Chapter Nineteen
HARMONY intended to pay Paxton back for leaving her hot, wet, and aching this morning. He might think the great paper clip switch was enough—though she’d yet to hear his thoughts on that—but he had no idea what he was in for.
She’d hung around on the balcony landing long enough this morning to hear his friends’ laughter when Paxton found the paper clips. Who knew he wouldn’t be alone when he did?
At any rate, Paxton had thrown the paper clips away, but Aiden gave him hell and rescued them to keep as a memento. That must have gone over big with Paxton. He’d been jealous from the minute Aiden put his arm around her. She’d enjoyed that. Problem was, she hadn’t seen Paxton all day, and she didn’t really know how he felt about her attempt to unstarch him. Had he been stewing? she wondered as she moved his bedding to the cot beside hers.
Maybe he’d forgive her when he saw where he was sleeping.
Fifteen minutes later, he came upstairs as if nothing was wrong and sat beside her on the bed. “Thank you for saving me from the swinging beam this morning. I might have been seriously hurt. I’m sorry I didn’t thank you right away. I think I was in shock.”
And green with envy, she thought. “You’re welcome. I’m here to keep Gussie in line, after all. I told you I’d protect you.”
He petted Gingertigger. “Don’t start that again.”
“Start what?”
“Cut the innocent act,” he said. “Innocent fits you like lace on a porcupine. Look, I have another meeting here tomorrow morning . . . with my bankers . . . and as much as Aiden and Morgan enjoyed your leggy attention and penis paper clips, don’t introduce yourself to my bankers. And please, Harmony, no penis erasers, pencils, or anything that only you could imagine planting, and no shirt—”
“You want me to go topless for the bankers? Sure. You think it’ll help?”
Paxton took Gingertigger off his shoulder. “No shirt with a suggestive message on it. Great guns, do you joke about everything?”
“Laughing at life’s realities makes them bearable. You should try it sometime. You, McBullseye, have to learn to be spontaneous.”
“After I meet with my bankers, okay? Did you bring anything to wear that doesn’t have a message on it? A dress maybe?”
“Of course I did.”
“Wear it, damn it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure? I insist. You’ll get a bonus if you wear your dress tomorrow morning.”
“Can’t argue with that. Why don’t you meet with your bankers in the formal parlor? It really shows off what the castle has to offer.”
Paxton scrunched his nose like something smelled bad. “It’s old and dusty.”
“It’s safer than the gallery, where deadly beams are being raised.”
“Good point. I’ll meet with them in the dining room.”
“Ooh, I haven’t seen the dining room yet.”
“You will not see it tomorrow morning. Got it?”
“Then why do I have to wear a dress?”
“In case.”
Paxton stood and crossed his arms to grab his shirt at the waist, but Gingertigger returned to his shoulder a nanosecond before he pulled it up. With a howl, her captive cat rolled over Paxton’s head and down his face.
“Ouch! Son of a—” Paxton caught the fighting shirt ball in one arm and touched his cheek with a finger. “Blood. Great. A scratched face should impress the bankers. Do all witches have kamikaze cats?” Paxton asked. “Or did you put a spell on yours just for me?”
Gingertigger popped from the neck of his shirt and took a flying leap into her arms. Harmony cuddled her shivering kitten with its paws around her neck. “Poor baby. You’re trembling. Did the nasty man scare you?”
Paxton rolled his eyes, balled his shirt, and tossed it toward the empty cot at the far end of the room. That’s when he noticed for the first time that the cot on the other side of her bed was made. “Did Gilda do that?”
Harmony continued to nuzzle her kitten. “I did it.”
“You want me to sleep there?”
She glanced up at him. “I’m scared?”
Paxton shook his head. “Not buying it. It’s a new form of torture, like penis paper clips,” he said, shaking his head. “Why? Why in front of my friends?”
“Better than in front of the bankers, right?”
“Right.” He went toward the bathroom.
