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Wives are to be claimed, whores are for fucking. But me? I’m to be PLEASURED. ~~~ Chelsea Stone signed the contract expecting a cold and dead marriage. Instead she found herself collared by Dominic Hartwell – a man whose rules were written in silk restraints, leather belts, and the low growl of full command. He bound her wrists above her head and taught her that silence was no longer armor; it was foreplay. He spread her wide open on silk sheets and edged her for hours with fingers, tongue, and the thick head of his veiny cock until she was dripping, shaking, and sobbing “Please, big daddy… I’ll be good.” Only then did he drive into her deep and relentless, one hand tight around her throat, the other spanking her ass while he fucked her into shattering, screaming release. Chelsea was never meant to stay broken though, because in the darkness between punishments and praise, she began to crave more than surrender. She wanted to test him, to push and whisper filthy things against his ear while she rode his thigh, soaked and trembling: “I want to be your little cunt who shows big daddy who’s really boss.” Dominic’s eyes darkened with dangerous promise every time she dared. The more he punished her with a be*t across her, cock down her throat until tears ran down her cheeks, hands pinning her down while he claimed every inch of her. The more she burned to flip their power while he owned her body. Yet as old enemies sharpened their knives and forbidden pasts, pain and pleasure blurred until Chelsea no longer knew where submission ended and rebellion began. Would she kneel forever… OR would the quiet wife finally make her ruthless husband beg?

When I was three years old, my parents became infamous in our social circle as a mutually destructive couple for a misunderstanding that led them to cheat on each other. To get revenge on each other, they didn’t hesitate to hurt me just to hurt one another. Over the next five years, my mother beat me until my bones broke three times. My father “lost” me on purpose five times. And once, during one of their arguments, they threw me straight into the ocean. Eventually, they grew tired of that life, but instead of stopping, they changed the game. They got divorced, and each of them adopted a new child, showering them with affection as if it were some kind of competition As for me? I became the unwanted piece of trash. The only time I mattered was when they thought of each other, and they needed someone to take their anger out on. The only thing that kept me going was a small locket pendant they gave me when I was born. Engraved on it were the words: peace and joy. It was the only source of comfort I had. That was until I turned ten and someone tried to take this last piece of something that felt like it belonged to me away from me. I fought back with everything I had, and for that, I was beaten until my spleen ruptured. By the time my parents arrived, the ground was soaked in blood. However, their faces twisted with disgust. “Daisy, how did you end up like this? You’re just as disgusting as your father.” “What did you say? Say that again! Just look at her, dressed like that. If anything, she’s just as shameless as you!” My cries for help were drowned out by their argument. My body grew heavier and heavier, and before I realized it, the world went quiet. They finally stopped arguing, too.

It started with a sudden downpour. I turned around to buy an umbrella. By the time I got back, Winston Sterling had already draped his overcoat across Sera Thorne’s shoulders. He pulled me under the umbrella, his tone gentle, as if soothing a spoiled child. "Sera can't handle the cold. Just let her have it this once, Nat. Be a good girl. Don't make a fuss." I looked down at my own shoulder, which was already completely soaked through. I didn't say a word. We had been building our startup for five years. Everyone always said Winston and Sera were the dual heart and soul of Sterling Tech. One wrote the code, while the other pitched the product. Meanwhile, I was the one managing the budgets, chasing down clients, advancing money for our office rent, and pulling all-nighters to grind out business proposals. Yet, all I ever got from him was a single, offhand sentence. "Nat, you're always the reasonable one." But I finally understood. It was always the reasonable one who got pushed out into the rain, time and time again. When the car door opened, Winston practiced an all-too-familiar routine, adjusting the passenger seat cushion for Sera. That was a lumbar support cushion I had bought for myself after injuring my waist. I threw the newly purchased umbrella straight into the trash can. Then, I pulled up my phone and clicked send on the equity exit agreement I had prepared long ago. Three minutes later, his reply came back as a brief, three-word text. "Don't be silly." What he didn't know was that at that exact same moment, I had also opened another email.

