A woman once shunned. A man now changed. There’s a thin line between love and hate.
When Wiccan practitioner Cassandra VanAlder encounters a man from her past who’d broken her heart, she casts some spells to help herself while wishing karma would deal out some payback. The spells turn against her, and before she knows it, she finds herself falling for him again.
Ryan Keene finds Cassandra enchanting and feels he’s met her somewhere before. She and her best friend, Debi, won’t give him any clues as to her identity. He loves challenges and doesn’t plan to back off from her until he finds the answers he seeks. He's told he has three dates to win her over.
Will she close off her heart or will she allow herself to feel again?
Intrigued by the whole process, she watched his fingers tear open the square, then how he rolled the rubber on his engorged shaft. Realizing the enormity of what was to happen, a spike of anticipation hit her womb, and a gush of sexual awareness flooded between her legs. Soon, she and Ryan would be joined, and she would know what the poets spoke of.
She nodded again.
He kissed her. Slow and gentle, he guided her to the ground, then lowered his body over her. Ryan ran his palm over the side of her body, across her navel and down between her legs where he fingered her slit.
Everywhere he touched, her electric pulses shot through her. Molding his rock hard body against her curves, he directed himself into her.
The muscles in her crotch stretched and gave way around his length to his entry. She encircled his legs with hers, then pressed her mouth to the crook of his neck.
“You’re so tight.” He gently ground himself against her. “You don’t know how incredible this feels.”
She sucked in a shaky breath of air as pleasure waved through her. There was no pain, which from the research she’d done, she learned was normal for a percentage of girls. Thoughts regarding displeasure fled with another pump of his hips and were replaced with swells and crests of sexual exhilaration. Emily shimmied her hips, stroking her pussy along his shaft.
Ryan stilled, then kissed her cheek, her chin, her neck. Placing his hands on either side of her head, he gazed into her eyes. “I wish I was a poet and could express the feelings running through me. But I did memorize something for you.”
He recited her favorite poem, “She Walks in Beauty,” by Lord Byron, then covered her in kisses, trailing his divine mouth down her neck to her breasts. Once more, he rotated his hips, making his cock stroke her core as he suckled. She held his head to her, loving every nuance of the whole experience.
The world around her seemed to crash down upon her, yet expand away from her all at once. Pleasure as she’d never felt before saturated every fiber of her being and overwhelmed her soul. She clung to him, and it seemed like his body sank into hers. Was this what romanticists meant by becoming one? She hoped so, because it was glorious.