Novels by Pearl's pen

Felicia's POV The moment the theatre doors sealed shut behind her, Felicia felt the air shift.Damian’s voice still echoed in her ears, that single word he had given her when she was updating him about Vanessa's labour.“Alright.”Not “Thank you.”Not “Please take care of her.”Not “Let me know the moment she’s stable.”Just that one clipped syllable, emotionless and flat.If Felicia had been a different woman, softer, more naïve, she might have taken offense.But she wasn’t anymore, money and fear had carved that softness out of her long ago.So that cold reply told her something important:Damian Blackwood was completely focused on one woman, the one lying unconscious inside the theatre, not the one pretending to be carrying his child down the hall.And for the plan she’d agreed to, that was perfect.Felicia inhaled, letting the sterile air fill her lungs, then exhaled slowly as she turned away from the door. She smoothed her scrubs, tugged her gloves on and w

Damian's POV Damian had never known silence could feel so loud.He stood outside the double doors of the surgical theatre, hands clenched at his sides, heart hammering in a way he couldn’t control. The hallway was bright, too bright, the overhead lights buzzing quietly. Nurses moved past him, pushing carts, giving orders, adjusting equipment, but all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears.Evelyn was inside that room, and he couldn’t be there with her.He hated that.Hated that he was forced to wait outside like a helpless man while she breathed through pain, while she trusted strangers to bring their child into the world safely.Their child.The thought hit him again, heavy and strangely fragile. He pressed a hand to the back of his neck, dragging in a slow breath.Everything had happened so fast.One moment she’d been trying to breathe through contractions in the delivery suite, clutching his hand, whispering his name with fear in her voice, and the ne

Vanessa's POV Vanessa wasn’t prepared for how much this kind of pain could strip a person down, she never imagined that the pain could be this much.Real contractions, medically induced contractions, were nothing like the harmless tightening she’d been faking over the phone, or the false contractions she had from taking the teas. These ones clawed through her abdomen in deep, rolling waves that made her grip the bed rails as though the room might tilt away and drop her.She hated the hospital, she hated the lights, she hated the sterile cold that clung to her skin, she hated that this is her only chance to make Damian consider her.But she hated something else even more, she hated the fact that Damian wasn’t here with her.Not truly, not the way she wanted.He had stopped by earlier, asked briefly if she was alright, told her Felicia had informed him she was being monitored. He was polite, calm, respectful, and almost impersonal.And then he left.Left her alone t

Evelyn's POV Evelyn had never known pressure like this.The contractions were no longer spaced or gentle, they rolled through her lower body like waves that refused to let her breathe between them. Her hands were trembling where they clutched the edge of the hospital bed, knuckles pale, sweat gathering at her temples. The lights overhead felt too bright and too dull at the same time, and her stomach kept tightening into the sharp points of pain that pulled her deeper into labor.Damian stayed right beside her.He didn’t sit, he didn’t look away. He stood with both hands braced on the bed railings, his eyes locked onto hers every time the pain struck. Whenever she gasped, he leaned closer. Whenever her breath hitched, he whispered, “I’m here. Just breathe. I’m right here.”His voice was steady, his face was calm, but she saw the fear beneath it.She felt it too.Another contraction hit, harder, deeper, and she folded into it, groaning softly as she tried to breat

Vanessa's POV Vanessa hated hospitals.She hated the smell, the lighting, the sterile quiet that made every heartbeat sound like drums in her chest. But today she forced herself to tolerate it, today mattered a lot. Today had to look perfect.She lay on the adjustable bed, one hand resting dramatically on her swollen belly, her breaths shallow and shaky. The moment she heard footsteps in the hallway, she squeezed her eyes shut and curled slightly to one side,pretending to be in pain and trembling. The door swung open.Damian stepped inside.He looked the same as always, composed, sharp, and controlled but she saw the stress around his eyes, the hint of fatigue in the way he exhaled when he saw her. His suit jacket was off, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his forearms, impatience and urgency simmering beneath the surface.“Vanessa,” he said, coming to the side of the bed, “How are you feeling now?”She forced out a soft groan, clutching her stomach. “It… it kee

Evelyn’s POVEvelyn woke with a sharp pain in her abdomen, the kind that made her catch her breath before she even understood what was happening. At first she thought it was just another false alarm. The Braxton Hicks had been going on for days, tightening her belly every now and then, enough to make her pause but never enough to worry Damian.But this one felt different, deeper and more painful. Like something inside her body was shifting into place.She lay still for a moment, listening to her own breathing, waiting to see if it faded.It didn’t.By the time another wave rolled through her stomach, slower and sharper, she sat up, one hand braced on the mattress. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. 6:27 a.m. The mansion was quiet. Damian had stepped out earlier for a quick conference call with Tokyo and promised he would be back up as soon as it ended. Gregory was still asleep in the opposite wing.She exhaled slowly and rubbed her belly. “Hey, not yet,

