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You have to moan quietly and squirt loudly😉 This is not just a book it’s a combination of all your dirtiest,nuttiest fantasies, porn in a book and you can even pretend to be reading something educative😉 40 plus fantasy come to life. Are you ready to keep rubbing your thighs together? Grab your blankets and turn off the light you are about to get wet. Veronica is a fit, thirty-nine-year-old MILF trapped in a sexless marriage with a husband who can't satisfy her. Her world is turned upside down when she catches a glimpse of her twenty four-year-old son-in-law, Leo, in the shower. One look at his massive, nine-inch dick is all it takes to make her pussy soak through her silk panties. Unable to control her hunger, she corners him in his office and demands he fuck her right on the desk. What follows is a forbidden descent into pure lust. From Leo sneaking into her bed to fuck her while her daughter sleeps nearby, to a wet ambush in the shower where he hammers her from behind, Veronica can’t get enough of his thick dick stretching her out. Every encounter is a risky game of high-stakes pleasure where they have to muffle their moans and hide the scent of his cum. Veronica has finally found the only man who can hit her sweet spot, and she’s ready to risk everything to keep that giant dick inside her pussy.

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

By the time I return home from a business trip, it is past midnight. However, my wife, Celeste Beaumont, isn't home. A man's shirt that isn't mine is lying on the couch. When I call her, she tells me that she's working late at the office. "Whose shirt is it on the couch?" I ask, cutting straight to the point. She playfully scolds, "Who else would it be? It's a gift for you, so hurry up and try it on." I skeptically put it on and immediately feel how tight and uncomfortable it is across my shoulders. "This is an L, babe. I've always worn XL." Celeste runs a clothing company. She's the one who handles all my clothes and even uses my body measurements for her menswear line. There's no way she doesn't know my size. The line goes quiet for half a second before she thoughtfully says, "It's from my new menswear collection. "I had pieces custom-made for you and Felix, so I must've grabbed the wrong piece. I'll swap it tomorrow." A beat later, her voice carries a little sob as she continues, "Babe, I've been so exhausted without you these past few days. I've missed you so much…" It's past midnight. As I listen to the undeniable weariness beneath her affectionate, playful words, my heart aches in distress. I can't help chiding myself for overthinking. However, after hanging up, realization hits me. Her brother, Felix Beaumont, and I are about the same build. He's always worn XL.

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At the County Clerk's Office, Logan Dunne's adopted sister folded our marriage application into a paper airplane and launched it across the room. For the ninth time. I was done. Then she went nuclear. "I just don't think you're good enough for Logan! Like, what are the odds you got pregnant five times and lost every single one? Maybe they weren't even his. Maybe you got rid of them on purpose! You're just a used-up tramp!" The whole lobby turned. Every stare hit like a slap. Even the clerk who'd just been calling Raine out now looked at me like I was trash. I started to snap back, but Logan's mom, Claudia, cut me off. "Raine's only acting out because she can't handle Logan leaving her. She was abandoned as a child. She's suffered enough. Be patient with her. "And you're Logan's fiancée. You should understand. Be the bigger person." I looked at Logan. He was smiling, patting Raine's head like she'd stolen a cookie. "You little troublemaker. Don't do that again." Then he faced the clerk. "Could we get another form? She'll behave this time." I slapped my hand over his. Be the bigger person? Big enough to let her trash my name in public? Big enough to let her wreck our marriage license appointment? Fine. I'd be generous. I'd give Logan back to her. I didn't want him anymore.

The day before our wedding, I received an expensive suit from my wife. Not long after, her young lover called me, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. My bad for mixing up your size. Please… please don't blame Sylvie." On the other end, I could hear Sylvie soothing him gently, patiently, until he calmed down. I stared at the plane ticket in my hand—a one-way trip out of the country—and calmly asked her for a divorce. Then, as if I no longer mattered, she left me with a single, cold sentence. "Just don't regret it."