8875 Book(s) Related to the ice queen and the playboy protector

A short contemporary domestic-drama romance. Clean to sweet. Happily ever after.

My husband's family slid the folder across the table — sign here, family helps family, it's just a signature.

What they didn't know: I had almost three million dollars in an account none of them could find. I silenced the alert before the number could glow.

They think we're the broke ones. For four years they've bled the kindest man I know dry, dressing every demand up as love and cashing it. So I let them keep believing it — and I built a wall they will never see.

They're about to find out what happens when you spend a lifetime underestimating the quiet one.

And this time, I'm not the one who pays.

"You're adopted, you know. Mom and Dad got you out of foster care."

My sister said that to me during a fight when I was eight.

I ran to my parents in tears, needing them to tell me it wasn't true. Instead, they pulled her into their arms and nodded at me.

"It's true. Your real parents didn't want you."

For the next fifteen years, I lived like a package that could be returned to sender at any moment.

I never fought with my sister and never asked for anything. I rushed to finish every chore and came in first on every test, all so they'd feel like keeping me was worth it.

This October, I flew home a few days early so I could stay a little longer.

My hand had barely touched the doorknob when I heard my sister's voice coming from the living room. She was telling a room full of relatives a funny story.

"My sister is honestly hilarious. We got into a fight when we were kids, and I just said she was adopted. And she believed me."

"Still believes it, actually. Best part is, it turned her into our very own little maid."

"You never told her?" one of the relatives asked, stunned.

It was Mom who answered, as casually as if she were talking about the weather.

"Why would we? Ever since she bought it, she's been an angel. She jumps on every chore before anyone even has to ask."

"Honestly, best joke we ever made. It's paid off big time."

A chill ran through me, and I froze outside the door.

So fifteen years of walking on eggshells was just a punchline to them.

I didn't storm in and demand an explanation. I stood right where I was, pulled out my phone, and signed the contract for a five-year assignment in Sweden.

If they loved this joke so much, fine. I'd give them exactly what they wanted.

The "outsider" would walk out of their lives for good.

Three torturous years hauling bodies on the mortuary night shift, and I'd finally scraped together the cash for my brother Charles's heart transplant.
He just waved it off.
"My heart is fine. Mom and Dad didn't die in that gang war, either. I orchestrated the hit. You were the only casualty."
Nearby, my husband, Gerald, casually lit a cigar to deliver his own confession. "I never went bankrupt. 'Laying low' was just my excuse to avoid squeezing into that dingy funeral home dorm with you. I've been at the Long Island estate."
"I was going to punish you for another three years," Charles added, "but the stench of formaldehyde on you is nauseating. We couldn't take it anymore."
I froze, still clutching the credit card. Charles plucked the plastic from my numb fingers and shoved his phone screen in my face. A banking app stared back at me.
Balance: exactly zero.
"My name is still on the joint account," he sneered, tossing the card into the trash. "I drained it this morning. That blood money you made bagging stiffs is being handed out to street junkies as we speak. We'd never touch that filth."
Before the sheer absurdity of it could suffocate me, my parents walked in. Flanked by bodyguards, they kept their distance, eyeing me like a plague rat.
"You thought being the biological daughter gave you the right to ruthlessly bully Violet. We simply wanted to put you in your place."
"Swear you'll never cross Violet again, and you can remain a Falcone," my mother added coolly. "Otherwise, you're dead to us."
In the stifling silence that followed, my phone buzzed. A text from my oncologist.
[Mrs. Castello, the results are back. It's terminal. Do you consent to initiating the hospice and DNR protocols we discussed?]

The night of my coming-of-age ceremony, Elodie asked us to sit around the bonfire and talk.

Elodie was my adoptive parents' real daughter. They had brought her home three months ago.

She smiled at me across the fire. "Wren, which academy are you choosing?"

Before I could answer, the four boys I grew up with spoke first.

One by one, they held up acceptance receipts. All four said Silverhaven.

Silverhaven studied silver resistance, three thousand two hundred miles from our pack. I had refused it twice because I couldn't leave them.

Then Ronan Vale, our future Alpha, slid my enrollment form toward me.

"The elders said yes. Come with us, Wren. After graduation, you'll be my Luna."

I had loved him half my life. I signed.

Two days later, I went to find them with my enrollment letter in my hand. Their door wasn't fully shut.

