Enchanting Absinthe (Sex with Strings, Book Four) (2 page)

A bead of sweat ran down Absinthe’s chest as he played. Claire followed its path as it slid into his black leather pants. Her lips parted in a silent sigh and she let her gaze linger on the way he filled the pants before dragging her eyes up. He had a tan that didn’t come from the sun. But it was watching the muscles move beneath his skin that was her undoing.

Fluid and without thought, his form was terrible compared to Sirius, but Absinthe could’ve played any tune in his sleep more perfectly than it had been created. Whatever he played made her think of sex. Maybe it was the way his fingers moved over the strings, or the curve of his lips and the way a lock of black hair fell over his hypnotic green eyes.

As if he was playing for her alone.

Music should not be this dirty.

Around her, softly at first, she felt the slide of magic on her skin. She lifted her gaze and met his. He was playing for her. He was testing her out, to see if she’d be willing. While she could feel what the spell wanted, she was immune to its effects. Immediately her magic rose and wanted to be used. Just being here was making her body hum with power. But she didn’t want power or magic. Tonight she just wanted to be human. They didn’t know how lucky they had it. No Council to rule them, no magic that had to be controlled all the time and no third eye that had to be hidden behind bangs.

With a wrench of will, she bundled up her magic and imagined stuffing it deep inside her, wishing she could fall under his enchantment and forget what she was. The next best thing was to fake it.

Claire brought the bottle of her vodka to her lips, her gaze never leaving his. The alcohol didn’t slake her thirst. As the magic swelled, she relaxed as if succumbing, welcoming, his unspoken advance. The whole time he played, never missing a note or a choreographed move, and she couldn’t take her eyes of him. She might be immune to Absinthe’s magic. But she wasn’t immune to the man.

Every glance froze her breath. Every touch from the magic made her skin jump. Every inch of her was slick. Watching him, she squirmed, her clothes too tight. Her body throbbed with the beat. She knew he was toying with her. Waiting to see how far she was willing to go. That made her like him a little more. While many of the women would be willing, when it came to the crunch, she suspected most would hesitate. And Absinthe was enough of a gentleman to let them go.

It was reassuring to know he wasn’t misusing the magic.

Curiosity burned hot in her blood, she needed to know how he was creating the spell. It wasn’t a particular song or even just one violin, as he’d changed instruments several times. Without dragging her magic out and opening up her third eye, she wouldn’t be able to tell. She shook her head. She had to stop thinking like a Shaman and think like a human. Well, a human without the post-Victorian hang-ups about sex.

The music stopped. The magic that had been swirling around her vanished.

Claire’s head snapped up to look at him. He hadn’t picked her. She glanced around, had he picked anyone? Who else had he been testing out?

Damn it. That wasn’t fair. Just once she wanted something for herself, thumbing her nose at the Council’s rules was an added bonus.

Stagehands darted across the stage, swapping instruments. The guys took drinks but didn’t bother wiping the sweat from their skin. They glistened. Claire’s fingers curled by her side, what she’d give to run her hands over Absinthe.

“Last show in Sydney.” Absinthe raised a bottle of beer and took a swig. “You’re an awesome crowd.”

Predictably the crowd cheered.

The staccato plucking of the cello signaled the start of another song. All acoustic this time. Absinthe raised his violin. The highly polished surface shone in the lights.

Bonnie. His one violin with a name. She was a sixteenth-century finely crafted and totally priceless violin that was rumored to be an Amati. Purists howled that Bonnie could be abused in such a way. He wasn’t even faithful to her.

Absinthe was definitely a one-night kind of guy. Which was fine. She was a one-night kind of girl. Most Shamen were until they settled down. It was hard to hide the third eye when living long-term with someone.

All non-humans had the same problem. Hiding what they were meant that most kept to their own species. But there were a few humans in the know. If they ever went public, they’d never be believed and they’d never be accepted back into non-human circles.

The music became more mellow, deeper and darker. Once again his magic swelled around her, closer and more demanding this time, leaving no doubt what he wanted. Claire forced herself to breathe and take the spell into her the way a human would without knowing. It grew inside of her, pulsing and slipping along her nerves with a promise of carnal delight.

Absinthe had picked her.

She looked up from the burnished red violin and into his eyes. Absinthe had picked his stage name very well. His green eyes were mesmerizing when he worked magic and the effect was made more intense by the dark eye makeup.

He gave her a tiny nod. A freewill failsafe. She could still walk away, no harm. Silence surrounded her; she let out a measured breath. Without dropping her gaze Claire returned the nod. It was why she was here.
Thank you, Fate.

