Is Facts & Figures: Basic Reading Practice Free To Read Online?

BLURB: This collection contains big age gaps in relationships, and subjects that are considered taboo or wrong. If you are easily upset by dark, shocking, or extreme topics, this book is not for you. But if you’re in love with taboo books, unlock right away!

"You wanna gеt fuckеd likе a good girl?” I askеd, voicе low. Shе smilеd. “I’m not a good girl.” I growlеd. “No. You’rе not.” Shе gaspеd as I slammеd into hеr in onе thrust, burying mysеlf all thе way. “Damian—!” I covеrеd hеr mouth with my hand. “Bе quiеt,” I hissеd in hеr еar. “You don’t want Mommy to hеar, do you?” Hеr еyеs widеnеd. I pullеd out slow—thеn slammеd back in hard. Shе moanеd against my hand. “God, you’rе so tight,” I groanеd. “You wеrе madе for this cock.” Hеr lеgs wrappеd around mе, pulling mе dееpеr. I prеssеd my hand hardеr against hеr mouth, muffling thе sounds of hеr criеs as I thrust into hеr again and again. Thе bеd crеakеd. Hеr body shook. “Thought I wouldn’t find out you wеrе a littlе slut for mе,” I growlеd. “Kissing mе. Riding my facе. Acting so damn innocеnt.” *** Naked Pages is a compilation of thrilling, heart throbbing erotica short stories that would keep you at the edge in anticipation for more. It's loaded with forbidden romance, domineering men, naughty and sex female leads that leaves you aching for release. From forbidden trysts to irresistible strangers. Every one holds desires, buried deep in the hearts to be treated like a slave or be called daddy! And in this collection, all your nasty fantasies would be unraveled. It would be an escape to the 9th heavens while you beg and plead for more like a good girl. This erotica compilation is overflowing with scandalous scenes ! It's intended only for adults over the age of 18! And all characters are over the age of 18.

WARNING: HEAVY SMUT AHEAD!!! Mature audiences only! Proceed with caution! ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ “Please,” she whispered, desperation cracking her voice. “Please, Chase.”   “Begging already?” His voice was cruel, his fingers circling faster, pushing her to the edge. “I'm not even nearly done with you yet.”   She squeezed her eyes shut, the recruit’s muffled cries and the whip’s crack filling her ears, amplifying her need. Chase’s fingers were relentless, stroking her clit, and dipping inside just enough to tease.   “Please,” she whimpered, louder now, her hands gripping his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I won’t lie again. I’ll be good. Please, let me cum.”   He chuckled, his lips brushing her neck. “Not yet, baby. Fight it.”   Her body screamed, every nerve on fire, the recruit’s struggles mirroring her own. The girl’s master groaned, close to release, as Lila’s whip landed again and again on her ass.   Emma’s head felt like it was about to explode under the pressure, her thighs shook with the effort to conceal it, her pleas spilling out. “Please, Chase, I can’t hold it any longer… I need it."   "Don't. You. Dare. Come." ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Picture this: A CEO pinning his partner's daughter over his desk, whispering rules that chain her soul while his cock claims her body. Or a werewolf's claws raking skin in the moonlit woods, rutting her senseless till she's howling his name. We mix it up... sweet, slow-burn romances that melt into tender fucks and whispered "I love yous," flipping to the dark side with BDSM bites, non-con edges that blur fear into filthy want, and horror vibes where ghosts fuck you cold then hot. Your panties? Ruined. Your cravings? Fed. And yet, you'll still be here begging for more. Dive in if you're brave enough.

A diverse collection of short romantic stories and erotica to fulfill your fantasies. THIS BOOK IS INTENDED FOR 18+ AUDIENCE ONLY!

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

When my mother won a million dollars from a lottery ticket, she prepared an envelope for each of her three children. After we opened them, my younger brother and younger sister each found a bank card inside. But from my envelope, two 1-dollar coins clinked onto the floor. Seeing me freeze, a trace of unease flickered across Mother's face. "Cassian," she said hesitantly, "Logan and Sienna suffered a lot growing up because your father passed away so early. So I gave each of them 500 thousand dollars as compensation. "You're the eldest son—like a father to them. Don't fight with them over this, okay?" I glanced down at the faded down jacket I had worn for years, the fabric so worn that it had lost its color. Then, my eyes drifted to my younger brother's limited-edition sneakers and to the designer bag slung over my sister's shoulder. Mother seemed to have forgotten that when Father died, I had only been eight. I smiled faintly. "Alright. I won't fight them for it." Hearing this, Mother let out a long breath of relief. The next second, my voice turned cold. "Then I won't fight for the responsibility of supporting you in your old age either."