"She signed?"

"Four fake receipts, and she's off our territory."

"Elodie finally gets her place."

"Ronan's got it worst. He has to play boyfriend until she leaves."

All four were staying. Only I was being sent away.

When Elodie came home, I'd thought about moving out. They swore nothing between us would change.

I let myself believe it.

What they didn't know was that I'd been offered early intake. The moment I crossed into Silverhaven territory, my bond to this pack would dissolve, and no one here could reach me again.

They had worked so hard to clear a space for Elodie.

They had no idea how empty it was about to become.

The day my mother succumbed to complications during childbirth, her younger sister, Vanessa, wed my father.

Fifteen years later, I beheld my husband accompanying Vanessa as she tried on seductive lingerie.

In that moment, I understood—what she truly coveted was never my father, but rather all that my mother and I shared.

My mother perished during childbirth, a casualty of an illicit affair.

I vowed not to repeat that tragic cycle.

Then I returned home, removed my wedding ring, and left behind the divorce papers.

A 250-pound girl stole my body.

Over the phone, she cackled triumphantly, "Your flawless face, your wealth... it's all mine now!"

I stood in front of the mirror, staring at the heavy layers of fat that used to be hers. I didn't scream. I didn't beg for it back.

Instead, I hung up the phone, let out a long breath of relief, and just started laughing.

She thought she had stolen the glamorous, perfect life of a Hollywood socialite.

But she had no idea that in just a few hours, the severe drug withdrawals in that body would hit. She didn’t know that my cold-blooded mother would soon be standing over her with a loaded syringe, and a greasy, powerful producer was waiting in a penthouse bed to pin her down.

Since she wanted my life so desperately...

Let her walk through the gates of hell herself.

In a sleek design world split between polished appearances and buried cruelty, Mara Ellison has spent years trapped behind a voice no one wanted to hear. While her family rewrites her illness and her fiancé speaks over her in the name of love, stolen records, public humiliation, and old betrayals force her to reclaim her life. Quiet but cutting, this is a story of emotional abuse, identity theft, and hard-won selfhood—framed by rain-soaked streets, hospital corridors, cold glass conference rooms, and a woman finally stepping into the light with her own voice.

The day college decisions came out, my parents bought my twin sister a Porsche.
It was my eighteenth birthday too. Nobody brought it up. I stood in the doorway in my diner uniform while the whole room sang her name.
That night the four of them went out to dinner to celebrate her. The car only sat four, so my father handed me a hundred dollars and told me to order myself something at home.
Four days later, six thousand four hundred dollars vanished from my account. Two years of washing dishes, gone to her sorority dues. My mother's name was on the account, so it wasn't even illegal.
I didn't scream and I didn't beg. I went upstairs and clicked Accept on the full ride to MIT that had been sitting in my inbox for three days.
Nobody in that house ever wanted me. So I booked a one-way ticket, cut myself out of the family photo, and left my key on the shoe rack.
I wasn't coming back. Not for graduation. Not for any of them.

A horrific car crash left me paralyzed.
The doctors said I'd never walk again. With no family left, my Aunt Martha and Uncle Thomas took me to their isolated farmhouse.
They cared for me, promising their treatments would help me walk again. After everything I'd been through, I thought I'd finally found safety.
Until today, when the feeling in my legs suddenly came back—but something told me not to tell them.

They left me to freeze to death in our basement freezer.

The night before prom, my foster sister Leila came crying that I'd burned her Ivy League recommendation letter. My birth parents didn't even listen to one word of explanation—they threw me into that frozen hell in forty-five below.

I beat on that door until my fingers were shredded, screamed until my throat tore apart, but all I could hear from upstairs was their laughter celebrating Leila. Even Justin—the boy I'd loved since we were kids—texted calling me a fucking psycho.

As I drew my last breath, I heard Leila's soft voice outside the door: "Rest in peace, sister."

Now I'm a ghost, watching them lose their minds when the truth comes out.