Absinthe smiled and Claire blinked heavily as if fully entranced. That was some magic he had going…the likes of which she’d only seen Shamen use when charming the pants off people. But he was Vampire. And while Shamen sometimes married humans or Weres, they stayed clear of Vampires—for two reasons. The Ferrara ruling which banned Vampire-Shaman unions after a bitter feud had wiped out a bloodline, plus Shamen didn’t like giving up any kind of power. Letting a Vampire bite and taste blood also meant they’d get a taste of magic.

She wanted a bigger taste of his magic.

Her lips curved and her body swayed to the music. The enchantment coiled around her, winding around her legs, brushing her hips. It was as if raw silk was being dragged across her exposed skin, every nerve ending jumped in expectation. She felt every strand of magic. It teased her senses, caressed her. She could enjoy it without falling, but it took all of her strength not to let her own magic slip free.

When two Shamen got together, their magic would merge and mingle and grow, each feeding off the other. Sex created power fast and was often used for magical workings. Tonight, though, it wasn’t about the magic. There was no ulterior motive behind her desire. All she wanted was a night to remember before she fell in line with the bloody Council.

The last note ended and the lights dimmed. Lucinda’s Lover faded away. Some of the crowd called out for more, other people began drifting out. The unresolved tension still crackled in the air. Usually she’d have drawn in some of it to recharge and get a burn, tonight she let it go. She was already wired.

Immune, but not unaffected.

She needed him. Wanted to feel his hands on her skin and his lips on hers. Her belly tightened with need. Her bustier was too tight, her skin too sensitive. Her fingers curled into a fist as she fought for control of her body. She knew it was his spell, not just simple lust, and she could have dulled it or used magic to remove the grip of the enchantment, but she was willing to play it his way, for the moment.

At the back of her mind, she knew if she did react magically he’d know and she was sure that wasn’t what he wanted. She forced her muscles to relax and to stop fighting the spell—a move that went against every instinct.

A man walked toward her, then handed her a pink card. He spoke but she didn’t hear him. He pointed to a door; she glanced down at the card.

Backstage pass.

She swallowed. What had started off as a wild hope, a dream that she hadn’t expected to come true, was really going to happen.

Chapter Two

One tiny voice questioned Claire’s thinking. What kind of woman let herself be enchanted to have sex with a rock star? Hello, what kind of woman had sex with a rock star after a concert?

A Shaman any night of the week. Shamen never turned down sex.

As for the rock-star bit, well, he was Vampire, so the usual practicalities didn’t matter. Vamps never got sick. The only thing she had to worry about with Absinthe was his fangs—and why he insisted on enchanting the women first. Her heart gave a nervous flutter. What if he had some unspeakably weird fetish?

Well, there was only one way to find out, and if worst came to worst, she was willing to bet her magic was stronger and faster and he wouldn’t see it coming. Claire ground any lingering doubts into the floor beneath the heel of her boot as she flashed her pass, walked through the door and into the backstage lounge.

This was a once-in-a-lifetime shot. Logic and reason had no place here. Caution, yes.

The Lucinda’s Lover Vampires were lounging on a couple of sofas. None of them had put on more clothes and all watched her walk in. She had a quick glance at each of them and for half a second wished she could get their autographs. But if she did, that might be a clue she wasn’t enchanted. Damn it.

Sirius sat to one side. Thanatos had slightly less metal in him than last time she’d seen them play. Phoenix winked; that masochist was married to a Were-seal. All looked human, no doubt for her benefit.
Wonder what they made of Absinthe’s after-show habit.

Absinthe took a swig from his beer bottle as she approached. He watched her, a lazy smile turning up the corners of his lips. The enchantment drew her closer, tugging on her body. She followed the magical leash, letting the spell guide her feet. Her heart was beating too fast. Why was she nervous? It wasn’t as if she’d see him again after this. Then she realized she was worried it wouldn’t be everything she’d imagined. Maybe he was small…really small. Her gaze dropped a fraction. That didn’t appear to be the case.

Did it matter? She was here now. And if it was awful? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time sex had been less than spectacular. For a moment, though, she hesitated. She didn’t want her dream of what it would be like to break. But if dreams weren’t for either living or breaking, what were they for?

Absinthe stood, a black towel draped over his shoulder. Claire kept her eyes on him, as if he were the only man in the room. Not a big ask. While offstage he lost a little of the magical lure, there was still something about him that she found attractive. From the first time she’d seen one of their video clips, she’d thought him the hot one—seventy-five percent of women would probably disagree, but that was their loss.

Please do not be weird.

