The Collector 1: Magical Chances

Mechele Armstrong

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Chloe is having a terrible day, where everything that can go wrong does, until she’s offered a chance at much-needed money by the Collector. All she has to do is fetch him an artifact. Easy enough, right? Wrong. The tote...
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Chloe is having a terrible day, where everything that can go wrong does, until she’s offered a chance at much-needed money by the Collector. All she has to do is fetch him an artifact. Easy enough, right?

Wrong. The totem is with her ex-husband, who didn’t appreciate a vase tossed at his head during their last fight. They never did anything halfway, sex or fighting.

Drake is a retired magician who can do real magic. But that didn’t help him to keep his wife when she tired of all the secrets he kept about the family legacy.

When Chloe tries to take off with his totem, Drake realizes that of all the stuff he’d amassed, only one thing ever mattered, and he’d lost it.

Striking a deal with Chloe, he agrees to give her his totem in more ways than one if she gives him a weekend to rekindle the current between them.

Drake finished up the telephone call before leaning back and placing his feet on his desk. He’d unpiled a mound of paperwork for tomorrow morning. Mornings, he did business. Afternoons were for golf or other diversions. Evenings were for catch up on anything he hadn’t done. He’d be turning in for the night in just a couple of hours. Before he got up and started a day of the same over again.

You’re boring.

A regimented creature of habit, he’d always kept a schedule. Even when he’d toured, things had been set, and little got out of sync.

Except when Chloe was with him.

Chloe would knock Father Time off kilter. She ran on her own time schedule and clock.

Her favorite way to distract him had been to put her hand on his cock. Whatever they’d been talking or arguing about had been lost in the rush of blood. He couldn’t think with both heads being engaged, and the smaller one won every time.

She’d known the power she had over him. So many times she would bite her lip seductively and flash him a come-hither grin. He always came hither. Usually a few times.

His doorbell rang, chiming all through his house.

Checking the time, he rose from his chair, tempted to check his scheduler. He didn’t have any appointments now, though, he was sure of it.

He swung his front door open, and all the blood that had been activating his brain’s cells pumped quickly down to a raging erection. The person who’d been driving his thoughts stood before him.

“Hi, Drake.” Her throaty voice sounded even sweeter than he’d remembered, even more passionate. His ex-wife wore a tight black Lycra dress that covered the “ass” and “ets” in style. Her long legs stretched down from the thigh-length skirt in all their tanned glory. The little bit of weight she’d put on had rounded her curves, developing them to a rich fullness. She’d grown more beautiful in the time they’d been apart. Women weren’t supposed to do that.

He tightened more. “Chloe?” Dumb question. It was her, all right. But what she was she doing on his stoop?

Her teeth poked out to bite her lip the same way he’d remembered her doing. One hand on his cock, and they’d be back to old times. “It’s me.”

“I see.” He stared out into the late day sunshine, trying not to look at her, but failing. Her nipples poked through the thin material, plainly displayed. He’d loved to thumb and nip them. She’d gotten off on it, sometimes seemed about to come from mere breast play. She wasn’t wearing a bra at the moment. She’d sometimes gone pantyless, too. His mouth wasn’t sure whether to dry or drool at that thought. He scanned down her body, wondering if he could see pantylines or not.

As his gaze found her face again, her mouth pushed up in amusement. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Oh, shit … yeah.” He opened the door wider for her to walk beside him into his lair. How long had they stood outside? Seemed like a long time, but it must have been only seconds. Her scent invaded his space, that same scent of vanilla she’d always worn. How he’d loved to wake up immersed in it. Immersed in her. Until she’d left him. That shook off his desire, but only partially. “What are you doing here, Chloe?”

She walked around the foyer with its high ceiling. Toying with a small green vase, her fingers caressed it, barely touching, swirling around the top. “Do I need a reason to see you, Drake?”

His cock jiggled, but he couldn’t look away from her touching. Sweetness and light like this weren’t her style. Her style was more like piss and vinegar. Was she up to something? “It’s been four years; I’d say you do.”

Her hands dropped from the vase and swung to her sides. “I know we didn’t part on the best of terms.”

Understating was one of those Chloe talents. “You threw things at me. A bunch of things.” Before you walked away.

“I was … upset.”

“You were fucking pissed.”

Her red glossy mouth tightened into a line before smoothing out. “You know why.” A deep breath escaped her, moving her chest up and down, drawing his eyes. Lycra was made by his hero. “I didn’t come here to talk about old times.” She tittered. “Though I am sorry about the Ming.”

His lips pursed. His Ming vase had barely missed his head. He should be thankful it wasn’t his head that had shattered on the floor. He looked to the green vase sitting on the nearby table. At least it was smaller, in case her aim had gotten better like her beauty. “What did you come here for?”

“I wanted to see you.” A flash of guilt marched across her face. She had a horrible time with poker because she couldn’t lie worth shit. It looked like that hadn’t changed. Why had she come here if she didn’t want to see him? She’d made it clear that she hadn’t wanted anything more to do with him or his money when the divorce had become final. He’d respected her wishes, staying away and not offering any help even when he’d known about her niece, though he would have liked to.

“You’ve seen me.” He waved his hand in front of him.

She tiptoed closer on strappy black high heels that clicked on the tile. “Maybe I want to see you. All of you.”

She blew a light breath along his neck, the closest place she could reach. It tickled his skin, warping his thin hairs up on end. Her breath smelled of wintergreen, fresh and clear. He swallowed, the movement slow and deliberate.

Maybe he was being too suspicious. The woman had come here, peacefully, of her own free will. Maybe it had been to see him. He couldn’t imagine what else it could be for, unless…

Copyright © Mechele Armstrong


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