When I was rushed to the ER with food poisoning, I heard the doctor shout, "We need to pump her stomach, now!"
But my mother, Catherine, calmly stopped the doctor's hand.
"No hurry," she said coldly. "Give her a sedative first."
My brother Austin panicked. "Mom! If you don't detox her, she could die!"
But my mother's voice was ruthless, low and sharp:
"If she dies, she dies. As long as her uterus is still warm, that's all that matters."
"Did you forget our plan? Sarah's transplant surgery is scheduled for tomorrow. If Elena wakes up now, what if she runs away?"
"Our priority is keeping her uterus safe for Sarah—not saving her life."
In that moment, the burn in my stomach was nothing compared to the chill in my heart.
I forced my eyes open and saw my brother—the one who'd always protected me—hesitate for a moment, then slowly let go of my hand.
"...Okay. You're right, Mom. Saving Sarah comes first."
The moment I closed my eyes, I made a decision: If I survived, this life would never belong to this family again.

My parents and twin sister faked their own deaths so she could steal my college acceptance.

I believed it. Sobbed until I couldn't breathe when the cops showed me photos of the burnt yacht. Thought my words—"I hope you all die"—had somehow made it happen.

Two weeks later, I found my sister's backup Instagram: "Finally ditched the boring sister! Bahamas is paradise 🏖"

Something inside me snapped.

Wanna play dead? Stay dead.

I took their death certificates. Canceled their social security numbers. Drained every joint account—every last cent. Sold the house to John, the kind of guy even cops don't mess with.

One month later, they came home tanned and loaded with designer bags, expecting to find me broken on the streets.

What greeted them instead were cold gun barrels pointed at their heads.

“Dad… please… help me…” I pleaded, my shattered ribs piercing my lungs, blood soaking the stretcher.
But Richard, the hospital's top surgeon and my biological father, didn't even glance at me. Instead, he rushed to the next bed.
“Don't be afraid, Chloe. I'm here,” he cooed to his stepdaughter, who merely had a tiny scratch on her arm. “Get the best equipment over here now!” he roared.
As the heart monitor flatlined and my soul left my broken body, I realized the chilling truth: in the choice between life and death, my father gladly let me die.

At 17, I saved William from the black market.
At 22, he crossed half the globe to marry me with two million dollars.
I built his empire for him, turning him into the biggest arms dealer in the Americas.
Then Karen appeared, and our seven years turned to ashes.
I finally saw the truth:
The roses he gave me were the ones Karen had rejected.
His so-called love was nothing but a hypocritical act for money.
To him, I was just a prop for show, a tool for his business, and a machine for sex.

For eighteen years, my little sister Bella took whatever was mine. My clothes. My birthday. My parents.

The only thing she couldn't have was Mason Hayes, the boy next door who promised to take me to San Diego after graduation, somewhere she could never follow.

Then I found out he'd secretly helped Bella apply to the college right across the street from ours.

So I quietly accepted a full scholarship to a university in Scotland, almost four thousand miles away, and I didn't tell a single person.

By the time Mason figured it out, I was already at the gate.

"You walk onto that plane, and we're done," he texted.

I turned off my phone and handed over my boarding pass.

Three months later, he was standing outside my lab in Edinburgh, soaked from the rain, holding the necklace he'd sworn he would fix two years ago.

"I took the semester off," he said. "We can start over."

"Cut it out, Clara. Vivian’s game is what matters right now."
Those were my father’s last words to me before hanging up. My dad was the city’s legendary narcotics detective; my mom, the chief medical examiner. Now, they have finally arrived. Not to save me, but to process an unrecognizable corpse rotting in a dark warehouse.
"Brutally tortured. A vendetta," Dad mutters, while Mom snaps on latex gloves, complaining about how ungrateful I am for skipping dinner.
Mom, Dad… when will you realize that the nameless body under your hands is the daughter you abandoned?

Six months ago, my parents started fostering a girl named Lila Mercer.
Six months ago, Mom repainted the guest room and strung fairy lights over the bed. My room still has the same furniture I've had since I was twelve.
Six months ago, Dad started coming home for Sunday dinner. Not for me. I'd been eating alone at the counter for years by then.
Six months ago, Mom posted a photo of the two of them at the farmers market. Caption: our family is growing. I saw it during third period and locked my phone hard enough to crack the case.
So when I picked up the family iPad tonight and a notification popped up from an app I didn't recognize, I wasn't shocked. Just tired of being right.
The app was called Beacon.

My family ignored my calls while I was dying in our basement. They thought I was trying to ruin my younger sister's graduation.
That night, my brother finally came looking for me. My sister wanted the cookies I used to bake for her.
I was right beside him when he demanded that I come home.
He couldn't hear me. My body was still downstairs.