He picked up a well-travelled violin case and handed it to an armed guard who’d been standing discreetly to the side.

“See that Bonnie gets home.” His voice was soft and firm.

His teeth were still human in shape, but she was aware his fangs could form in less than a heartbeat. Did he enchant so he could bite?

No. That would be pointless—and against the law. Fendrake would be all over him if groupies were waking up with “insect bites” on the neck after being with him. She doubted the other guys would let him be that reckless.

He ran his gaze over her again, slowly, taking in her knee-high boots, very short skirt and tight copper bustier and finally her face. Her lips parted and she took another couple of steps toward him and felt the dampness in her boy-leg briefs. The shorter the skirt, the bigger the panties. She didn’t flash just anyone—only the people she wanted to sleep with.

Absinthe watched like a cobra waiting to strike. The enchantment coiled around her. She gasped as it slithered beneath her skirt. Delicate tendrils caressed her thighs and reached toward her pussy. Without moving, he had perfect control over the magic.

The enchantment didn’t come from a violin or the music. A trickle of sweat ran down her spine. The magic came from him. What was he? Would she be able to out-magic him if she had to?

She risked a glance at the other three Vamps. While none seemed at all concerned, Owen watched as if he knew exactly what was going on, even though he couldn’t feel the magic. This was all normal, Absinthe did this all the time. Had he ever enchanted them to get what he wanted?

Magic and lust hummed around her. If she was human, she wouldn’t be questioning everything. She’d be enjoying the feeling of being desired above all, because that’s what the spell was creating. It wasn’t forcing or trying to take over her body. None of this made sense.

Surely if someone was going to go to the effort of enchanting someone for sex, it would be all about the spellcaster—not the victim. She didn’t feel like a victim or a slave. When he looked at her, she was the only woman in existence who could possibly make him happy.

Without a word, Absinthe turned and walked away, expecting her to follow. And she did, for the simple reason he intrigued more than he should. A tiny part of her wanted to know more about him than the next few minutes was going to give her. She squashed it flat. This was no time to imagine herself falling for the lead violinist of the biggest Vampire rock band ever.

As she walked, her heartbeat echoing her steps, Claire noted the direction and exits. She wasn’t that lust drunk to trust him completely. She knew how to look after herself when she was hooking up.

The enchantment called her on, tempting and teasing. Promising her everything. His pants clung to his butt, giving her ample time to check him out up close. He didn’t disappoint. He had muscle without being heavily built and a grace when he walked that made her think he must have danced in royal courts. Not that she knew how old he was. One hundred? Two hundred? Older? A Vampire’s age was impossible to tell.

The scent of crushed herbs, sweat and sex, deep and musky, filled the corridor. Claire wanted to run her tongue over Absinthe’s skin and see if he tasted as good as he smelled. Her fingers flexed, but she kept them by her side. Despite the magic, there was still a distance between them she wasn’t used to—where was the touch, the caress? His hands on her body? It was almost impersonal…if using magic to get into someone’s pants could be called that.

Absinthe opened the door to a change room; there were clothes on every surface and the room smelled of men. Her clit gave a little throb. She’d waited hours for this. A small light in the corner battled against the dark. It could have been a crowded corner of hell and she wouldn’t have cared as long as he got his leather pants off.

Claire nudged the door closed and waited. The enchantment stroked and coaxed, as though it was an overly keen cat seeking attention. She wanted to brush it off so he had to stop hiding behind it, but he’d notice. He didn’t know it wasn’t the magic that was keeping her here. Just him.

Offstage there was a look in his eye she couldn’t place—but it wasn’t joy. It was almost like he was filling a need, but was taking no pleasure in it.

“Did you enjoy the show?” He took another drink of beer.

She nodded, not wanting to speak and give away that she wasn’t enchanted.

He gave her a small smile, cleared a spot on the table and dropped the towel on top of a pile of clothes. Then he set his beer down. “Come here, honey.”

Absinthe patted the table. Claire swallowed what felt like an ostrich egg. She wanted a drink almost as much as she wanted Absinthe.

Something to wet her lips.

She walked toward him. She wanted to slide her hands over his chest, place her mouth on his; she wanted more than playing along like a living doll. The enchantment tightened: no longer content with visible skin, it was under her clothes, rubbing against her breasts, sliding over her bottom. But it wasn’t real. She needed skin on skin.

He tapped her hips as he backed her against the table, his fingers leaving hot imprints on her skin as if he’d burned her through her skirt. She wanted him to leave handprints all over her body, but he was barely touching her. He used his leg to separate hers. She didn’t have to tilt her chin much to look him in the eye—he wasn’t that much taller than her—yet her breath caught in her throat as she hoped for a kiss or some indication that he was really here. It was almost as if he was the one enchanted and going through the motions.