I have been in a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend, Eugene Walsh, for three years. I finally have enough leave time to visit him after working overtime for an entire month. But when I arrive, I can't reach him. I wait alone in an unfamiliar city for ten full hours before he finally replies. When the call connects, my best friend, Haley Woodward, greets me with a cheerful laugh. "Surprise! I explored Oakhaven for you in advance. It's so much fun! Eugene is an amazing tour guide!" She chatters nonstop about all the fun they've had, as if she never notices the 30 missed calls displayed on Eugene's phone. I listen quietly. Only when she says she's cold does Eugene finally take the phone from her and say to me, "I'll take her back to the hotel first. Wait for me a little while more." The moment he is done speaking, I ask, "Do you know how long I've been waiting?" Eugene pauses for a second before saying icily, "She's your best friend. Do you really have to compete with her over this?" The unmistakable accusation drains away any desire I have to keep talking. I hung up. Just then, the cab that will take me back to Centuria arrives. The driver takes one look at me and can't help but comment, "Miss, it's already past midnight. This area isn't very safe. How can your family leave you here all alone?" I look down at my shoes that are soaked through by snow and slush. In a soft voice, I say, "Yeah." Then, I smile and add, "They won't. Not anymore."

"You can scream. Nobody's coming to save you." His c^ck is buried so deep I feel it in my ribs. My wrists are tied above my head with his belt while another man feeds his c^ck into my mouth. I'm gagging, drooling, mascara running down my cheeks, and my pussy is clenching so hard the one inside me groans. * * * This book contains extreme sexual content on every page. Gangbangs. Breeding. BDSM. Knotting. Choking. Double penetration. If your pussy isn't throbbing by the end of this warning, this book isn't for you. If you want something filthy. Something with thick cocks and rough hands and a voice that growls "good girl" while he's buried inside you. Something you'd never say out loud but your body responds to so hard your panties are wet before the fantasy even finishes playing. This book is that fantasy. Ten times over. C^cks shoved down throats until she's choking and drooling and begging with her eyes because her mouth is too full to speak. Pussies stretched around men so thick her walls ache for days. Two c^cks inside her at once while a third fills her mouth. Knots swelling and locking, pumping her so full her stomach feels heavy. Faces slapped mid-thrust while she whispers "again." Men who spit in her mouth, cum inside her raw, and don't let her clean up before the next one takes his turn. No slow burn. No fade to black. No soft landing. Just raw, graphic, unfiltered filth that starts on page one and doesn't let up until the final sentence. If the thought of being pinned, stretched, filled, bred, and used until cum is running down both your thighs makes something tighten low in your stomach, open the book. They're waiting. And they don't play gentle.

When my best friend died, his wife, Mia Lewis, was eight months pregnant. Mia said she didn't want her baby growing up without a father. I owed my best friend my life. He saved me, literally pulled me from death's door. So I stepped up, marrying Mia and raising their son as my own. Mia loved her career, so I quit mine. Traded my job for diapers and school runs. For seven whole years, I cooked, cleaned, folded laundry, and handled the housework. Rain or shine, sickness or health, I was there—every single day. Mia, though? She stayed cold, distant. Her warmth only surfaced in the bedroom—and even then, it was a flicker, never a flame. Just soft sighs and breathy murmurs, like she was playing a role she couldn't wait to finish. Afterward, she would quietly check the condom, as if she couldn't trust me. Then came New Year's Eve. A snap. A tear. A broken condom. Her fury struck like a thunderclap. She locked me out on the balcony, left me standing in the freezing rain, soaked to the bone as the wind howled like a wounded beast. Teeth chattering, I shivered as I watched the door like a dog, waiting to be let in. Then I saw him. Our boy, Ethan Bailey. Six years old. My son, at least in name. He came running with an umbrella in his hand. For a second, my heart leapt. 'Maybe, just maybe…' But he didn't even look at me. Just walked past in silence and handed the umbrella to the nanny heading out. Right then and there, something inside me cracked. I knew it was time to go.

“You can play Priest for as long as you like,” he spat, ignoring my protests, “but you will never find salvation.” His words struck like a curse, but that wasn’t the reason my chest heaved, goosebumps littered my skin, and definitely not the reason I felt hot despite the chilling dip from the lake. Ezreal’s eyes widened momentarily, noticing. I winced as his hand shifted, pressing against the stiff betrayal straining against my soaked robes. He stilled for only a second, then a wicked grin overtook his features. “Well, well,” Ezreal drawled, his voice taunting “Look who’s getting excited,” “Stop,” I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut as the humiliation dug deep. “Please….” He leaned forward, his breath hot as his lips ghosted over the shell of my ear. “I will taint you so bad,” he whispered, his hand tightening against my crotch. “So bad you won’t have the courage to stand on the altar you abandoned me for.” ****** At sixteen, Ezreal Vossell took the fall for a murder to protect the only boy he ever loved—Baron Lander, the timid son of the town’s high priest. A known delinquent, the bastard child of the mayor, but the only one who saw him for his true self was Baron. Ezreal made the ultimate sacrifice, and all he wanted in return was Baron’s support. But alas, on the day of the trial, Baron betrayed him, casting him aside to please his father. Ezreal was sentenced to life in prison, his heart shattered beyond repair. Fifteen years later, he was released, but gone was the naive sixteen-year-old. He’s returned as the ruthless leader of a mafia syndicate, and with all the power and wealth at his fingertips, he yearned for one thing alone. Revenge.