I was dead, and the whole world was celebrating for my sister.

For twenty-two years, I had been the hardest-working but most invisible daughter in the Sterling family, forever living in the shadow of my gymnastics prodigy sister.

Running a high fever, I begged my family to take me to the hospital, only to hear: "Don't you DARE ruin Bella's award ceremony!"

When I was tricked into the abandoned equipment room and used my last breath to call my boyfriend while lying in a pool of blood, all I heard was: "Grace, quit the drama! Bella's accepting her award on stage!"

On stage, thunderous applause erupted as Bella lifted the "Young Gymnast of the Year" trophy.

And I drew my final breath.

When they returned home triumphant, thinking I had run away in a tantrum, they had no idea I was already dead right under their noses.

There are no unmated males in our pack.
Every she-wolf in Hollowfen is promised to someone when she turns eighteen. We just don't get to know who until we walk into the Choosing Hall.
Girls go in wearing white. They come out flushed, shaking, barely able to stand. Some laugh. Some cry. None of them talk about what happens inside.
My sister Thessaly turned eighteen this spring. Gran told her she couldn't attend the Choosing.
She went anyway. She came back on shaking legs, with blood between her thighs and a smile she couldn't wipe off her face.

The day we submitted our college applications, Chloe cried a little, and that was all it took. My two childhood best friends were ready to throw away their shot at the Ivy League and follow her to a community college.

Nothing I said got through to them, so I went behind their backs and called their parents.

Their parents rushed over that same night and made them switch their applications back, which put both boys on track again.

But that also meant Chloe lost two walking wallets who came running whenever she called.

Late one night, she posted a goodbye message online and swallowed a whole bottle of pills.

Brody and Wyatt never once considered that maybe Chloe just couldn't handle the pressure. They pinned all of it on me.

They invited me out on a yacht, and while I was standing by the rail, they both shoved me over the side.

"Eleanor, you ruined Chloe's future. Now you can go keep her company!"

The freezing water swallowed me whole. I kicked and fought with everything I had, but all I could do was watch the lights on the boat get farther and farther away.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the nightmare started.

This time, I wasn't going to care who lived or died.

My stepsister and I tumbled down the stairs together. As someone with a blood clotting disorder, my spleen ruptured—I was bleeding internally, desperate for surgery to stop it.
But my mother—the renowned chief of surgery—pulled every specialist from the ER. To consult on my stepsister's condition.
All she had was a sprained ankle. Not even a scratch. Yet mom insisted on running every test in the book. And me? Left alone on that cold floor, bleeding out, half my body already soaked in blood.
I clutched at her pants, begging her to save me. But she kicked my hand away and looked at me with pure disgust.
"Lily, are you really so desperate for a man's attention that you'd pull a cheap stunt like this? Your sister's foot is swollen—and you have the nerve to fake your death here?"
In the end, I died alone in a corner of that ignored ER.
But when they wheeled my cold body out of the morgue—and they finally learned about my clotting disorder—
That mother who claimed to hate me completely lost her mind.

My sister took the blame for me and died in the Abyss Dungeon.

For five years, I knelt at her grave and wept. My husband Jack gently wiped away my tears and told me everything would be alright.

Until the day I ran into a woman at the mall.

The way she held her coffee cup. Her favorite phrase. The slight lift of her ring finger — every detail was identical to my dead sister.

I followed her to a villa on the outskirts of town.

The door opened.

The woman who greeted her was the rival who had fallen to her death from a cliff five years ago.

And the man who stepped out of the car and kissed that rival on the lips — was my husband.

That night I confronted Jack. He simply sighed:

"The truth? Is it really that important?"

I’m a convenience store owner.

When the acid rain apocalypse hit, it ate through metal, wrecked power, and turned clean food and water into currency.

Last time, I made one mistake: I opened my door to my ex, Claire Voss, and her lover, Derek Hale. They didn’t come for shelter—they came for my stash. The blade in my abdomen taught me what mercy buys in a broken world. I killed them, but as my vision faded, the radio crackled with one final update: the disaster was ending.

Day thirty. I didn’t live to see morning.

Then I woke up—one week before it began.

This time I do only one thing: lock myself in my underground storage room with exactly thirty days of food and water, and wait for the rain to stop.

