Stone and Earth

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Stone and Earth

ISBN 9781419914287

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Stone and Earth Copyright © 2008 Cindy Spencer Pape

Edited by Helen Woodall.

Cover art by Syneca.

Electronic book Publication January 2008

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.  (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/)

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Stone and Earth

Cindy Spencer Pape

Dedication

This story is dedicated to all the readers who make this possible.

Thanks for letting me share my fantasies, and I hope they bring you a smile.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Catwoman: DC Comics, Inc.

Harley Davidson Motorcycles: H-D Michigan, Inc.

Philadelphia Flyers: Philadelphia Flyers Limited Partnership; Philadelphia Hockey Club, Inc.

Chapter One

Damien St. Pierre stared at the key and set of directions in his hand. “You’re sure this woman—”

“Witch,” Mayor Pendleton interjected.

“Witch.” Damien glared at his new boss. Not many humans, mayors or otherwise, had the balls to interrupt Damien when he was talking. Even in human form he stood six feet eight and weighed two hundred and sixty pounds—all of it muscle. “You’re sure this witch can handle having me as a tenant.”

Pendleton waved a hand in dismissal. “Her last roommate was a pixie. Trust me, wings won’t even begin to faze her. Besides, the place is perfect for you. It’s a converted warehouse—industrial-strength elevator, reinforced concrete floors and plenty of open space.”

“That should do.” It did sound just about perfect, he had to admit. And it would be a relief to have somewhere to go where he didn’t constantly have to hide his true nature. But when the Philadelphia mayor had promised free lodging during Damien’s thirty-day trial period on the city’s special paranormal police task force, Damien hadn’t anticipated a live-in landlady. He wasn’t really pleased about the politician giving away his secrets, even if it was to a witch. “So she knows what I am?”

“No. Given the nature of this task force, she’s going to suspect that you’re
something
. But how much you tell her is entirely up to you.”

Leave it to the professional spin doctor to take away Damien’s only real justification for being pissy. He stuck out his hand. “Then I guess I’ll see you at the office tomorrow night.”

Pendleton shook Damien’s hand without a second of hesitation, which again was rare. Damien couldn’t help feeling a certain degree of respect for the human who had set up a whole police unit full of supernatural beings to keep his city running smoothly. “Seven p.m. sharp. You’ve got my cell number. Call me if you have any problems in the interim.”

Damien agreed, then climbed back on his Harley and gunned the engine. After one last look at the computer-generated map and directions he headed off in the direction of his new abode.

He still wasn’t one hundred percent sure about this job, but the soothsayer for his clan had assured him it was necessary. His people were dying and he would do anything in his power to help. According to the venerable Lady Helene, the belt was here in Philadelphia. And Damien was the only one with the power to find it and return it to the clan, restoring a bit of the magic that had kept them safe for hundreds of years. So here he was, on a January night, riding through the streets of downtown Philly.

* * * * *

Katie Calhoun finished her prayer and released her magic circle. She gathered up her candles, herbs and talismans, hoping the cleansing ritual would help alleviate some of the restlessness she’d been feeling since the beginning of the new year. She laid the items carefully in a cloth-lined basket and poured a little more white wine into the chalice she held. She took a small sip, then stepped over to the rail of her rooftop garden to look out over the sparkling lights of the city below. The Schuylkill River bisected the display of light, a thick black ribbon of darkness undulating through the city.

Tonight might well be the last chance she’d have to be up here skyclad for a while. She wasn’t sure why she’d let the mayor talk her into housing his newest protégé, but she had to admit she’d been lonely since her roommate Twyla had moved out at Samhain. Though the wedding hadn’t been ’til Yule, Twyla had actually moved in with Bram the day after they’d met. Katie had never seen such a case of love at first sight and though she was delighted for her friends, she couldn’t help feeling a little—well—envious, she supposed. Self-pity wasn’t an emotion she was proud of, but it too was part of the restless melancholy she’d been feeling for the past few weeks.