She returned with secrets that could destroy them both. He hates her. He wants her. And he’ll never forgive the only girl who still owns his heart. ***** I moaned into his mouth as Noah pressed me harder against the railing, his body solid and demanding against mine. One of his big hands slid down to grip my ass through the thin silk of my dress, squeezing possessively as he ground his hips forward. Gosh, he was rock hard. I could feel every thick inch of him. “Feel that?” he rasped against my lips. “That’s what watching you with him did to me. I’ve been hard all night thinking about dragging you somewhere dark and fucking the attitude right out of you.” My breath hitched, but I forced a smirk. “Poor baby. Jealousy looks good on you, Hale. Too bad you don’t deserve any of this.” He bit my bottom lip hard enough to make me gasp, then soothed the sting with his tongue. “You talk so much shit for someone whose nipples are hard enough to cut glass right now.” His free hand slid up my side, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the silk, sending heat straight between my legs. “Bet you’re soaked too. Bet if I pushed my hand between your thighs I’d find you dripping for the man you claim to hate.” “Keep dreaming,” I shot back, but my voice came out breathy and weak. My hips rolled against him anyway, chasing the friction I desperately needed.

Why is everyone rejecting me, Adam? You want to send me off too? Like I don’t matter?” “Sofia…” Adam whispered, taking her face gently in his hands. Her tears soaked his palms as she sobbed uncontrollably. “You know how much I love you, how much I’ve wanted this,” he began, his voice steady but pained. “But not like this, Sofia. Not when you’re hurting like this. You’re not in the right state of mind, and I don’t want to take advantage of that. You’re too important to me.” She shook her head again, her hands trembling as she grabbed his and guided them to her dress. “Defile me, Adam,” she choked out, her voice raw and desperate ********** Two families, one battlefield. For generations, the Kavanaughs and the Monteros have been at war, boardrooms clashing, businesses sabotaged, and grudges passed down like family heirlooms. At the Worldwide CEO Summit, however, the game changes. Arrogant, driven Adam Kavanaugh expects to spar with his lifelong rival, Mateo Montero. Instead, he’s blindsided by a fierce and captivating substitute, Sofia Montero. Bold, brilliant, and beautiful, Sofia is everything he wasn’t prepared for and everything he can’t seem to resist. * Adam and Sofia fought for their love but the family Rivalry fought against them. The families discovered that Sofia was already carrying Adam's offspring….not just one but two…….Twins In a world where love is the ultimate vulnerability, can Adam and Sofia bridge the chasm of rivalry? Or will the sins of their families condemn them to a love that was never meant to be? Will the children involved change anything? This is a tale of hate turned passion, family legacies in turmoil, and the cost of choosing love over loyalty.

Noah Kline is the picture of daytime purity. He is a shy philosophy student who wears glasses and shrinks under Dr. Alexander Elliott's piercing gray stare during ethics lectures. His heart races as he imagines those commanding hands bending him over the podium. At night, he turns into Nyx, the club's dirtiest pole dancer. His body is oiled and shining, his hips grind against steel in a way that makes cocks throb below. He drops into a slow, dirty split that makes cocks throb below. With his thighs spread wide around the pole, he rolls his pelvis in wet, teasing circles. His thong is soaked and clinging to his leaking erection while men stuff hundreds into his garter and fingers graze his balls. When Noah needs money for school, he gets a private VIP gig. He climbs the pole in a tiny thong and a glittering harness. He bends back and slides his fingers inside the waistband to tease his own hole on stage, moaning softly as the crowd cheers. Then the lights catch a familiar face: Professor Elliott, coming out of the shadows, his suit clean and his eyes black with wild hunger. Elliott rushes onto the stage and slams Noah's chest against the cold pole. "Daytime little mouse can't meet my eyes," he growls, shoving his knee between Noah's thighs to rub against his sore cock. "But here you are, dripping and begging strangers to break this tight hole?" Rough hands pull the harness aside, and Elliott's fingers go between Noah's cheeks, circling his entrance before pushing two thick fingers inside and curling them to hit his prostate hard.