Witchy Woman of the Downs

“Who’s the woman with dark red hair and the hour-glass figure?” Darian Debonnaire allowed his eyes to drift over the woman’s curves, licking his lips at the curve of her bust, imagining teasing the nipples to hard buds, sucking on them until they wrinkled in response and his tongue elicited a moan from her lips. Then he narrowed his eyes in quiet reflection at her cinched waist, considering how his hands would span its entire width, picking her up and setting her vagina over his dick as he pressed her back against the pharmacy counter. His gaze slowly descended over the rise of her firm buttocks and oh, so long legs.

No doubt about it. She was perfect, and he wanted her now. Have her panting and screaming out his name this very instant. Too bad humans disapproved of such actions in public.

“That’s Rory,” Chuck told him, jolting Darian from his fantasy. “Look I know you’re only here for the Derby events, but don’t go there. She’s trouble.

Oh yes! Trouble as in a capital T, Terrific.

“I’ve never come on to her,” Chuck said, “but every guy who has won’t even talk about what happened.

He glanced back at his friend in amusement. “You’re putting me on. They probably don’t talk about it because she’s so fucking fantastic. Literally. What’s hard for me to believe is any woman who looks like that goes by the name, Rory. As for staying away, well...” He held his hand up and shook it like it was on fire.

“Look, she is bad news and she does go by that name.” Chuck leaned against the counter in Winner’s Circle Pharmacy. “Aurora O’Malley. All Irish, including the temper. She’s a witch.”

Darian raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Chuck laughed softly. “No, of course not. Who believes in witches? But I refuse to use the ‘b’ word. Buddy, don’t run for the roses. The girl has thorns. You’ll get pricked.”

“Chuck, my boy, like any high-strung young thoroughbred, she hasn’t hit her stride. To use your other analogy, you’re wrong, that blossom hasn’t fully bloomed.” He rubbed his hands together “And I want to suck in all the nectar.”

Chuck rubbed the back of his neck. “Be prepared for venom. The thunder you hear won’t be the Fireworks over Louisville.”

“Got that right. It’ll be the sound the bed makes right after the lighting ignites us.”

Chuck shook his head. “This old frat brother can only get you out of trouble by forewarning you. If you proceed after being cautioned, you have only yourself to blame.”

“Or thank.” Darian grinned. He strode in the woman’s direction as she paused in front of an aisle of pet food. Chuck had said she was a real witch. If she were indeed, and she had the bearing and the look, he deemed his meeting her kismet. A natural born warlock rarely saw a woman of his breeding in the middle of small town America. Let the games begin.

“May I help you, madam?” he asked, as he closed in, close to her side.
She glanced up into his eyes, and the flash of emerald green might as well have punched him in the gut. His senses swirled as he breathed in her scent, new mown grass and freshly crushed mint.

“Do you work here?” she asked, her eyes widening.

“Not exactly. My name is Darian Debonnaire. I told Chuck I’d help you. You seemed to be lost.”

“I see. Nice to meet you Darian. My name is Rory.” She smiled, her eyelashes dipping down over her bright eyes. “Debonnaire is not a common last name.”

“No, you’re right. It’s not.” Most of us are warlocks. “Rory is unusual for a woman as well.”

She nodded. “I prefer it to my real name. And yes, I could use some help. I just bought a small house in the country and it has a koi pond, of all things. I have no idea what they eat, but my mother always reminded me if I had some on my land I was not to forget to feed the fish. She said it was for good luck.”

“I see,” he said, winking at her. “Your mother sounds like a smart woman. Fish have been a sign of good luck for centuries and in most of the ancient civilizations. Now, you could just go to the grocery store and get them some salad shrimp, even the ones in the can will do. Cut them up or run them through the blender. Or, you could use a fish food made primarily of fish meal and with no corn at least in the top five ingredients. Like this,” he handed her a container of a product with the name koi in it.

“Oh my,” she said, “you seem to know all about them.”

“I should,” he said. “I’m an environmental scientist.”

“In Louisville?” She frowned.

“I’m here on a special project,” he said, his eyes never giving away his fabrication. “Some of the bass are dying for no apparent reason in the creeks and streams around Wilcox Lake.”

She gasped. “I had no idea.”

Neither did I. “While I’m here, would it be okay if I came over and…checked out your fish?”

She smiled, her grin half devil and half come hither. “When do you want to come?”

Oh honey, I think I just did.