But Claire is hoarding again, louder than ever—embezzling money, emptying my shelves, trying to starve me in the first week so I’ll crawl back begging.

That’s when it hits me:

She thinks the apocalypse lasts forever.

She has no idea it only lasts thirty days.

I was rushing to perform an emergency surgery when a woman and her mother charged at me, slapping me to the ground. They accused me of being a corrupt, crooked doctor who prescribed fake drugs for kickbacks.
I begged for mercy, pleading that I needed to go perform surgery on my mother, but they beat me black and blue.
"A quack like you deserves to perform surgery?"
When my husband finally arrived, I thought he would stand up for me. To my absolute horror, he was already having an affair with that woman. He called me an embarrassment and sneered, "If your mother dies, it’s exactly what she deserves!"
I froze.
But, darling... the person dying on the operating table right now is your mother.

When the apocalypse came, I became one of the military's failed experiments—defective, useless, a waste of space who only knew how to fix machines.
My so-called brother Kane used the camp leader access I got for him to trade away the comms gear I nearly died to secure for a bottle of whiskey. He drained my bone marrow dry to keep me in the dark, then dumped me out in the wasteland to die.
After that, he pinned every bit of luxury and waste on me—
while my little sister didn't even have the medicine she needed to stay alive.
That night, dragging my crippled body behind me, I reached into the substation.
Kane, do you remember what kind of genes were in those five hundred milliliters of bone marrow?

I'm a folklorist. Folk traditions are my field.
At first, I thought it was just an ordinary rhyme, a scrap of oral history set to a tune.
"A rag doll in the mire, swinging high up to the sky..."
We all thought it was just a prank.
Until the first person drowned in the bog. Then the second fell from a tower crane. Then the third somehow drowned in a bathtub.
I stared at the black symbol surfacing on the back of my hand.
And then I saw the dean—the one who was supposed to be dead—standing outside my dorm window in a long black dress, smiling at me with impossible tenderness...

My boyfriend pulled off a drone-sky proposal that lit up the entire city.
Crowds cheered, “Congratulations to Mr. Gunson and Mrs. Gunson—at last, true lovers become family.”
But the woman curled in his arms was his secretary.
The “me” in their mouths had long since turned to white bones beneath a mound of earth.

There are too many ways of taking revenge on a woman. But he chose marriage. In the past three years, he acted like a ruthless husband, treating her coldly, and even more worse, humiliating her. Even when she was pregnant, he tried to force her to give it up, to retire from film field, to expel her from her country.

In my previous life, my wife was addicted to black market gambling on football, which caused us to lose everything.
To make matters worse, a zombie horde then broke out.
We had no shelter and were quickly torn apart by a horde of frenzied zombies.
After being reborn, she planned to run off with all the money, then dump me and elope with her lover.
What she didn't know was that I had awakened the ability to read minds and knew all her plans.

One look at the man sitting next to mom tells me everything I need to know.
He is Aaron's dad.
Mom is getting married to Aaron's dad.
I had a one night stand with Aaron Coleman seven years ago and in the heat of the moment, after I left the motel he'd fucked me in, I spent the following week writing a fictional story about us.
I'd entirely forgotten about that story until now. The story went ahead to become a New York bestseller the following year but nobody, besides Juliet, knows I'm the author.
Aaron Coleman is about to be my stepbrother. He's the protagonist of a romance book I'd written and dumped years ago.
And as I move slowly, towards the table to join the small party, I realize that the coming weeks is going to be worse than the past seven years of my life, combined.
SEVEN YEARS AGO
"It's almost like you're a virgin," Aaron blurts out in disbelief as he slowly tries to move.His remark makes me feel defensive so I don't know when I get heated and respond in a sharp voice. "What if I am?"
Aaron stiffens against me, his body hovering above mine.
"That's going to be a problem, cupcake," he says in an entirely different voice that tells me I'm in danger...

"How could you do this? You knew I'm your brother's girlfriend!"
Lorenzo stepped closer, his shadow swallowing mine. "Not my fault you can't tell the difference between your boyfriend and his brother."


Elena had planned the perfect birthday surprise for her boyfriend, Charles, booking a hotel room and preparing a set of lingerie just for him.
She wanted to give him a night he would never forget.
Instead, in the pitch-black room, she walked into the wrong man's arms and mistook his most hated brother, Lorenzo, for him. To her burning shame, she had felt more in that moment than she ever had with Charles.
On one side is her boyfriend of two years, who treats her as nothing more than a perfect accessory.
On the other is his brother, dangerous and relentless, determined to pull her into darkness.
Should she stay loyal to her boyfriend, or give in to his brother?

