Ashleigh Merchant Nude Novels & Stories

I moaned softly as their fingers traced the lace. "Your turn," I said breathlessly, my submissive side kicking in as I reached for their shirts. I helped peel them off, then their pants, until we were all in underwear. Asher grabbed his camera. "We need a picture of this," he said, positioning us. I stood between them, their hands boldly on my breasts and pussy through the lace, mine slipping inside their shorts to grip their hardening cocks. We smiled wide for the camera, the flash capturing the moment. "Look at you," Asher murmured as he checked the shot. "So fucking hot like this."

Obviously, it was too small for the both of them to fit comfortably. Her breath caught when she saw Ash appear in the doorway, shirtless. His hair was still damp from the shower he'd taken, water droplets clung to his bare body. Jo stared at his chest and hoped she wasn't drooling. Even if she was, nobody could blame her. Although she'd called Ash's body scrawny earlier, it was anything but. His chest and pecs were clearly delineated and his pants hung low on his hips, missing the indecent mark by just a hair.

Nathan shouted back. Bush and Lyla were naked and entwined on the sofa in a private room in the Merah Club. Bush had bronzed skin and the fresh scratches on his back added to his masculinity. Under his body lay Lyla. She had been ravaged, and her senses remained disconnected. She had scratched at Bush’s back as he’d forced himself on her and bit into his shoulder multiple times, but none of it had helped. There was a knock at the door, and Bush shouted irritably, “Come in.”

The call ended, but the lingering unease wrapped itself tighter around her. Isla stared at her phone, the screen dimming in her grasp like the fading warmth of her tea. Her mind spiralled back to the symbol Priya had described—black, jagged, and scorched into the tile where Nathan had been discovered. It wasn’t simply familiar; it was hauntingly personal.

I was behind her, but the face was blurred. I turned the screen to Cohen. “You don't recognize her?” “No,” he replied. No way I'm believing that bullshit. “Asher, out of my home now!” His mother gritted, trying to get me away from him but I didn't bulge. She left me alone and disappeared to my back. “Cohen. Look closely. The girl you posted her nude in the club, the one you almost killed!” I echoed. He looked more closely then sighed annoyingly before turning his gaze to me.

ASHLEY’S POV Ashley was stunned as Alpha Liam left her in his office literally still sitting down half naked and hungry from his touch. She was embarrassed and felt like a fool. How had she sounded so much Like a prostitute. As if she didn’t have shame. She was a slave yes, and she was his to do with whenever he wanted to do, but my God, he had just spread her legs opened and rubbed his mouth in between her legs and even set his fingers in between there and still fed her in her mouth.

The subidón of total, lawless victory over our attackers sent a violent jolt of pure, unadulterated heat straight to my core. Asher strode over to me, his chest heaving, his face smeared with black mud and the blood of his victims. He grabbed the front of my tactical shirt, hauling my body up against the hot hood of a militarized all-terrain vehicle the mercenaries had abandoned at the edge of the clearing. "You set the grid perfectly, doll," Asher growled, his wild eyes dilated with an unhinged, feral lust as his large hands violently ripped the zipper of my tactical trousers open.

Just then, Alex walked into the room. Shirtless. My eyes widened. He wore nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans that hugged his hips and left little to the imagination. His abs were perfectly sculpted, and every line and dip of muscle was on full display. Holy. Shit. I was shamelessly staring at his V-line, mouth slightly open, until— “You’ve got a little drool there,” Asher teased, biting back a laugh. Heat rushed to my face as I tore my gaze away, mortified. Alex, of course, looked completely unfazed.

The goosebumps on her panting chest told her as much. Miranda gulped again and she drew in a breath before mustering up the courage to turn her neck in the direction of the door, and lo and behold, Asher stood there, shirtless, with only a pair of sweatpants hanging around his hips. His chest and hair were dampened with sweat, and the image only made Miranda feel more parched. He had the signature mean glare in his pupils and stone-cold face. He blinked at Miranda, aware that his disturbance excited her in the worst possible way. She was afraid of him. It was written clearly in the messages expressed in her body language.