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The convent was his safe haven. For Jerald, running away from the web of lies of his parents and not fully understanding why they had to do it but the pains from having been lied to clouded his vision and made him leave home. ************** Amari had lived most of her life in the convent and wondered what lies beyond the horizon of the church walls, longing for the outside but caving herself in the church until he came and within the spurs of the moment, showed her what it means to love and be loved back. *********** It's against the doctrine that a reverend sister is falling in love with a man who ought to become a priest, it was counted as the Devil's will and not of God.

Derek Fraser is a successful businessman at the head of a billion-dollar tech empire who works hard and plays even harder. Rachel Lane is a part-time dance instructor and YouTube content creator. They meet in a club where he is hanging out alone after a busy day at work, while she is there with her friends to celebrate her birthday. They run into each other at the bar, sparks fly and they leave the club together and end up having a one-night stand at his place. Two months later, she shows up at his office, pregnant. Derek is shocked and denies being responsible for Rachel's pregnancy. Disappointed and heartbroken, she leaves his office, determined to raise her baby on her own. One year later, he comes across her YouTube channel and sees that the baby he had rejected is now an adorable toddler and he yearns to have the child in his life. Derek tracks down his baby mama, trying to mend bridges with her, but she would have none of it. Now, he has to find a way to woo her and convince her that he is a changed man and he is ready to build a family with her. On the other hand, Rachel cannot help but feel that he is only trying to buy her affection, even though she is beginning to get attracted to him and he is turning out to be a great dad to their child. Should she give him a second chance or would that turn out to be a mistake that she might regret forever?

Hi there. Have you ever heard of the San Francisco Boys? No? That’s surprising. They’re kind of hard to miss — masks, billions of followers on YouTube, death-defying stunts that make your heart stop mid-beat. Reckless. Untouchable. Addictive to watch. Yeah … those guys. BUT … these stories ain’t really about them. Not exactly. They’re about the girls who get pulled into their chaos … and survive. About what happens when one of those boys stops being a legend… and becomes your worst mistake. How do I know? Because I’m one of those girls. Melaena Angélica Blackburn. A girl who fell for a San Francisco boy. Damion Grimm. All-time playboy. Professional pain in my ass. Double world champion. Thrill chaser with a death wish and a god complex. He lives by the rules — HIS rules. Ride hard. Screw fast. Feel nothing. That’s how he keeps his demons on a leash. He doesn’t do blondes. He doesn’t do promises. And he sure as hell doesn’t do me — his best friend’s little sister. He shattered me first. And I’ve hated him ever since … or maybe I just needed a reason to. Because hate starts to feel a lot like something else when it burns hot enough. But … the Blackburn name is cursed. My psycho grandfather? Yeah. Even death didn’t shut him up. Old enemies crawl back. Secrets crack open. Monsters rise. And I've learned real fast that evil doesn’t always look like a monster. Sometimes it wears a familiar face. Control slips. Lines blur. Fate? She’s a cruel bitch. But I’m not the girl who breaks. I’m the one who burns. And I’m going to break every damn rule to get what I want.

(A/N: Hello sweety, I want to inform you and assure you that this book is certainly the erotica book you are looking for. This book is all about the thrilling sex life of a youngster, which is very erotic, steamy, and has a touch of dark relationship and dark romance (BDSM). (Do enjoy reading!) Snow POV I stare at the naked figure besides me in amusement. I still can't believe that this man is the one making me moan crazily like a mad woman. His dirty words, his touch, the things he does to me, and the things he makes me do, felt really crazy but enjoyable. My life has become engulfed by him, making me madly obsessed and addicted to him. If I don't see him, I will feel uncomfortable and sad. He has become a vital part of my life, my breath, and everything! He makes me feel so good; he makes me feel like a real woman. He is the only one who can send me to hell in heaven and drag me back. The rate at which he handles my body when it tangles in his, the sexual chemistry, the burning pleasurable desire, and the way my body writhes in his addictive touch make me go lustfully crazy. I don't know if such feelings ever existed before! My mother never mentioned this to me; she even barely spared time to teach me sex education. But here I am, having a bonus, a premium of the real thing, and the unfortunate part is that he is my coach! A 30-year-old married man! While I'm just a 19-year-old trainee of his!

For our third anniversary, my boyfriend claimed he wanted to 'broaden my horizons'. However, he was just waiting for me to step into the restroom from the moment we arrived. He immediately shredded my passport and every piece of identification I owned. Before I could even comprehend what he had done, he dragged me into an underground casino. He strutted in like he belonged there, greeting everyone along the way. "This one's premium, fresh from studying abroad!" I blinked at the massive men closing in on me. The black rose tattoos on their arms… They looked like the insignias of the Lyon family, the mafia syndicate led by my ex-fiancé, who was also their newly crowned Godfather. He once loved me obsessively, pursued me for eight years, and nearly forced me into marriage under the weight of his family's power. It took everything I had to escape that life back then. What just happened? One vacation, and I somehow landed right back into their hands?

My brother Christopher owned a boutique on Fifth Avenue. I'd gone in, picked out a few pieces, grabbed a silk scarf on the way, and was heading for the door. The clerk behind the register stopped me. "Ma'am, we'll need you to settle this now." I looked up. Her name tag said Yvonne. Unfamiliar face. Probably new. I didn't think much of it. "Just put it on the owner's account," I said politely. "He knows who I am." She gave a little snort through her nose, eyes raking from my hair down to my shoes. "We don't run accounts here. You might have the wrong store." She pushed an itemized bill across the counter. Four hundred thousand dollars. I scanned the line items. Personal Style Consultation. Premium Fitting Service. VIP Client Private Service. Every single charge cost more than the clothes themselves. I let out a short laugh. "I'm a Whitfield. Christopher's my brother. Whatever this is, he can deal with it at home." Her smile got uglier. "Anyone can claim to be a Whitfield, sweetheart. Are you trying to skip out on the bill, or are you just trying to embarrass yourself?" I didn't bother arguing. I pulled out my phone and texted Christopher: [Fire the clerk named Yvonne in the next ten minutes, or I pull every dollar I have in this store.]