Kai Mercer has only three rules.

Never miss training. Keep his spot on the team. Never take anything too seriously.

He’s been managing all three just fine until one night at a bar when he walks up to a stranger to have a little fun. But something about this man piques his interest in a way nothing ever has before.

Interesting enough that Kai can’t quite get him off his head.

He doesn’t get the chance to think about it for too long because the next morning, his coach gives him an ultimatum to fix his grade. So he drags himself to a class he'd forgotten he'd even registered for.

Turns out the stranger at the bar is the same professor who gave him the F that could end his career before it even began.

Professor Lee doesn’t make exceptions.

Not for athletes. Not for excuses.

And certainly not for the reckless, sharp-tongued student who never showed up to class once.

What starts as two people who can’t stand each other slowly becomes something neither of them expected.

One has nothing left to lose.

The other has too much to risk.

When they finally stop pretending…

Will it already be too late?

REINA SUMMERS
"Five thousand dollars to babysit Alan King's grieving son over Christmas break. Enough to quit all three of your jobs."
"I... I'm sorry, I don't..."
"You can think about it. Contact me if you're interested."
The moment I perch on his lap to sign the contract, I know this is more than just a nanny job. Nannies don't wear cuffs or collars. They definitely don't choke on their boss's c$ck. Right?
ALAN KING
She's bright, loud, annoyingly delicate—and eighteen years younger. Yet all I can think about is breaking her in the filthiest ways possible. She doesn't belong in my world, but she's brave enough to step into it. Reina Summers is completely mine this Christmas, and I intend to unwrap every inch of her until she knows exactly who she belongs to.

A seductive boss and his maid……
Note: This book may contain some steamy scenes…..
When a billionaire falls for his maid, what lengths must he go through, in order to make her his???
Using dubious means to get into her panties, does that make him the antagonist or the protagonist????

Read this interesting boss/maid affair story to find out more …..

On our third wedding anniversary, my husband Hill invited many friends over for a party at the house. Everyone was noisily playing games, and the challenge was to reveal a private secret about someone in the room.
When it was Elsa's turn, she pointed at Hill's lower body. "Hill has a crescent-shaped birthmark. It's in a very private spot."
After saying this, Elsa collapsed onto the sofa laughing. Hill pretended to be angry, jumped up, and pounced on Elsa, smacking her on the butt.
I was frozen in shock. Hill's birthmark really was extremely private—you couldn't even see it without looking closely. I only discovered it myself after being married to him for a year.
Sensing my emotional shift, everyone stopped their roughhousing.
Elsa shrugged nonchalantly. "Zoe, don't overthink it. Before you got married, someone slipped Hill something once. I had no choice but to help him out. But don't worry, I promise he saved his first time for you."
Then she tapped her lips. "I used this place back then. Wore me out, honestly."
I felt my stomach churn violently and nearly threw up. Without thinking, I hurled my wine glass directly at Elsa.
"Sorry. Slipped. Just trying to help you rinse your mouth."

Reborn into the world of Greek mythology, she becomes the youngest daughter of Zeus and Hera, the goddess of youth, Hebe. What? She is the weakest and most powerless goddess of youth? The most dispensable cupbearer of the gods? A trophy of the great hero Heracles? Hebe declares that this is impossible. She will use modern scientific wisdom to create her own glory, trampling anyone who dares to humiliate her underfoot!

It’s true what they say about marriage: one partner’s always happier than the other.

Julie's world is shattered when her husband, Ryan, reveals that he wants an open marriage. His reason: he needs a child as they've been unable to have one. Julie reluctantly agrees to save her marriage.

The next day, Ryan returns home with his secretary, confirming Julie’s long-held suspicion that their affair was taking place behind her back.

Julie, heartbroken and enraged, seeks solace in a bar, where she meets a fascinating stranger named Luke, who changes the game. Julie confides in Luke over drinks, and he proposes a risky plan: he will act as her "boyfriend" to turn the tables on Ryan.

Julie agrees, setting off a chain of events that will challenge everything she thought she knew about love, loyalty, and herself.