His cheek brushed against hers, his stubble grazing her skin, and she breathed him in. The heady scent of sweat and lust. He kissed her neck, and for a moment she thought he was going to bite, but then he drew back. The enchantment stilled, touching her without the slightest flicker of life.

“Take your panties off,” he whispered in her ear. Absinthe’s velvety voice was at odds with the hardness of his body and the strength of his magic.

Another check, to see if she was still willing.

She was—even if so far it wasn’t quite what she’d expected. She’d thought his spell would’ve been different, more forceful. She wanted to reach out and break the ice that surrounded him. While she used magic to get closer, he was using it to push away and create distance where there should be none.

Slowly, Claire pulled up her skirt. Pretending to be under his spell felt a little wrong, as if she was somehow cheating. A human would’ve just done as asked without hesitating. Hell, she had Absinthe in front of her, ready to fuck, and she was debating the finer points of magic. For a half second, she wondered if she was the one with the problem.

She hooked her fingers into her briefs and wriggled out of them, every movement designed for maximum accidental contact. Her breasts brushed against his bare chest. She wanted to be naked with him, skin to skin, more than a few stolen moments. Each touch arced through her, embers of power catching hold, fanned by proximity.

Her black briefs landed on the floor and were lost in the shadows, but he didn’t notice what she’d been wearing under her skirt. His green-eyed gaze had never left her face. Committing to memory or watching for a sign?

A smile almost took hold on his lovely lips, but instead of running his hands over her thighs, inching closer to her wet pussy, the enchantment took over, caressing the newly exposed flesh. It circled her clit, stroked the slick folds of her pussy, as skilled as any lover intent on bringing pleasure. Her nails dug into the table as her heart rate increased. Did he hear it? Was he listening to the pulse of her blood and imagining biting her?

She risked a glance, but no fangs showed. Would she let him if he wanted to? If he bit her, he would know what she was straight away. She pressed her lips together to try to stifle the groan. Right now she’d let him bite just to feel his touch, his lips on her skin. Her body ached for the warmth of flesh over the impersonal use of magic he shouldn’t possess.

Her fingers twitched, wanting to peel open his leather pants and touch him. To get some kind of reaction from him besides him watching…or was this what he wanted—to watch as he fucked her with magic?

She kept her hands to herself, resisting the temptation to run her hand up his chest or her tongue over his pulse. Any other man would’ve been hers by now. But any other man would have his hands on her flesh. The enchantment pinched her nipples tight and sent heat racing through her blood. She closed her eyes for a moment as the sensation almost overwhelmed her. He was good.

But she needed more than magic. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Fuck me.” Her legs parted, offering herself to him.

If he backed away, she’d use her own magic and have it out. She’d waited all night for this and she wasn’t going to be denied.

His hand worked down his fly. A small economical move. The teeth separated and his cock broke free. Absinthe placed his hands on her hips for the fraction of a second it took to lift her onto the table. Unable to resist any longer, she reached out and let her fingers brush the smooth, hot skin of his cock. Not small. She breathed a little sigh of relief, and so far nothing weird, except for the magic.

Absinthe flinched away from her touch. The enchantment pulled on her hand, so she let her hand fall away as if obeying. The ache in her core was matched by an ache that formed in her heart. He didn’t like to be touched. He used the spell to keep his lovers away. What or who had broken him?

The thought just made her want to touch him again to prove to him that it wouldn’t hurt. At least he wasn’t going to fuck her with magic. His cock was hard and ready. The spell caressed her thighs, encouraging her to spread her legs farther; she didn’t need to be asked twice. Her belly was a mass of unresolved tension and her breathing was coming in short ragged pants. She needed him, needed something more than the teasing stroke of magic—she could do that herself.

His lips parted, as if hearing the need in the beat of her heart. He pulled a foil packet from his pocket. She almost told him not to bother because he was Vamp, but since they were both pretending to be human, she let him roll the rubber on.

Then he moved closer, his hands landing lightly on her hips. Claire held her breath in case she broke the moment. The head of his shaft brushed against her pussy, hot and hard. For a moment he paused and the enchantment loosened, enough that had she been under she would’ve again had a moment to reconsider and change her mind.

In response she lifted her hips a fraction, so there could be no doubt she wanted this. He thrust forward. His cock filled her pussy in one move. There was an exquisite second of adjustment from pain to pleasure as his shaft stretched her core, and her eyelids flickered and closed. Anything less than being claimed by him would have been disappointing.