Bleed Me Dry, Alpha

I’m done with men! Not because I hate them, but because everyone I meet, and is just fine enough to pique my interest, I compare to him. And it ends right there and then. The ridiculous thing is that my love interest isn’t real. He is a figure that hunts my nights and brings pleasure into the few seconds that I’m captured by my sleep paralysis. I know that, and I am totally okay with it. Just as I start a new job, and my life seems to take a better turn, determined to forget the man from the shadows, I find my forbidden pleasure standing right in front of me. Suddenly my dream man wears a tailored suit and frowns at me. He is my boss. And he is very real.

For +18 ONLY! Wanna be banged so bad till you’re sore and dripping? Till your core trembles and shamelessly gap for your big Daddy? Till you spread those shaking thighs, moan his name, and beg for mercy? And no, he doesn’t listen, he uses you like his filthy little toy, and fills you up. When he’s done, you’ll swallow his dirty seed down your bruised throat, wipe the excess of his juice leaking down your throbbing hole, and say; Thank You, Daddy. If this is your fantasy, welcome on board! This is a collection of unapologetically RAW steamy stories, where all shades of your fetish is checked.

She is meant to forget the past, but she received a new job from her past fiancee a hundred years ago. Not knowing the real, she accepted the job. Your ex-fiancee asked you to kill his brother. But what if you met your hybrid mate and he was your fiance’s brother? Grab your popcorn! Read more about Lucy, Leon, and Cedric’s love triangle.

Every Thanksgiving, my husband, Salvatore, brings home a showgirl from one of his clubs. He makes me kneel and serve them drinks. A lesson, he calls it, in how to please a man. This was the eighth Thanksgiving, and this time, he brought back a girl poured into a tight leather dress. "She doesn't have any decent jewelry," Salvatore announced. "Give her your heirloom diamond ring. Your grandmother's pearl earrings, too. And take off that silk choker for her." He smirked. "And listen, she's young, doesn't know the rules. You'll have to show her the ropes. Especially how to handle a man in bed." Every member of the Genovese family was watching, waiting for my humiliation. I didn't disappoint. I opened my mouth and asked Salvatore for a divorce. Salvatore let out a sharp, ugly laugh, his eyes full of contempt. "Francesca, you pull this same shit every time," he jeered. "Your act is pathetic. Even more dramatic than your performance in bed." He leaned in. "You really want to divorce me? Fine. I'll give you five million in cash if you actually walk out that door." The living room erupted in laughter. They all said I was playing hard to get, that I didn't know my place. But they didn't know. This was the 88th time I had asked for a divorce, and it was the first time I truly meant it.

My husband, Martin, was the head of a powerful mafia don. When his widowed sister-in-law, Tricia, got into a car accident, I was forced to give her a blood transfusion. I told them through tears that I was newly pregnant and too weak to donate, but they accused me of faking the medical report. “You were out running just last week. Now you’re claiming you’re pregnant when you’re asked to donate some blood? You just don’t want to help Tricia!” In the end, they drew my blood by force. The strain caused me to miscarry, and while I bled out, my husband stayed by Tricia’s side. After that, I didn’t beg him to return. I dragged my broken body away, left the divorce papers behind, and left him for good. However, when the truth finally came to light, Martin lost his mind with regret.

I'm a coward—someone who gets bullied and never fights back, who only swallows the humiliation in silence. That is, until the year I turned twenty. A well-dressed, elegant couple found me and told me I was their long-lost son. Overjoyed, I followed them back to their castle-like home, convinced that I was finally about to live a better life. But on the very first day, the fake heir made it clear—I would never know a moment's peace. I didn't dare say a word. Cowardly as ever, I could only think about ending my life. The first time, I slit my wrists. They saved me. The second time, I tried to jump off a building. My sister dragged me back. The third time, I drank an entire bottle of pesticide—and still didn't die. … My family finally saw through the fake heir's true color. "So it was you, pulling the strings all along!" My sister plead, "Brother dear, I'm begging you—please don't kill yourself."