Happy Halloween dear readers!!!  Today’s a day for candy and spice, so here’s a little naughty magical sweetness to get your holiday started off right!  A somewhat spicy excerpt from the Bewitch Me collection, from the title story.

Bewitch Me is Available Now!!!

Mmmm…now I need some caramel.

Bewitch Me - SMALL


TRENT ENTERED THE LOBBY with trepidation, but everything looked normal. Still, he hurried to check his mailbox and press the button for the elevator, his stomach churning with anxiety as it had for the last three weeks, his cock still hard and demanding his attention. Three weeks ago, the management company had opened up the available units to members of a heretofore unheard of magical community.

It was shock enough that creatures from fairytales and nightmares actually existed and were running around the city, sometimes in disguise and sometimes not. It was worse that now they were going to be living in Trent’s beautiful, hundred-year-old building, the place he’d loved at first sight, with its Old World character and prime location. For the most part, the newcomers kept to themselves, and Trent had to admit that the techie elves down the hall seemed like good guys, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to become drinking buddies or swap recipes with them. He was still worried about the towering man with the greenish tint that had been referred to him as a “half-troll.”


And of course, there was the witch.

She didn’t look like a witch, and he’d had no idea when he helped the voluptuous, raven-haired piece of dynamite move in a few weeks ago that she was in fact a witch. Isabella Fiero. She said she was an artist. She looked like a walking fantasy, her bouncy black curls framing a face that was almost too cute to be believed. There was nothing cute about the rest of her. She might be tiny, but Isabella Fiero packed a punch. There wasn’t a flat spot on her – she was all lush curves and a sweet little waist and hips a man could hold onto while he sank into her heat. Her breasts would bounce no matter how he fucked her. It was quite a pleasant visual.

It had Trent having guilty second thoughts about his practical arrangement with Nicole.

And then Trent found out what she really was.

And that’s when the trouble began.

He’d been checking the mail that night when the glass front door opened.

Lucky dress.

He’d only seen her in jeans before, but Isabella dressed to kill was something else, and the simple black sheath that lovingly clung to her curves seemed unbearably exotic. Trent smiled.

“Hot date?”

“Gallery fundraiser. All those stuffy people with too much money and not enough taste, complimenting me on the ‘importance’ of my work. Blech.”

She rolled her eyes, opening the little mailbox and extracting a pile of envelopes.

“And they never feed you anything edible. I’m going to go upstairs, climb into my PJs, and eat an entire pizza.”

Isabella rifled absently through the envelopes, stopping on a fat, purple letter.

“Oh crap,” she said, as the thing started to vibrate.

“What’s the matter?” asked Trent.

Isabella dove for the elevator button, trying to hide the bouncing purple envelope.

“Nothing. Fucking elevator. Come on!”

Suddenly, the letter surged out of her hands in a shower of sparks, nearly taking Trent’s head off as it zoomed by.

“Get down!” shouted Isabella, pushing him to the ground, as –


The letter exploded in a rush, and the lobby was suddenly festooned with flowers, sparklers, hundreds of balloons, and even little glowing butterflies that dropped glitter like rain.

Trent pulled himself to his feet, his jaw slack, his entire body covered in glitter.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Just my Aunt Minnie’s way of saying congrats on the new digs. It’s touch activated. She doesn’t understand human things like lobby mailboxes. I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

But Trent stumbled back when she tried to brush the glitter from his sleeve.

“What the fuck are you?”

He was shaken and shocked, but the hurt in her eyes still made him feel like a heel.

“I’m a witch,” she said quietly.

The elevator pinged open.

“Don’t worry about all this,” she continued, expressionless, “It’ll dissipate by morning.”

And she stepped into the elevator and disappeared.

Three weeks later, Trent was still finding glitter in intimate places, though the lobby was magically pristine the next morning. He’d avoided Isabella ever since, but they lived across the hall from each other, which made that somewhat impossible. Trent couldn’t stop thinking about her, worrying about what crazed witchy thing she was going to spring on him next, plagued with thoughts of broomsticks and toadstools.

But…his blood heated whenever he caught a glimpse of her, and two days ago, he headed out for a jog just in time to see her opening the door to find the paper, dressed only in a tight cami and worn little shorts. By the time he reached the elevator, Trent was hard as a rock.

And it wouldn’t go away.

How was a man supposed to concentrate on work, pre-nups, and marriage when he was basically a walking hard-on?  It was all her fault. She’d obviously cast some sort of spell on him, maybe as punishment for him looking so horrified when she announced that she was an unnatural mistake of Nature. OK, that was harsh, but the only images he had of witches were creepy, vindictive, and fictional. And now he could add crazed glitter bombers to his list of characteristics, but whatever.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He couldn’t sleep. His only moments of relief came when he caved to the urge to jerk off to images of sinking between her thighs, into her mouth, or her hand. Dropping his jacket and mail on the front table in his apartment, Trent looked down at the bulge in his pants and frowned. This couldn’t go on.

She has to make it stop.

Before he even realized it, he was out the door and across the hall, knocking firmly. He winced at the sight of the doormat that read, “Life’s a Witch,” and looked down the hallway, anxious. Trent had left his jacket inside, and the last thing he needed was one of the neighbors to see him sporting enough wood to build a log cabin. Trent frowned at the softly lit hallway.

When you marry Nicole, you’ll have to move.

It had occurred to him before, but now that it was imminent, the idea left a sour taste in his mouth. But there was no way Nicole would agree to live in a building like this. Trent was surprised at how sad that thought made him. He’d always appreciated its warmth and character.

The door opened, and Isabella’s eyes widened at the sight of him.

Trent scowled. She was in another cami and a pair of sleep shorts, no bra. His cock jerked.

“Do you always answer the door half-dressed?”

She started to answer, and then noticed his big, throbbing problem.

“Yeah,” he growled, “You’re going to take care of that.”