“Take a shower,” she yelled as he shut the door.
He popped his head out. “Come again?”
“If you play your cards right.”
“A trap,” he said, shutting the door. Behind it, his voice sounded like a mumbled hodgepodge of gripes and grumbling, but the shower did go on.
Harmony changed into her mermaid pajamas—sports bra and capri bottoms—and grabbed her overnight bag of obsession party goodies.
Paxton came out, jeans unzipped, toweling his thick, black, wavy hair, and caught her sorting through her free-the-uptight-stud candy.
“What the hell?” He picked up a pack of Dicklit gum, shook his head, and tossed it back in the box. “I’m about to be sacrificed on the altar of spontaneity, aren’t I?”
“You said I could give it my best shot.”
“I said you could try to take the starch out of me. I didn’t know I was signing my own insanity warrant. Who knew you’d resort to torture tactics?” He was fishing around in her overnight bag before she could stop him, and he came up with one of her dolphins. “Whoa.”
“Give me that.”
He held it away from her and grabbed the straps of her bag with his other hand.
“Paxton!”
He dumped the bag on the bed. “What do we have here?”
Harmony held her cat in front of her face, and Paxton chuckled. But because she wanted to see him laugh, she lowered Gingertigger to her lap.
“This beats Gussie’s collection of dolphins hands down.” Paxton wiggled his brows. “Battery powered, right? You have hidden depths, Cartwright. Give me the scoop. What have we got here? And don’t say vibrators. I got that by myself.”
Thinking about it, Harmony figured this turn of events might help with her payback for his badly timed desertion this morning. She sighed. “Okay, this one’s a crystal tickler. Pretty basic. Best when I’m already halfway there. I call him Chuck.” She turned it on to tease Paxton.
He pulled away from its spell. “Chuck?”
“Sure, Chuck likes to—”
“Got it!”
“Good. This one’s a ten-speed waterproof. Talk about bath-time fun. I usually light scented candles, put on soft music, turn on the jets, relax and . . . you know . . . take my time while I take Ryder out for a . . . ride.”
Paxton was getting harder by the minute, while she was enjoying the hell out of herself.
“Now the tall guy here, he’s Lance, the big guns.” She turned Lance on and watched Paxton’s pupils dilate. “Lance has a textured tip, for a deep, soothing massage. He’s also got five rows of pearls, see? For the G-spot. And multiple speeds, for multiple . . . everything, and as if all that magick isn’t enough, this little dolphin up front, Lance Junior, he does a happy dance in a very happy place.”
Harmony leaned against her pillows as if she’d just enjoyed all three, bent a knee, and selected a large chocolate penis from her goodie box. She held it up, examined it from every angle, licked it slowly up one side and down the other . . . and she bit off its head.
Paxton shouted and clenched his thighs. “Son of a . . . witch . . . bitch, I meant bitch—I can’t even watch you chew.” He went to hide out at his dresser and use his hair-brush, but he kept peeking in the mirror to see if she’d finished. “You’re like a . . . a sexual cannibal.”
Harmony laughed. “This is what spontaneous is all about. Come to think of it, you were spontaneous when you stole my goodie bag. Aren’t you glad you did? Wasn’t that fun?”
King mumbled something beneath his breath about his self-destructive behavior.
When he turned back to her, she flaunted a peckermint blow pop, which she licked with great attention to detail, sucking on the head and enjoying it immensely. She took it deep into her mouth and pulled it out slowly, and while she did, Paxton grew taut and separated his zipper bit by bit.
Like a deer in headlights, he stood watching her, mesmerized, while she made a blatant and luscious meal of her treat.
Her ploy was backfiring, though. She got hotter as he got harder. Not screwing him screwed her, and not in a good way. She put the blow pop down, opened a bag of mini gummy penises, and bit a few in half to cool down. When she finished, she crumpled the package and threw it across the room. Then she stood, threw back her covers, climbed into her bed, and turned off the lamp.