⚠️ Trigger Warning:
This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, consensual sex, dirty talks, and adult themes. Intended for readers 18+ only.

Desire doesn’t look the same for everyone, and this collection celebrates every intoxicating form it takes.
From stolen touches that linger too long, to late-night fantasies that refuse to stay quiet, Naughty Dripping Desires is an unapologetically sensual erotica collection filled with passion, power, and irresistible tension. Each story explores craving, connection, and the delicious loss of control that comes when boundaries blur and bodies answer before minds can catch up.

This is an inclusive collection for everyone—curvy queens, chubby goddesses, men loving men, women loving women, and every beautiful way desire shows up.
No judgment, just heat… and maybe a few moments where you’ll have to fan yourself and pretend you’re not smiling like you just got caught reading something very, very naughty.
Enter at your own risk. Once you start, stopping won’t be easy. So, enjoyyyyyyyyyy.

Life wasn't that good to Moriah as her groom decided against the marriage and left two hours before the wedding began. As if life hadn't been satisfied being cruel to her as it yet gave her another huge blow as she ended up marrying her sworn enemy. For her to salvage her reputation and that of her family, she has to walk down the aisle and marry the substitute groom. Walking down the aisle, she saw the man waiting for her. He was her archenemy, the billionaire business mogul, her fiancé's best friend, Ethan Miller. The blissful marriage she had been dreaming of with the love of her life turned into a nightmare.

Warning: This collection will ruin you for vanilla. Welcome to a dark, filthy stepbrother erotica universe where forbidden attraction turns into obsession - and every story pushes the boundaries a little further.
Each standalone story introduces a new heroine, a new stepbrother, a new forbidden temptation, and a new reason to keep reading. Expect possessive men, dangerous chemistry, secret desires, complicated choices, and addictive 8-15 chapter arcs that take each forbidden relationship from temptation to surrender.
No two stories are exactly alike. Some begin with a secret. Some begin with a mistake. Some begin with a line neither of them intended to cross. But once that line disappears, there may be no going back.
This collection contains highly explicit sexual content, dark themes, dominance, possessiveness, infidelity, risky encounters, and other potentially triggering situations. Reader discretion is advised.
Spread your legs for your stepbrother...the collection has only just begun.

"Rip my ass apart, Daddy! Fuck the shit out of me! God, yes!"

"So fucking tight, Jenny. No matter how many times I fuck your ass, it's always like the first time... Are you being good for daddy? Keeping other dicks out of this perfect ass?"

"Yes, Daddy. Only yours," she moaned...



Plunge into a filthy SERIES of taboo erotica collections where daddies (step daddies, daddies-in-law, and other forbidden fruit) crave and claim their teasing little girls in raw, boundary shattering steamy shorts.

Loaded with intense dirty talk, dubious consent edges, high risk exposure thrills, possessive breeding kinks, degradation and humiliation, and scorching incest.

Please take care of your mental health. It gets dark and twisted in here...

Indulge dark fantasies with twist endings that will stay with you.

She begs for daddy's brutal cock. He can't stop stretching his filthy little girl.

***All characters are over 18. Explicit content ahead. 18+ only. Reader discretion is advised.

Asher Kingsley and Roman Volkov were never meant to get along.

Asher is the golden boy of college hockey, the coach's perfect son, raised in the spotlight and expected to win both games and public approval. He's secretly sharp-tongued and uses his fists to defend himself.

Roman is his complete opposite: the calm defenseman with a mother obsessed with politics. He has zero patience for politics or cameras.

On the ice, they’re enemies. Their rivalry is legendary. Dirty hits, heated arguments, and games that always end with both of them in the penalty box.

But when an accidental kiss happens, the tension between them finally snaps. One reckless moment in an empty locker room turns years of rivalry into something far more dangerous.

Asher wants to agree that it was a mistake, but Roman doesn't want that. Then their parents announce they’re getting married. Suddenly, Asher and Roman aren’t just rivals; they’re about to become stepbrothers.

Forced into the same spaces outside the rink, their carefully buried attraction refuses to stay hidden. As competition, family pressure, and proximity collide, the two hockey stars must decide whether their rivalry is worth protecting… Or if the truth between them is worth risking everything.

Because some lines aren’t meant to be crossed.

And some are impossible not to.

