All Chapters of DIRTY DADDIES: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

CHAPTER 1: WET WITH RAGESIENNA’S POVThe air in the lecture hall was thick enough to choke on—a stale cocktail of ambition, cheap coffee, and the quiet desperation of academics trying to sound smarter than they are. I stood at the podium, my knuckles white as I gripped the edges, nails digging into the wood like I could splinter it. This was my moment. Three months of sleepless nights, of living on cold brew and pure spite, all leading to this: the public execution of Vance Whitmore’s career, the man who’d stolen my grant, my credibility, my fucking sanity with one smug email.My opening salvo was a thing of beauty, a surgical strike at the heart of his shoddy methodology, voice dripping with the kind of condescension he deserved. I was just getting warmed up, savoring the way the room leaned in, when I saw him.Leaning against the back wall like he owned the goddamn room, the universe, my nightmares. Of course

CHAPTER 3: IMPALED ON HATE COCKSIENNA’S POVI didn’t hesitate. I took the head into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tip, tasting the salty, musky precum—bitter like our rivalry. He groaned, a deep, ragged sound of triumph, and his hips jerked forward, forcing more of himself into my mouth, stretching my jaw to its limit.“Deeper,” he demanded, voice gravel. “Swallow me whole, Sienna. Show me how much you loathe me with that throat.”I relaxed my throat, taking him in inch by agonizing inch, my lips stretching obscenely to accommodate his girth, saliva pooling. I looked up at him through watering eyes, and the look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated triumph mixed with raw hate—it should have humiliated me. It turned me on more, my clit throbbing.“Fuck, yes,” he grunted, his hips beginning a slow, rhythmic thrust that nudged the back of my throat. “Just like that. Take it all, you brilliant, vicious bitch. Swallo

CHAPTER 1: STUDY SESSION OR GANG BANG? The library was supposed to be for studying. At 2:17 AM, it was for fucking. Or at least, that’s all Lily could think about. She was the perfect valedictorian. Straight-A student. Icy bitch. But right now, hidden in the back corner of the stacks, she was a total mess. Her pretty white panties were soaked, stuck to her pussy. Every time she shifted in the hard wooden chair, the rough lace rubbed against her clit, and she had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound. It was a brutal, delicious torture. Her heart was pounding between her legs, a needy little pulse that wouldn't quit. The air smelled like old books and her own desperate, musky scent. She was so wet she was scared it would seep through her jeans. All she could think about was how badly she needed a hand—or something harder—pushing those panties aside and finally, finally giving

CHAPTER 1: NAKED FOR THE MONSTERISABELLE’S POVMy name is Isabelle Moretti, and until a week ago, my world was defined by the scent of my nonna’s lemon biscuits and the safewalls of our family compound in Palermo. I was a prized ornament, a virgin daughter to be bartered for influence. I knew the rules: smile prettily, speak only when spoken to, and never, ever look a man like Dante Alighieri directly in the eye.Now, I am standing naked before him, and I am breaking every single rule.The candlelight in this cavernous Sicilian bedroom doesn’t trembles. Just like the frantic beat of my heart against my ribs. Dante Alighieri, heir to the most feared dynasty in the Cosa Nostra. The man they call Il Spettro—The Ghost—because those who cross him simply vanish.He is my husband.He sits in a high-backed chair, a sculpture of contained violence. His white dress shirt is open, revealing a chest that i

CHAPTER 1: WAKE UP WITH ANOTHER MAN'S CUMEDEN’S POVThe first thing I registered wasn’t the stale taste in my mouth or the dull throb behind my eyes. It was the sticky, cooling trail of cum drying on my inner thigh.And it wasn’t just any cum. It belonged to Zack fucking Madden. My brother’s best friend. The human embodiment of a bad decision, who was currently passed out in my childhood bed, one heavily tattooed arm thrown possessively across my waist, his face buried in my hair. His slow, even breaths ghosted over my neck, and even in sleep, his hold was a brand.Downstairs, the world was disgustingly normal. I could hear my mom humming some fucking show tune, the sizzle of bacon, the clatter of a spatula against a pan. The smell of coffee and maple syrup, a comfort I hadn't earned, wafted up the stairs and made my stomach turn.My phone lit up on the nightstand, vibrating with a soft,