Paxton had not moved.
“Night,” she said, rolling to her side.
It took a full minute, maybe two, before he walked over to his cot, slipped out of his jeans, and lay down . . . naked . . . on top of the covers . . . his man brain pointing heavenward . . . as if pleading for release.
She wished she’d kept her eyes shut, except that she wouldn’t have missed the sight of him like that for the world. Heat, admiration, and something more—caring and concern for this particular man—washed over her. She’d never seen anything or anyone as beautiful in her life. She could adore his body for hours. She could eat him with a spoon. She wouldn’t even need chocolate sauce. Ramrod McHunk looked gourmet yummy au natural.
Withering witch balls, she couldn’t be falling for the cranky, bossy, brass-assed, loose-limbed panther. Could she?
Harmony flipped to her back, kicked off the covers, and listened to the waves crashing on the shore, while a salty breeze wafted in through the open window to cool her fevered skin, but not enough.
Only Paxton could cool her enough to satisfy her.
He moved, and she nearly came, she’d been so focused on the fantasy.
He rolled to his side, but she didn’t know which, because she refused to look and come face-to-face with him.
When he placed a gentle palm on her belly, above her pajamas, her stomach jumped as if she’d never been touched by a man before, though to be fair, no one like him had ever come her way.
She felt the heat of his fingers hot against her skin, branding her, his hand huge, his thumb at her navel, his little finger pressing a bit closer to the center of her need. Dear Goddess, she was ready to come with his palm on her belly. She didn’t say a word, couldn’t speak. Didn’t know what to say, anyway.
He kept his hand there . . . forever. She wondered if he could sense her rising need, like heat lightning zephering through her body.
He was driving her crazy. She didn’t want him to take his hand away, but she did want him to move it . . . an inch or six south.
He palmed her northward, instead, up to her waist in long, slow strokes, causing static surges of electricity with the tips of his fingers. He went as far as the crest of her breasts, and with every new slide of his palm, he’d stop and . . . drive her crazy!
At her breasts, he splayed his fingers so far apart, he managed not to graze her nipples, though they arched and hardened for his touch.
He must know; her heartbeat must be giving her away.
Paxton sighed as he caressed her neck, cupped her face, and combed his fingers through the hair behind her ear. He fingered her earlobe and touched her lips.
She parted them so he could trace each separately. She licked every finger that came her way, which made him pause for a beat each time, as if each tongue touch was a new surprise.
He made his way to her breasts again, this time finding and gently rolling a budding nipple between his fingers, too gently. A tease of the first order. Any more gently, and she’d come. She moaned and felt the tension in his fingertips. He was feeling the same.
She should have worn a cami and bikini set so he could slip his hand beneath, but no. She thought she was gonna be smart and toy with him. Hah!
His palm glided softly across her belly now, slow, slower, approaching her center, so wet with wanting he’d know, just touching her over her capris.
When he finally touched that spot, he stopped and toyed with her, stroked her with just the one finger, a flutter against her nether lips, barely. She was too constrained by her blooming spandex capris to open to him. More than anything, she craved the silk of Paxton’s flesh against hers.
She’d never been more frustrated or more aroused in her life. She was gonna die of a slow burn.
With barely a touch, he was taking her higher than she thought she could go without a climax. A slow rise like none she’d known. A tease to the death, and just when her climax seemed imminent, when no word had been spoken between them, she turned his way, looked into his eyes, frank and hungry, and saw that he held his cock in his other hand.
Watching him come made her climax. Never had she been so turned on, brought so high, or reached such satisfaction . . . without touching her partner.
Harmony lay spent, Paxton cupping her throbbing center, laying claim to her orgasm in the same way he laid claim to his own.
Embarrassed, titillated, their gazes met and mated, made promises, went drowsy, said good night.
Sated, exhausted, Harmony closed her eyes.
“After I rest a minute,” Paxton promised. “I’m gonna do that with my tongue.”