Can You Recommend Books Like Italian Baroque Sculpture?

⚠️ WARNING: THIS IS THE ART OF SINS. If you’re looking for sweet kisses and gentle lovemaking, slam this book shut right now. These pages don’t whisper desire—they drag you by the throat, rip your clothes off, and fuck you senseless. Expect raw, filthy, no-limits taboo erotica: step-daddy claiming his little secret, ruthless alphas knotting and breeding their omega, mafia underbosses turning debt into dripping gangbangs, professors punishing their forbidden pets, and every dirty, degrading, creampie-soaked fantasy you were never supposed to want. This is sin as high art—rough, relentless, and completely addictive. 18+ only. Proceed if you dare to get ruined.😈💦

They said it was just a phase. A crush. A mistake she’d forget by morning. But obsessions don’t fade. They grow. In Filthy Obsessions, lust doesn’t whisper, it grabs hair, rips buttons, and leaves bruises in its name. These stories are not sweet. They’re soaked in sin. A therapist who doesn’t use words to fix broken marriages. A judge who sentences two sisters to submission, then joins them. A father’s best friend who doesn’t just watch,he waits, dark and patient, until she begs for him. An art professor who sketches her body in secret... then ruins her innocence on the altar. These men aren’t heroes. They’re cravings in human form. And the women who fall for them? They never recover. If you’ve ever whispered “What if…” Filthy Obsessions was written for you.

I die in the basement after being burned by acid. My family doesn't recognize me, and they don't call the cops. My mother picks up the scalpel that hasn't been used in years and debones me. My father excitedly mixes my skeleton with concrete and turns me into an exquisite statue. My sister uses the sculpture she's made out of my flesh and portrays herself as a genius sculptor whom everyone admires. Later, the sculpture is shattered, revealing half a broken finger inside. That's when everyone panics.

She is a normal human, who lives her life with its flow though she didn't enjoy it as much, she was happy with what she had. It was all until she met an extremely handsome greek god like man, Oops a statue. what is happening around her and why does it happens, and just after she met him? now she is confused of her identity. and well, is it wrong for her to fall in love with that statue man?

The urge to protect begins with desire... A widowed researcher, Caitlyn Maddox, opts to take her second honeymoon trip with a hired escort, a mysterious man paired with her through an exhaustive agency matching process. Unbeknownst to her, the handsome stranger, Duke Carter, who her meets her at the airport isn’t the man she hired. Along the twisting channels of romantic Venice and the intimate eateries of sophisticated Florence, sparks fly between the duo. But the agency isn’t the only group looking for the spellbound scholar and her charming companion. Amid the narrow cobblestone streets, spectacular gardens and vitrine art galleries, dangerous secrets from both her late husband’s past and Duke’s present are swiftly encroaching on Caitlyn’s blissful fantasy. Against a firestorm of half-truths and flying bullets, Duke struggles to bring Caitlyn through safely. Not merely because it’s his job to protect her, but because no one is going to hurt what’s his.

Every Christmas Eve in Port Saint Giovanni, the Camerlano family hosts the Claiming Rite at Saint Giovanni Manor. Twelve girls stand in a line. Whoever receives the white-gold signet pin becomes the heir’s publicly acknowledged bride candidate. I am Grace Sorrento, the bastard daughter of the Sorrento family. If I do not receive that signet tonight, by sunrise I will be put on a plane to Chicago and married off to a Rizzo, a man rumored to have killed two former fiancées. Adrian Camerlano, the boy I grew up with, swore to me in blood three days ago that the signet would be mine. But when the moment came, his hand turned. With a smile, he pinned it on Lucia, the orphan his family had sponsored. Then he leaned close to my ear. "Let Lucia have her moment. No one has ever really looked at her before. Don’t worry. This is my estate. No one will dare arrange your marriage without my say." I grabbed his sleeve, but he removed my fingers one by one. "Lucia has no roots and no last name. Tonight is all she has. But you are a Sorrento. Even without the signet, no one will touch you." That phrase, no last name, drew every gaze in the ballroom toward me, full of pity and quiet mockery. The next morning, I boarded a flight to Chicago. When Adrian heard, he made one call to Port Saint Giovanni Air Control. "Ground every plane. Nothing leaves today!"