

Grandma!” Rose pleads.

“He’s my gardener,” Gwen offers, distractedly.

“Where did he go last night? Is it true he’s been watching us?” Esme inquires. “Rose said they found photos at his apartment?”

“Yes, he has,” Gwen says. “So I let him. Little did he know, when he accepted the job of my gardener, there was a fine print in the clause demanding his constant presence on the property. He lives in the guesthouse now.”

Rose begins to think about that wording. If the contract simply demanded his presence, how come he couldn’t have stayed on the property while beneath the surface of the lake?

“Is he human?” Esme asks.

“I believe so,” Gwen shrugs.

“Why has he been watching us?” Iris inquires.

“I’m not sure yet, but I believe that snake was another minion surveilling the family. And there’s been some people too, looking on. From the woods. From the road. Dean will tell us all in due time. I’m not concerned. He can’t leave or communicate with the outside world, so, it’s really no rush.” She smiles, contentedly at her little family.

A long pause follows Gwen’s exit from the room and conversation, but Iris is not satisfied. “I’ll be right back,” she mutters, trailing behind her mother.

“She’s always been so solitary,” Camilla shakes her head. “I swear sometimes it’s harder to communicate with that woman than to summon a dragon from the netherworlds.” Exaggeration is Camilla’s favorite language. “Anyway. You’re sleeping with him?” Camilla’s eyes bear into Rose’s.

Esme spits out her mimosa, peppering the table with champagne, orange juice, and sputtering coughs.

Rose, wide eyed, considers denying it, but Camilla has always picked up on these little interpersonal details, and once on a trail it’s impossible to avert her attentions. “How did you know?”

“My sixth sense,” Camilla grins. “You are though. How long?”

“Just once… well… yes, just once. And then…”

Esme and Rose share a meaningful glance in which Rose knows Esme wants her to come clean. Should she tell her aunt what happened? Or should she play the card her grandmother always carries in the folds of her shawls and keep this one to herself?

“He died,” Rose finally admits.

Esme breathes a sigh of relief.

Camilla’s eyebrows jump up onto her olive toned forehead. “Come again?”

“He died. I fucked him and he stopped breathing.”

“Well… what did you do next?”

“We put him in the lake.”

“Hm… he doesn’t look water logged to me…”

“Well,” again, Rose seeks solidarity from her cousin’s doe eyes before replying. “He came back somehow.”

“Hm… demon possession? A wayward spirit?”

“We don’t know,” Rose admits.

“We don’t think it’s a demon. And he definitely has his own memories. He just doesn’t remember… you know, being dead.”

“Huh,” Camilla ponders, tapping her sharp chin. “It’s very likely he’s entirely human and simply enchanted by your own powers. Perhaps he came very near the brink of death but the protection you cast upon him in your moments of young passion kept him back from the precipice. Or, perhaps he was already under some thumb of magic. It sounds like he’s been working for someone, watching us, from what mother said, so your own enchantments only strengthened or changed them… Either way, mother kidnapped a spy and is holding him hostage in the guesthouse. That much we know. So don’t feel too nefarious, dear.”

“Okay, but I didn’t enchant him.”

“You said you did the deed? You were intimate? Complete together?”

Rose cringes to hear these words from her aunt, but she nods.

Camilla laughs her musical laugh. “Then darling, of course you enchanted him. After bedding a witch a human lover is nearly invincible for up to twenty-four hours.”

Esme and Rose did not know this.

“We did give him a Truth Serum yesterday,” Esme tells her aunt.

“What time?”

“Noonish.”

“Then it’s still active! Let’s go ask him the right questions, shall we?”

Without any attempt to unpack or even move her suitcases from the entry way Camilla leads the girls out the front door, calling “Yoo-hoo! Gardener Boy! Come here please!”

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