Mondays are always the same for me. My company schedules a 9 a.m. Zoom meeting to go over the previous week’s sales numbers. Same boring hour every week. I just roll out of bed, throw on the oversized hoodie that stops right below my ass cheeks, no bra, no panties, with my hair looking like it lost a fight with a tornado, and sit at the kitchen table with my phone and my laptop. The camera only captures from my collarbones up to my head, twenty-something coworkers staring while we pretend to care about conversion rates.That Monday I was forty-five minutes into the meeting when my phone buzzed.Valentina: Open the fucking door, my pussy’s already wet for you.I muted myself, after saying “coffee,” and went out of the kitchen to open the door.She was soaked from the rain, her white tank top glued to her tits, nipples hard as rocks, joggers slung low, holding two cups of coffee and a bakery bag. She stepped in, kicked the door shut, and kissed me so deep.“Back to your meeting,” she g

The following week Friday night she texted me one line:Valentina: Pack an overnight bag. Actually, don’t, you won’t need clothes.I showed up at her door at 8 p.m. with nothing but my phone, keys, and the shortest silk robe I owned underneath my coat. She opened the door wearing just a black boxer briefs and a harness, and nothing else. The thick black strap-on was already in place, pointing out straight. My mouth went dry.“Strip in the hallway,” she said, voice calm. “Leave the robe on the floor. You won’t see it again until Monday.”I obeyed, shaking, until I stood naked in her doorway, my nipples hard from arousal and cold marble under my bare feet. She looked at me over slowly, top to bottom, then crooked a finger.“Crawl.”I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled inside. She closed the door behind me with a soft click that sounded like a lock on my entire weekend, I knew I was going to be here all weekend.The bedroom had been transformed, all the regular pillows were gone.

She laughed softly against my neck, that low, filthy sound that always made my cunt clench, and slid two fingers straight back inside me like she’d never left.They went in so easily, so fucking easily, because I was still swollen and dripping from the last round. The wet sound was obscene, slick and loud in the quiet bedroom. Her palm pressed flat against my clit, fingers curled just right, and I arched off the mattress with a broken moan.“Listen to that greedy little pussy,” she murmured, her lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Still sucking me in like it’s starving. You’re making such a mess, baby.”I couldn’t answer, I could only spread my legs wider, heels digging into the sheets, hips rolling to create a rhythm with her hand. She pumped slowly at first, deliberate, dragging her fingers out until just the tips teased my entrance, then slamming them back in deep enough that I felt it in my throat.“You feel how open you are for me?” she whispered, adding a third finger without wa

A week later, and I was on my way back to her apartment. I was a complete mess the entire Uber ride over, my thighs were pressed together so hard the seatbelt was pointless, heart hammering, pussy already soaked through the crotchless panties I’d bought specifically for this. I was wearing a black lace bra that barely covered my nipples, stockings, heels, trench coat, that was the whole outfit. I was one sharp turn away from cumming untouched.She opened the door barefoot, wearing a low-slung silk pants and a thin white crop top. Her nipples were hard, her hair messy like she’d been thinking about me as much as I’d been thinking about her. She took one look at me and that slow, filthy smile spread across her face.“You absolute slut,” she said, grabbing the belt of my coat and pulling me inside. “Get in here.” She slammed me against the door the second it shut, kissed me so hard I tasted blood where her teeth caught my lip. Her hands were already untying the knot, pushing the coat ope

So here’s the thing, I’d been in a sex/relationship dry spell for months. Like, “my vibrator was getting more action than my entire dating history” kind of dry spell. Work had been insane, my ex had moved to Portland with some yoga instructor named River, and I was just over it. Over the dating apps, over straight girls who “just wanted to experiment,” over every fucking thing.That’s why I said yes when my friend Marisol texted me about this rooftop thing in Bushwick, it wasn’t some random bar night. It was one of those invite-only lesbian parties the girls in the know whisper about, the ones with the password at the door and the guest list that gets passed around in DMs. They call it “Siren” and it happens like twice a summer. Everyone’s hot, everyone’s queer, and nobody’s pretending they’re there to network.I spent way too long getting ready. Shaved everything that could be shaved, lotioned up until I smelled like coconut and bad decisions. I picked the black dress that makes my a

The text came at 11:47 p.m. on a Thursday, from an unknown contact.Unknown:$100,000 wired the second you walk through the penthouse door, another $100k if you make me beg before sunrise.Black lace, no panties, with six-inch stiletto heels. Address attached, be here in forty minutes or the offer closes.I stared at the screen, my thighs already clenching. Two hundred grand for one night of work?I had done worse for less, I chose the set that made men stupid: black lace balconette bra that barely contained my tits, with matching garter belt, sheer stockings with the seam running up the back, and a six-inch patent Louboutins that clicked like gunshots when I walked, with no panties on.Just the thin strip of lace between my legs that was already soaked from the thought of knowing I was about to own someone.The private elevator opened straight into the penthouse. He was waiting in the dark, only the city skyline behind him and one lamp casting gold across the sharp lines of his jaw.