"I spent ten years scrubbing your floors, Greene. Tonight, you'll scrub mine."
Elara Vance has always been the pride the Republic until she ran away from home, fell in love with Greene Jones, a man who treated her like dirt and discarded her like she was never the girl the entire Republic feared because of her strong dominating pheromones.
Now she's back after twelve years to serve revenge to Greene Jones like a hot dish in a way that he will pay for every act meted out on her for twelve years. But things wasn't going to go as planned as she meets Silas, the handsome bulky head of her father's security but a recessive omega of her past that she has totally forgotten but now wears a new stance as her bodyguard, recognized by the entire republic as an Alpha, and her perfect chosen mate, Calvin;  ruining the comeback and revenge she planned out for herself and now she has to think about saving and claiming her mate, Silas while navigating and protecting the seat meant for her. 
The real question becomes; will Calvin ever allow her take all it took him twelve years to build?

"You've been imagining me doing this to you, huh, toy? Making you scream and cum?"
He taunted, his fingers fucking me harder, his grip unrelenting.
They shouldn't want it. They shouldn't do it. But they always do.
This collection dives deep into the dirtiest corners of desire, obsession, control, and the thrill of being caught.
Every story pushes boundaries, blurring lines between danger and ecstasy, pain and pleasure, power and surrender. The women in this book want to be fucked in every hole to cum relentlessly and fucked till they have cum dripping down their legs.
Make Me Wet is dark, explicit, and unapologetically filthy, a forbidden fantasy you'll wish was real. So sit back, relax and of course get wet!

They shouldn’t want it.
They shouldn’t do it.
But they always do.
This collection dives deep into the dirtiest corners of desire, obsession, control, and the thrill of being caught.
Every story pushes boundaries, blurring lines between danger and ecstasy, pain and pleasure, power and surrender.
The women in this book want to be loved relentlessly
Make Me yours is dark, explicit, and unapologetically filthy, a forbidden fantasy you’ll wish was real.
So sit back, relax and of course get wet!

"I was done being what others discarded. I would burn this entire pack to the ground before I let anyone take away the one thing I had left. Some wounds do not bleed. They hollow you out until survival is the only thing that remains."
Lyssara believed one truth above all else: a mate was sacred. The other half of your soul. A bond meant to be eternal.
Until Kaelrith looked at her with nothing but cold disgust.
The moment their eyes met, Lyssara saw no love, no recognition, no trace of the connection she had dreamed of her entire life. Instead, fate bound her to a man who wanted someone else.
Night after night, she watched him choose Vaelira, her own sister. Every tender word, every stolen moment, every promise of a future that should have been hers was given to another woman while Lyssara faded into the background.
Until she discovered a secret that changed everything.
A tiny heartbeat inside her.
Her child became her strength, her reason to survive, and the one thing she would protect at any cost.
Then Thalric appeared from the shadows. Scarred, dangerous, and untouched by her broken past. He did not try to save her. He simply saw her when everyone else turned away.
But when Lyssara finally learned to stand on her own, Kaelrith realized what he had lost.
Now the man who destroyed her must face the man who helped her rise.
Only one of them is worthy of her heart.

I got dragged online by one of my lead devs.

He claimed my "Incubation Project" was a gilded cage—a trap to exploit the team and steal their personal IPs.

The truth?

I funded it out of my own pocket.

Selected candidates would get a $50,000 no-strings-attached seed fund, plus full Ivy League tuition reimbursement. It was 100% voluntary, with zero penalties for opting out.

Since the internet decided I was a toxic capitalist monopolizing their creativity, I gave him exactly what he wanted. I fired off a company-wide memo:

[To protect your creative freedom from capitalist exploitation, the $50,000 Incubation Fund is permanently abolished, effective immediately.]

[As an alternative, the monthly education allowance for all employees is now a $15 reimbursement for basic coding courses.]

The moment the memo dropped, the employees who were counting on that $50k to pay off student loans or change their lives completely lost it.

Now, they're swarming right outside my glass office door, eyes red, begging me to reinstate the program.

I had spent ten years rescuing girls sacrificed to the river god.
Then, on the morning of my wedding, my parents drugged me, tied stones to my feet, and placed me on the offering raft.
My brother needed a bride, they said. Her life mattered more than mine.
But the eighteen women I had saved were waiting beneath the water.
This time, they saved me.
And together, we decided to give the county exactly what it claimed to worship:
a river god who demanded sons.