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Eve knew she shouldn't take a bite of the fruit. But some stories are too captivating to ignore. Welcome to Forbidden Fruits of Eden, a collection of enchanting stories filled with attraction, longing, unforgettable encounters, and connections that leave a lasting mark. Within these pages, hearts race, emotions run deep, and every chapter offers a glimpse into moments that change everything. From chance meetings and lingering glances to relationships that grow more intense with every page, each story explores the bonds that draw people together and the choices that shape their journeys. If you enjoy stories that are bold, captivating, and written for adult readers, you'll find something waiting among the branches of Eden. Take a bite and discover the stories hidden within.

When I was seven, my father brought home a beautiful lady who gave me a mango. That day, my mother watched me happily eating the mango while she signed her name on the divorce papers. After that, she jumped off the roof of our building. From then on, mangoes became the nightmare of my life. So on my wedding day, I told my husband, Alan Holt, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." Alan pulled me into his arms, quiet. From then on, mangoes became off-limits for him, too. On Christmas Eve of our fifth year of marriage, Alan's childhood sweetheart, Larissa Fennimore, left a mango on his desk at the office. The very same day, Alan announced he was cutting ties with Larissa and fired her from the company. That day, I truly believed he was the man I was meant to be with. Half a year later, I flew back from overseas, having just closed a partnership deal worth about 200 million dollars. At the celebration dinner, Alan handed me a drink. After I had finished half the glass, his so-called childhood sweetheart, the woman who had been kicked out of the company, stood behind me with a big grin and asked, "Does the mango juice taste good?" I stared at Alan in disbelief, and he was trying hard not to laugh. "Don't be mad. Larissa insisted I played a little joke on you. I didn't actually give you a mango; I just gave you a bottle of mango juice. But I think she's right. The fact that you don't eat mangoes is a real problem. You were really enjoying that juice just now." My face went cold. I lifted my hand and threw the rest of the mango juice in his face, then turned around and walked away. Some things are never a joke. I wouldn't kid around with mangoes or divorce.

Experience Passion in Every Episode of Spicy One-Shot! Warning: 18+ This short read includes explicit graphic scenes that are not appropriate for vanilla readers. Get ready to be swept away by a collection of tantalizing short stories. Each one is a deliciously steamy escape into desire and fantasy. From forbidden affairs to unexpected encounters, my Spicy One-Shot promises to elevate your imagination and leave you craving more. You have to surrender to temptation as you indulge in these thrills of secret affairs, forbidden desires, and intense, unbridled passion. I assure you that each page will take you on a journey of seduction and lust that will leave you breathless and wet. With this erotica compilation, you can brace every fantasy, from alpha werewolves to two-natured billionaires, mysterious strangers, hot teachers, and sexcpades with hot vampires! Are you willing to lose yourself in the heat of the moment as desires are unleashed and fantasies come to life?

Juicy Robinson was the color of sweet black licorice, of a charcoal briquette soaked in lighter fluid and no one was going to make her feel like she wasn’t the sexiest thing around—not the white people that her mother had taught her to distrust and certainly not the homeless white man that has been watching her from the alley.Troy’s mental illness forced him onto the streets. After an altercation, Juicy finds herself rescued by this unlikely individual; a white, homeless man that she has thoughtlessly nick-named; ‘Mr. Cracker.’ Out of a sense of loneliness and true friendship the two outcasts try to find something deeper than friendship as they journey to self-discovery. Juicy is created by Pepper Pace, an EGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.

Reader Discretion Strongly Advised | Steamy Passion Ahead. Content Warnings: This collection contains intense private content. Everything here is unholy, the characters are broken and desperate, and the scenes are rough. If you're not familiar with dark, taboo-ish, forbidden stories, then this book isn't for you. 100 Shades of Spice is a wicked collection of short stories where there are no rules or boundaries to follow. Enter a world where innocence is corrupted, temptation is law, and the forbidden feels far too pleasurable to resist. From off-limits sadistic bosses to one-night-stand turned rivals, and everything taboo in between, these stories aren’t just dirty… They're deliciously dangerous. You’ll blush. You’ll squirm. You'll wish for more. And you’ll come back for more. Welcome to the fantasies you were never meant to have. Because now you do.

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.