Page 69 of Of Magic and Murder

But then he chuckles, and says, “Sorry, my mate, but you really are such a sweet, sweet witch,” and any doubts I had about rushing things with this male… yeah. They’re gone as quickly as the residue left over from his shattered curse.

And I couldn’t be fucking happier.

CHAPTER 19

THE MORNING AFTER

gus’s wolf friend made the magic lady clan.

finally.

— gus

There are probably rules about what you’re supposed to do the morning after you discover that you’re the fated mate to the gorgeous wolf shifter you’ve been trying not to fall head over heels for, forgive him for keeping that small detail from you, mate him because both the Goddess and Fate have good taste, and break the curse that’s controlled his life for years at the same time as you form a mate bond that means he’s stuck with you no matter what.

Unfortunately, I haven’t come across that rulebook in Moonburrow’s library just yet, and since I’m a witch and not a shifter, I don’t have instincts of my own to follow. So I just go with what feels right, and unlike what I did with any of my previous lovers, I don’t find an excuse to slip out of the bed we’re sharing because I’m convinced I’m going to screw this up somehow.

I can’t. That’s the best part. Whatever forged the bond I now have with Riordan, it’s not the kind of magic that will backfire on me. It’s primal and ancient, and with his mark on my shoulder, I stop overthinking for once in my life.

So while I’m sure other mates know how to react the morning after, I do it my own way. That means I wake up sometime after sunrise with one leg trapped between Riordan’s, my face mashed against a very warm, very naked chest, with his arm wrapped so tightly around my bare torso, I’m pretty sure I’d need a translocation spell to escape.

Considering my history with those, I stay right where I am.

Not like there’s anywhere else I want to go. For one, Riordan is warm. Wolves run hotter than witches do—something to do with the fur coat belonging to his beast, I guess—and though it’s the end of July in Maryland, his body heat is comforting compared to the humid warmth outside. For another, my… my mate smells so good. I noticed that the first time we met, when we were riding in the cop car on the way to Roxy’s antique shop, but I knew that my fear of wolves meant that I could sniff and never touch.

Goddess, was I wrong. Look at me now. I’ve touched every part of him since last night, and now, with my nose pressed against his chest, his scent wrapped around me as effectively as his strong body, I breathe him in and only experience arousal and delight without a single trace of fear.

How can I be afraid of Riordan?

Of my mate?

A giddy laugh bubbles up inside of me as I snuggle closer. Mate. Me. Penelope Willows—or Lobo? How does this work? In the human world, when a witch accepts a mortal partner, there are mortal traditions like marriage and changing names. Honey is Honey Lobo, though Roxy has kept her own name. What about me?

“Penelope Lobo,” I whisper into his chest, trying it out loud. It’s muffled, but I like it⁠—

His hand strokes the top of my head. “Be careful, witch. I thought you needed your rest, but if you’re going to tease me by tacking my name onto yours… I’m sorry. I’m just going to have to make you mine all over again.”

Riordan’s voice is as husky as it is raw. No sign of the smooth Beta or the desperate male who tracked me down and—despite being a born alpha—tossed aside his dominant nature in order to beg me to forgive him. In the aftermath of last night, I’m seeing a new male.

Mine.

He’s just as much mine as I’m his—and as his fingers snag in my hair, I lift my head to see the absolute need in his golden gaze.

My hair is a tangled mess. After we finished mating for the first time—and I discovered Riordan’s impressive shifter ability to recover an erection in minutes after filling me with his seed—I knew that my new mate would be insatiable. He’d hungered for his mate for so long, and now that he had the chance to claim her, he did. Repeatedly. I don’t know if I was his first lover. We came to a silent agreement not to talk about past partners around the time Riordan was tugging my skirt off of me, and he has to know that he wasn’t my first. It doesn’t matter to me if I was his first, either. I’m his last, and I have the bite mark on my shoulder to prove it.

And since Riordan needed to fuck me until I was basically mewling beneath him, so oversensitized that I just dug my fingers into his back and held on for dear life, it’s no surprise that I took a lull in mating—when he was lapping at my well-used pussy as I arched my back off the bed before squeezing his head with my thighs—to twist my long hair, tying it up in a knot.

‘Knot’ is definitely the word for it now. I know I need a shower. I stink like sweat and I’m covered in Riordan, well, everywhere. I’m sure my wolf likes the idea of me smelling like him, but I don’t like being sticky. I hate my hair being a disaster.

And yet… as he scratches my scalp absently with his gentle claws, I think it wouldn’t be so terrible to get dirty all over again before I convince Riordan to share a shower with me.

I’m not so surprised to see that he’s awake, or that the look on his face tells me that he’s not bluffing when it comes to a little morning sex. His erection is prodding my butt cheek, and all it would take is slipping my leg out from under the one pinning me in place, adjusting my position, and scooting backward until I can take him into my body again.

You know what? That’s not such a bad idea…

The moment I start to move, Riordan freezes in place. It’s like he’s afraid to see me go, but after I stroke whatever part of him I can reach while he’s still clutching me to him, he relaxes his grip just enough that I can assume the necessary position. I throw my leg over his, bump my ass to his groin, and, grabbing him by the base of his cock, I slowly feed him inside of me.

There’s a tiny twinge. It’s been a while since I’ve had a lover, and never one as vigorous as Riordan. His hand drops to my shoulder, thumb ghosting over my new scar, but before he can stop me from fucking him, I grit my teeth and take as much of his thick cock as I can. The twinge disappears as a delicious fullness replaces the tender sensation.