Ever since the dawning of the new year, she’d had this itchy sort of feeling she couldn’t shake. Like there was somewhere she was supposed to be, or something she was supposed to do. She’d tried everything—spells, rituals, card readings—but nothing had given her any insight into the matter. Maybe it was just the January blues, but the nagging tug at the back of her mind was driving her nuts. Finally, there was the fact that she hadn’t been with a man in—well—it seemed like forever. So on top of lonely, jealous and restless, she was also just plain horny. All together, that did not add up to a happy witch. She finished her wine, then took the bottle from the basket and poured another glass.

Well, the horny part she could do something about, at least. She took her wine with her over to the rock-lined hot tub in the corner of her garden and stepped down into the swirling water. She set her chalice on the ledge, reached into a hidden cabinet and pulled out a watertight plastic box. After a few seconds of perusal she selected a couple of favorite toys then closed the box and set it aside before sitting down on the smooth stone seat.

She shifted her necklace so it hung down her back, out of the way. Then she lifted one breast out of the water and carefully screwed the silver clamp onto her nipple, already sensitized and taut from the cool night air and warm bubbling water. She allowed herself a little shudder and moan at the delightful pinch, then repeated the process on her other breast. Finally, she hung a heavy quartz crystal from the silver chain linking the two clamps. The pendant swayed in the warm current, adding an irregular tug to the tender peaks.

“Oh yeah.” She sighed and closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment just to enjoy the sensual pleasure of the clamps and water playing with her nipples. Then she took another sip of chardonnay and picked up her favorite waterproof vibrator. With a twist of the dolphin’s tail she set his pointed beak humming. She spread her legs wide and leaned back on the stone bench as she lowered him between her legs.

“Go, Flipper, go,” she murmured, running the vibrator through her folds. She let her head fall back onto the smooth stone ledge. She slipped the dolphin’s nose up into her pussy, felt the muscles clench around his vibrating form. When she felt her own lubrication slicking her tender skin even in the water, she slid him all the way inside, then began to massage her swollen clit with the pad of her thumb. Her other hand reached down and toyed with the crystal suspended between her breasts, rhythmically tugging on the nipple clamps.

It had been so long, she was going to come pretty quickly. She felt her hips lifting off the bench, supported by the water while the dolphin vibrator massaged her G-spot and she rubbed her clit. Waves of pleasure washed through her body, coiled in her womb and made her inner walls clench tight. The sensations drove her ever upward and she moaned out loud. The sound of her own pleasure turned her on even more. She let herself imagine it was a man’s strong hand on her clit, his mouth on her nipple, his hard cock stroking up inside her weeping pussy. She couldn’t see his face, but she swore she heard his voice.

“Come for me now,
cherie
. Let go and fly.” It was deep and gravelly with just the faintest hint of a French accent and it was the sexiest damn sound she’d ever heard. With a wordless cry from deep in her throat, she let go. The orgasm exploded through her body and sent ripples of bliss coursing through every cell.

“Beautiful.” The voice was rough as his thick fingers stroked gently through her pussy lips, bringing her floating back down. Warm, wet lips replaced one of the clamps.

He gently withdrew the vibrator and moved to stand between her legs. The sudden emptiness made her open her eyes and then she yelped in surprise. She squeezed her legs, felt them close around a pair of thighs as hard as the rock around the pool. Her gaze flew upward to meet a pair of intent, hooded gray eyes.

“Hello, there,
ma petite
. Feel better now?”

* * * * *

Damien rang the bell, but when he didn’t get an answer, he used the numeric code on the mayor’s directions and let himself into the building. He didn’t think his landlady was expecting him until tomorrow, so it was entirely possible she wasn’t home. The spacious but plain foyer showed two mailboxes. Both had names on them, one of which he recognized as belonging to the owner of the building. He tried his key on that door, and was relieved when it opened.

