Novels by Pure Moon

Sophia BennettMy face burned as if I’d been slapped, the heat spreading down my neck and across my entire body until even my fingertips felt scorched. Embarrassment choked me like a too-tight collar, making it hard to draw a full breath. I sat on the edge of the massive bed, the sheet clutched desperately to my chest, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. God, I hated this. I hated the sticky evidence of last night clinging to my skin, hated the faint ache between my thighs that served as a humiliating reminder, and most of all, hated the polished stranger standing a respectful distance away, envelope in hand, watching me with careful, professional detachment.“Name your price,” he said again, his voice smooth and unwavering.I stared at him, anger cutting through the shame like a knife. “Do I look like a sex worker to you?” The words flew out sharper than I intended, laced with disbelief and rising fury. My voice cracked slightly on the last syllable, betraying how c

Sophia BennettThe morning sunlight sliced through the room like an unwelcome intruder, painting everything in harsh golds and forcing me to squint against its glare. I let out a heavy sigh, rolling over in the unfamiliar bed, my body heavy with the remnants of sleep and something far more unsettling. “Babe, close the curtains, Ethan,” I mumbled, my voice thick and groggy. “Ethan?”No answer. Just the soft hum of air conditioning and the distant murmur of city life far below.“Are you done with your dream? Are you awake now?” The voice was deep, calm, and completely wrong. Not Ethan’s.My eyes snapped open. I turned slowly, and the world tilted on its axis. A man stood by the tall window, silhouetted against the bright morning light. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly perfect. His features were sharp—strong jaw, piercing eyes, the kind of face that belonged in magazines or on billboards, not in whatever fevered hallucination this was

Sophia BennettI froze the moment the words left his mouth. The heat that had been consuming me, the desperate ache between my legs, everything stuttered to a halt as Damien’s low, commanding voice cut through the haze.“Are you a virgin?”The question hung in the air like a challenge. My heart slammed against my ribs. I lay there beneath him, breasts still exposed from where he’d yanked my bra down, my panties somewhere on the floor, my body slick and trembling with need. He was watching me too closely, those dark eyes searching my face as if he could peel back every secret I’d ever kept.He asked again, slower this time, his voice rough with restraint. “Are you a virgin, Sophia?”“No,” I whispered, the single word barely audible. Heat rushed to my cheeks. I wasn’t—not technically—but the way he was looking at me made me feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked.His gaze dropped between my thighs, where his fingers had just been buried deep inside me, stretching

Damien BlackwoodI wasn’t the kind of man who acted on impulse. Discipline had built everything I owned—my empire, my reputation, my control. I stuck to my decisions and lived by my rules. One of the most important: I didn’t fuck women without protection. No exceptions. Ever.Yet here I was, standing over the bed with my cock throbbing so hard it bordered on painful. Twenty-three. The number echoed in my skull as I looked down at the woman lying beneath me—Sophia. Seventeen years between us. A gap wide enough to remind me this was reckless, but not wide enough to kill the hunger roaring through my veins. I hadn’t felt this kind of raw, primal need in years. My body was betraying every careful principle I’d built.I placed one knee on the mattress beside her, bracing my hand near her hip without touching her yet. Clarity first. Always clarity.“Do I have your consent?” My voice came out low, rough.She nodded quickly, eyes glassy with want.“Use your words,” I commanded. “Not your head

Sophia BennettThe words echoed in my head like a filthy refrain I couldn’t silence: I am going to suck a dick.I was kneeling on the bed in nothing but the thin tank top that had ridden up my hips, my hands wrapped around a stranger’s waist. My cheek hovered so close to the sharp cut of muscle disappearing beneath the dangerous white towel that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. In any other circumstance, I would never have done this. No amount of alcohol, no depth of desperation, could have pushed me to my knees like this in real life. Even with Ethan—when he refused to touch me, when he finished in under two minutes and left me aching and unsatisfied—I had never begged. I had simply turned away, swallowed my frustration, and pretended it didn’t matter. I had my pride. I had boundaries.But this wasn’t real life. This was a dream, and my body was screaming for it.My skin felt too tight, my pulse throbbed between my legs, and every breath dragged like fire through my lun

Damien BlackwoodI frowned down at the woman lying straight in my bed, wearing nothing but lingerie.Why does it always happen? This is no longer a coincidence.The last time I saw a lady who was half-naked, placing her legs on top of my desk inside my office trying to get my attention, the next one was my business partner in a meeting—her legitimate daughter pulled her leg up to my dock, trying to get my attention also; another one was a girl I saw lying down on my chair.Why are all girls the same? Why do they want to fuck me so badly?I understand where all this is coming from: from my dad—the old man has been forcing each of them to seduce me—but I was not interested in them.Wait, I never said I never had sex. I am still a man. I love sex, so whenever I want to, it’s just like an arrangement: you come at me and you have fun together; I satisfy you in different styles, and you satisfy me with pleasure. But no, child, I was never ready.But it always made my dad angry and caused hi