MORGAN ASHBURY
The Enchantress

Contemporary. Twyla Harper is very good at “recovering” valuables for a living. Then she meets Nicholas Coultrain who gets under her skin and into her heart. There’s only one problem: Nick is determined to bring down the Enchantress whose heist has destroyed his company.

Excerpt

His arms felt strong, and the burning light in his eyes thrilled her. It had been so hard to hold herself back from him. Even though her brain and heart couldn’t yet trust him one hundred percent, her body wanted him with a hunger that bordered on desperation. This, she thought, had to be the definition of insanity.

The man posed a very real threat to her. He’d gone after her with the single-minded determination to prove her a thief, perhaps even see her thrown in jail, but she couldn’t help wanting him, couldn’t deny that at his core he was a good man.

Then his head lowered and his mouth took hers in a ruthless possession that drove every other thought from her head. His tongue demanded surrender, and without her consent, every bone in her body melted. She clung to him, wild to taste more, and even more of him.

He picked her up, carried her to the bed. She felt conquered, dominated, and wanted to rejoice in it. She didn’t care that it was a tired cliché.

His hand cupped her bare breast before she knew he’d opened her shirt. Eager for the feel of his flesh under her hands, her fingers delved beneath his tee shirt, caressing hot male, scraping against skin that felt better than anything she’d ever touched.

He pulled away from her. His gaze hot, she knew her own matched it. In that instant, she understood they were of one mind.

She pulled the clothing from her own body, baring herself to his needs just as he bared himself to hers.

“Yes, yes!” She needed to feel the weight of him pressing her into the bed, needed to feel his mouth on her breast now. No man had ever laved and nipped and suckled in just that way, pulling the nerves that connected her nipples to her clit. Her heart tripped when he cupped her face and kissed her, his lips and tongue sipping, tasting, cherishing.

“Here, babe, put this on me.”

She’d never done this before, never taken the moment to smooth the sheath over a lover’s penis, preparing him to penetrate her. Such a singularly erotic sensation, to grasp his flesh, savor the heat and the silk of him, bending low to inhale the essence and sip the dew of him, and then to roll the thin covering down, a slow and lingering caress.

“Vixen, you damn near made me come.”

Sultry laughter erupted from deep in her soul as he pushed her onto her back and impaled her in one long, glorious thrust. He filled her so completely. Surely, no other man could fit her so perfectly. The gentle brush of his scrotum against her most tender flesh tantalized. The rhythmic nudge of the tip of his cock against the entrance to her womb enticed. Her heart pounded, her blood raced, and her pussy pulsed.

“Nick!”

“Mmm, Twyla, you’re so hot, sweetheart. So hot and wet and good. Squeeze me. I want that amazing pussy of yours to milk me. Make me come, sweetheart.”

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze. Her hands slid from around his shoulders, seeking his. Their fingers entwined, and she felt more connected to him than she ever had to another, and in her heart, in that moment, she fell in love with him.

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