Deep Inside (Erotica short story collections)

Dubcon | Ownership | Dark Billionaire EroticaThe auction house smelled like polished wood and expensive shame. She could taste it in the air—fear, perfume, sweat behind silk. Lila stood still under the dim spotlight, wrists bound in front of her with soft leather, collar snug against her throat. She wasn’t supposed to look at the bidders. She did anyway.Her eyes locked with his.Rowan Black.He was the man who took her father’s company, bankrupted their name, watched her mother crawl through courtrooms on broken heels. And now he was sitting in the front row, relaxed in a charcoal suit, black shirt open at the throat like this was just another acquisition. A smirk pulled at his mouth the moment he saw her.Lila’s blood turned cold. The auctioneer’s voice became a blur behind the ringing in her ears.“Sold. Lot twenty-two to Bidder Seventeen.”The hammer fell.To him.Her knees nearly buckled as a woman came to unfasten her wrists, murmuring something soft she didn’t hear. Lila was g

Workplace | Public Sex | Power | Contract | ExplicitThe elevator jolted and stopped.Twenty-three floors above ground, and it froze. Lila’s breath hitched as the lights flickered, then held steady. Her heart thudded. She wasn’t alone.Her CEO stood a few feet from her.Mr. Damon Rael. Cold, calculating, terrifying. And impossibly attractive.Every woman in the building whispered about him. The dark suits. The cruel mouth. The rumors that he never smiled, never touched. He barely spoke to anyone. But now—now he looked at her like she wasn’t supposed to be here. Like she was prey.They stood in silence. She reached to press the emergency button, but he stopped her.“Don’t,” he said. “I already did. They’ll need fifteen minutes.”His voice was low. Smooth. Dangerous.Her throat dried. “Okay.”Damon stepped closer. His presence was suffocating. His cologne hit first—clean, sharp, expensive. His eyes, black as storm glass, watched her like he saw too much. Like he knew things she hadn’t e

The ride to his penthouse was silent, except for the hum of the city below. Lila sat in the back of his car, thighs still trembling. Damon hadn’t touched her since she signed the third contract—he’d only looked at her, like he already owned every breath she took.When they arrived, he held the door for her. Led her up without a word.The elevator to the top floor opened directly into his home. Glass, steel, and midnight. The skyline stretched forever, but the world narrowed to just him.He turned and locked the door behind them.Then said, “Strip.”She unzipped her skirt, let it fall. Peeled off her blouse. Her bra hit the floor next. She stood in only heels, chest rising, flushed and waiting.He stepped closer. His jacket came off. Shirt. Belt. Pants.That cock was still gorgeous—thick, long, dark with blood and already rising. Her mouth watered.He walked her back to the glass wall, pressed her against it."You remember what this contract said.""No rules."He grinned. It was terrif

Tragedy Romance | Dubcon | Grief | Power Imbalance | ExplicitTrigger Warnings: Dubious consent, grief-based emotional manipulation, explicit sexual content, rough handling, dominance/submission themes....The rain was biblical...sheets of it blurring the mountain road, drowning the headlights. She should’ve stayed home.But Vesper Wynne didn’t know how to sit still anymore.Not since her sister died.She wasn’t watching the curves as she should’ve been, and by the time the second turn came, it was too late.Her little rust-colored coupe hydroplaned across the yellow line and slammed into a black McLaren.Metal screamed. Glass exploded. Then...stillness.Steam rose from both hoods like smoke from a battle. Vesper’s hands shook on the wheel. Her heart beat like a trap set to snap.A door slammed.Then footsteps.Fast. Angry.The man who appeared outside her window looked like something torn from an erotic noir nightmare— very handsome, black mid-level hair, tall, black-clad, blood o

The town of Bellhaven whispered about him.Malachi Draton, once Father Draton, now lived on the edge of the woods in a stone chapel no longer used for sermons. He had left the Church quietly, no dramatic fall, just a shadow of disgrace cloaked in silence. They said he broke vows. They said a woman had knelt in his confessional and never left his mind.Hope West.The daughter of the town's most pious widow. Raised in ritual, starched skirts, and whispered penance. She was the one who still went to the chapel even though the doors were no longer open. She claimed she prayed alone. But everyone knew her prayers were stitched with guilt and obsession.She came again on a Tuesday, dusk hanging low, storm rolling in. Her dress was thin, a relic of summer slipping into fall. It clung to her skin, translucent with sweat and the promise of rain.Malachi saw her through the window. He shouldn't have opened the door. But temptation wore her skin like salvation."You're not welcome here anymore,"