It called to him, a sweet heady beacon of femininity, fertility, and fuckability. His three favorite f-words.

Fresh, sweet honeysuckle. Ripe and rich and ready to be fucked—PLUCKED, he corrected himself, ready to be plucked.

So I'm not allowed to take responsibility for the whole world, but you are, huh?Kees felt the corners of his mouth twitch and his heart squeeze and then melt. ...I am bigger, he growled.And she laughed.

Still shuddering, he collapsed atop her on a long, strangled groan. It sounded as if someone had just wrung out his soul.Ella knew precisely how he felt.

Ella squeezed, wringing a groan from his throat that echoed the torments of the damned. Usually, though, the damned didn't lean into the torment in a silent entreaty for more. Or so she assumed. She didn't think hell was likely to be kinky.

She could sense the desire pouring off the man in front of her, and to be wanted so obviously, so fiercely, went to her head like moonshine. He made her feel like a goddess.Provided goddesses got this horny.

Only in porn did people appear to need sex as badly as she needed it right that minute.

She stretched beneath him, bare and aching, held captive by an entirely new form of magic, one she'd thought existed only in books and movies.