“Hello,” he called out, loudly. No answer. So he moved all the way in. The living area, great room, or whatever clearly occupied about two-thirds of the available space, soaring all three stories from front to back of the building. Perfect! The furniture was oversized and comfortable-looking, even for someone his size. Rich earth-toned rugs covered the floors and paintings in bright geometric shapes were scattered about the walls. Lush oversized plants bloomed in heavy earthenware pots. Yeah, he could live here.

The other third was sectioned into two separate floors, the upper one supported by heavy steel and concrete pilings. He peeked through open doors on the first story, found an office area and a bathroom, then the kitchen was in the back corner, open to the great room. A wide concrete stairway led to the upper-story balcony, which had two doors leading off it. Bedrooms, most likely. From there a spiral stair led to a door that had to open onto the roof.

He wandered up the stairs and realized the rooftop door was ajar. His curiosity aroused, he stepped outside—and into Eden.

How could such a garden be growing on a Philadelphia rooftop—in the middle of winter? There was no breeze and though the air was cool, it was much warmer than it had been down on the street. Lush plant life surrounded him. The garden was softly lit by small glowing lights suspended from the trees and shrubs and glowing orbs set into the ground. From behind a row of shrubs—holly bushes by their waxy leaves and red berries—he heard the sound of running water.

Walking softly, Damien rounded the leafy barrier and stopped dead in his tracks paralyzed by the sight that met his eyes.

What appeared to be a natural stone grotto was tucked into a corner of the roof, almost completely surrounded by shrubs and trees. A hot tub burbled in the stone depression, warm and inviting. But not as inviting as its occupant. Lounging with her head thrown back against the rock, long mahogany hair streaming in the water around her, was the most beautiful woman Damien had ever seen. And she was naked. Beautifully, gloriously naked.

Full, high breasts rode right at the waterline, their softness floating just enough on the surface that he could see the silver clamps attached to each of her big, berry-brown nipples. Her hands were both below the water, but he could see her arms moving at the shoulder and he could guess what she was doing by the flush on her cheeks and the soft moans that emerged from her full rosy lips.

She didn’t see or hear him approach, so rapt was she in her act of self-pleasure. Damien felt the zipper on his leather pants strain against the sudden expansion of his cock. She was stunning. Riveting. She might possibly not be the most technically beautiful woman he’d met, but gods above, she was the single sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

Damien knew what he was doing was a cosmically bad idea. All she had to do was open her eyes, then scream and his life as he knew it would be over. There’d be no more career in law enforcement for a sex-crime offender. And yet he did it anyway. There was simply no way—not in Heaven, not on Earth, damn sure not in Hell—that he could resist the temptation before him. He barely registered stripping off his own shirt and boots, then peeling off the too-tight pants. His fist was wrapped around his aching shaft and stroking hard as he stepped down into the pool.

It was deeper than he’d expected—the water came up to his chest when he stood. The benches were at almost the perfect height—level with his hips. He could see now that the nipple clamps were linked to silver chain weighted down with some sort of bauble. One of her hands below the water was tugging on the chain, making the nipples periodically dip below the surface, then reappear glistening wet. Her other hand cupped her mound, the thumb rubbing circles, presumably on her clit. He could tell she was close to orgasm by the taut tendons of her neck, the jerking of her hips and her fractured little gasps of breath. Somehow his body had decided it was crucially important for it to be his hand on her clit when she came instead of her own. While one hand kept up the pressure on his own engorged cock, his other hand covered hers, then slowly, gently moved it aside to take its place.

She still didn’t scream, didn’t open her eyes. All she did was moan and lift her pussy to meet his touch. He slid his fingers through soft curls and swollen labia, feeling the slickness of her rich cream that clung to her skin, easing his way even in the warm water.

“Come for me.” She moaned again in response to his words. Intent on her pleasure now, Damien let go of his erection and moved his other hand to cup her breast. When she whispered the word “Yes”, he removed the silver clamp on that side and set his mouth to the pebbled nipple instead. He drew it into his mouth, drinking deeply of her sweetness. His fingers flicked fast and hard against her erect little clit. “Now,
cherie
,” he urged. “Let go and fly.”