Used, Corrupted and Ruined (An Off-Limits Collection)

BOOK 1: BREAKING MY BEST FRIEND'S GIRLFRIEND Hurst’s POV I wanted to fuck my best friend's girlfriend. Crazy thing to admit out loud. Even crazier to keep thinking about it. Damian and I had been inseperable since the summer he got accepted into college. I still remember his mom dropping him off, and the way I couldn't tear my eyes off her cleavage until he introduced himself. “Damian Morales.” “Eli Hurst.” We shared everything back then. Food, clothes, sometimes even things that should've raised eyebrows. But one thing that remained completely off limits, were girls. Ironically, it wasn't because of some sacred bro-code or glaring red label. We simply had violently different tastes. Damian was wild. So he liked girls that fit that narrative. Dangerous curves, lustful eyes, and bodies built for sin. I, on the other hand, craved the innocent ones… or those that pretended to be either way. Because I knew what simmered underneath their fake stoicism and cracking r

Valia’s POV The wall was already vibrating. Damian’s bed slammed repeatedly, over and over like a savage, relentless piston. The girl’s voice tore in wet, broken screams: “Fuck—Daddy—yes—give me that cock—I’m squirting again—oh my God—” Every filthy detail soaked into my skin. The wet squelch, the slap of skin, her desperate little gushes echoing through the thin plaster like it was happening right here in Hurst’s room. I was curled on the far side of his mattress, knees tucked, back to him, pretending the dark hid how badly my body was betraying me. Pretending I wasn’t soaking wet thinking about another person too. How that monster had stretched my throat raw earlier. How thick it felt sliding over my tongue. How much thicker it would feel splitting my pussy open… ruining me, stretching me past what Damian ever could. My hand shoved between my thighs before I could stop myself. Panties yanked aside, I plunged two fingers straight into my soaked cunt, and fucked myself h

Valia’s POV Janette Dimitrov stood on the doorstep like she’d stepped straight out of a campus brochure. President of the Literature Club. Straight-A student. Daughter of professors. She was the kind of girl who quoted Austen in casual conversation and wore her intelligence like armor. Today, she wore a crisp white button-up tucked into a charcoal pencil skirt that hugged her hips. The fabric pulled tight across her ass when she shifted her weight. The top two buttons strained against the swell of her breasts… modest on campus, obscene up close. She looked innocent. Untouchable. “Hi, Valia,” she said, voice soft and polite. “Is Hurst around?” I opened the door wider, throat dry. “Yeah. Come in.” Before I could step aside, Hurst appeared behind me, close enough that his hips brushed my ass as he leaned past to greet her. “Hey, baby,” he murmured, cupping Janette’s jaw and kissing her slow, tongue visible for one filthy second. Janette sighed into it, soft, needy,

Hurst’s POV The guest room was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the soft sound of Mrs. Morales’ breathing. She lay face-down on the massage table, completely relaxed. A single white towel covered her ass, leaving the smooth expanse of her back bare. Her dark hair spilled over one shoulder, and even from this angle I could see the heavy curve of her breasts pressed against the padded surface. Soft, full, womanly in a way that made my cock twitch the moment I closed the door behind me. “Thank you for doing this, Valia,” she murmured without turning her head, voice already drowsy with relief. “My back’s been killing me for weeks.” I didn’t correct her. I stepped closer, pouring warm oil into my palms. “Just relax. I’ve got you” I thought to myself. Starting at her shoulders, I pressed my thumbs in slow, deep circles, working out the tight knots I found there. She let out a long, grateful sigh that went straight to my dick. “Oh… that already feels

BOOK 2: CORRUPTING THE BROOK SISTER'S Natalie’s POV All I needed was one more day. One more performance where that fat, useless slob of a husband pretended to be the responsible, doting CEO the city believed he was. Show up to my inauguration ceremony, smile for the cameras, and kiss me on the cheek like we actually meant something after six miserable years of marriage. Instead, like always, he chose to humiliate me. Seven texts and eight missed calls later… still nothing. I tossed my phone onto the backseat and gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white. The speedometer needle climbed higher — 140… 145… well past the limit. A foreign feel even for a police officer. Scratch that — Chief of Police now. The city lights blurred into streaks as I pushed the car faster, trying to outrun the rage boiling in my chest. “SunnyVale Estate in fifty meters.” I killed the navigation with a sharp jab. I didn’t want to go home. Not tonight. The road stretch