The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5) by Susan Squires Page A
Authors: Susan Squires
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thundered. The air smelled of seaweed and sand and the fecundity of the ocean that had given birth to all life. Stars were fainter than usual, washed out by the light of the moon. But there was her old friend Orion. And she could, very faintly, see the Pleiades. Soon, in the south, she’d be able to see the comet Galahad with her naked eye.
She gasped as she caught sight of a man. He was naked, standing in three-quarter profile, his arms held wide, fingers splayed in supplication or in prayer. God, it’s him. The dark waving hair to his shoulders gave him away. Even from here she could see he was trembling, every muscle tensed, and he had a very impressive erection. She shouldn’t be seeing this. But she couldn’t look away from the muscular buttocks and thighs flexing to keep him upright as some strong emotion washed through him. The moonlight hit his chest, outlining his pectorals and abdominals. Its glow was bright enough that she could even see the muscle in his shoulders and back that didn’t face the light. His penis jutted out, thick and straight. He was beautiful. She’d never seen anything so elemental, so…real as the Ghost in the moonlight, in spite of his name.
The ache in her loins was just this side of real pain. When he sank to his knees, legs spread in the grass, shoulders shaking, her heart went out to him. And then she saw him grip his cock and begin to stroke. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t coy. This wasn’t for pleasure. He wanted to rip an orgasm out by its roots.
Greta was mesmerized. Worse, she found her own hand reaching downward. At least he had no idea she was here, watching him. She spread the lips of her sex and stroked herself through the thick juices, her eyes glued to the man below her, doing the same. She meant to do it slowly, but there was no room for lingering sensuality. At the first stroke of her fingers, sensation shot to her breasts and her womb. She wanted the release as badly as that man on his knees down there. She rubbed herself, harder, faster, in time to the Ghost’s jerking below.
It didn’t take long for either of them to reach their climax. She bit her lips against her convulsive cry, even as his groan floated up from the garden. His semen spurted into the grass in long jets. Her orgasm went on and on. So did his. She didn’t close her eyes. She couldn’t look away from the man whose hips jerked and strained below her. Her knees went weak though and she leaned against the unopened side of the window, the drapes falling behind her.
When it was finally over, she sagged, gasping, and grabbed the draperies for support. He leaned over, heaving as he gasped for breath. He stayed bent, staring at the grass beneath his knees, his hair a curtain for his face. Greta had never felt so drained in her life. Thank God he hadn’t seen her. No one had to know she’d done something so shameful.
Then his body went still. With aching slowness, he turned his head. She should have moved, but she didn’t. Maybe she couldn’t. His face turned toward the house, then looked up, until he was staring right at her; and she was staring back, unable or unwilling to move. The pain in his expression, the horror at seeing her there, made her clench in defense.
With a gasp, she turned and fumbled her way through the drapes and back into the dark room.
What the hell just happened here?
CHAPTER SIX
‡
She disappeared. Had she been an illusion? Lan shook his head to clear it. The milky skin, slim waist, flaring hips, perfect breasts…those were the stuff of dreams. But she’d been there all right, naked in the window above him.
And she’d seen what he’d done.
Fuck. What kind of out-of-control asshole jerks off in his parents’ yard, buck-naked? He glanced around as though others might have seen him too. But the yard was silent, empty, the windows of the house dark. Just like he was.
He shoved himself up. The moon still gleamed as it made its way toward the watery horizon, but it
She gasped as she caught sight of a man. He was naked, standing in three-quarter profile, his arms held wide, fingers splayed in supplication or in prayer. God, it’s him. The dark waving hair to his shoulders gave him away. Even from here she could see he was trembling, every muscle tensed, and he had a very impressive erection. She shouldn’t be seeing this. But she couldn’t look away from the muscular buttocks and thighs flexing to keep him upright as some strong emotion washed through him. The moonlight hit his chest, outlining his pectorals and abdominals. Its glow was bright enough that she could even see the muscle in his shoulders and back that didn’t face the light. His penis jutted out, thick and straight. He was beautiful. She’d never seen anything so elemental, so…real as the Ghost in the moonlight, in spite of his name.
The ache in her loins was just this side of real pain. When he sank to his knees, legs spread in the grass, shoulders shaking, her heart went out to him. And then she saw him grip his cock and begin to stroke. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t coy. This wasn’t for pleasure. He wanted to rip an orgasm out by its roots.
Greta was mesmerized. Worse, she found her own hand reaching downward. At least he had no idea she was here, watching him. She spread the lips of her sex and stroked herself through the thick juices, her eyes glued to the man below her, doing the same. She meant to do it slowly, but there was no room for lingering sensuality. At the first stroke of her fingers, sensation shot to her breasts and her womb. She wanted the release as badly as that man on his knees down there. She rubbed herself, harder, faster, in time to the Ghost’s jerking below.
It didn’t take long for either of them to reach their climax. She bit her lips against her convulsive cry, even as his groan floated up from the garden. His semen spurted into the grass in long jets. Her orgasm went on and on. So did his. She didn’t close her eyes. She couldn’t look away from the man whose hips jerked and strained below her. Her knees went weak though and she leaned against the unopened side of the window, the drapes falling behind her.
When it was finally over, she sagged, gasping, and grabbed the draperies for support. He leaned over, heaving as he gasped for breath. He stayed bent, staring at the grass beneath his knees, his hair a curtain for his face. Greta had never felt so drained in her life. Thank God he hadn’t seen her. No one had to know she’d done something so shameful.
Then his body went still. With aching slowness, he turned his head. She should have moved, but she didn’t. Maybe she couldn’t. His face turned toward the house, then looked up, until he was staring right at her; and she was staring back, unable or unwilling to move. The pain in his expression, the horror at seeing her there, made her clench in defense.
With a gasp, she turned and fumbled her way through the drapes and back into the dark room.
What the hell just happened here?
CHAPTER SIX
‡
She disappeared. Had she been an illusion? Lan shook his head to clear it. The milky skin, slim waist, flaring hips, perfect breasts…those were the stuff of dreams. But she’d been there all right, naked in the window above him.
And she’d seen what he’d done.
Fuck. What kind of out-of-control asshole jerks off in his parents’ yard, buck-naked? He glanced around as though others might have seen him too. But the yard was silent, empty, the windows of the house dark. Just like he was.
He shoved himself up. The moon still gleamed as it made its way toward the watery horizon, but it
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