How Can I Help My Toddler Quiet Down Before Bedtime?

JOSIE FRANK PRESENTS EXCLUSIVELY “WET DREAMS” A DARK EROTICA ANTHOLOGICAL SERIES This is not a sweet romance Story.. This is not a gentle fantasy either! Wet Dreams is a dark erotica collection written by Josie Frank, the very first and only original WET DREAMS SERIES on Goodnovel, it’s created for readers who crave obsession, power, mystery, and desire that borders on dangerous. These stories dive headfirst into lust-driven encounters where restraint snaps, boundaries blur, and attraction turns feral and possessive. Each chapter of this anthology delivers a new fantasy one so intense, indulgent, and deliberately messy that will leave you wet and panting. From forbidden tension between adults who should know better, to secret affairs that spiral into fixation, obsession, to dominant men, daddy’s, brothers best friend, who do not just want the heroine.. They claim her! Possessive, alpha leads, Untouched heroines pulled into temptation, mafia brides in arranged marriages, Power and heavy dynamics, control, surrender, and obsession. This Insta-lust anthology is one that turns addictive, each chapter holds a different story filled with depth, background, and Fantasies. This story gives us the chance to indulge and sneak a glimpse at that kink you feel so deeply curious about one that start in the mind and refuse to stay there. This collection does not pretend to be polite, cause it’s not meant to be. It is hot, dirty, filthy, and written to awaken the desires you usually keep buried. The kind you think about when the lights are off. The kind that linger long after you close the app. This book is 18+ and contains mature themes, dark elements, and power-based relationships. So If you’re looking for something tamer turn back now but If you want indulgence without apology… Welcome, because things are about to get messy.

That night was supposed to belong to Mia. She had spent a month practicing for her first piano recital. I had cooked all afternoon, set the table, and helped her into the pale blue dress Luca loved. She stood beside the piano, cheeks flushed, fingers trembling with excitement. Then Luca's phone rang. Vivienne was spiraling again. After Luca's older brother died, his widow never really came back from it. On her worst nights, she forgot the difference between the dead husband she had lost and the brother-in-law who kept showing up to save her. And Luca always showed up. Every time Vivienne broke, he left us behind. Every time he came home, he brought apologies, pretty gifts, and promises for next time. And every time, I believed him. Until that night. Before he could make another excuse, I placed the divorce papers in front of him. He signed without reading them, then touched my shoulder like he was the one being generous. "When this is over, I'll make it up to you," he said. "You, me, and Mia. The Maldives. No calls. No interruptions." Then he kissed our daughter's hair and walked out before she played a single note. What Luca didn't know was that Mia's passport was already packed. So was the little suitcase under her bed. I was done waiting for a man who only loved us when no one else needed him. This time, he could come home to an empty house.

As Christmas drew near, my little sister claimed she’d seen Santa Claus in the house. “He had four legs, real long, like dead branches. He crawled on the floor like a dog. His mouth was full of teeth, and I saw him with my own eyes, climbing out of the chimney. His bones were making this clicking, clacking sound.” The Santa she described was nothing like the legends. My parents and I thought it was just her imagination. Until I posted about it online. A user named “NocturneNotes” insisted my sister wasn’t lying, and that the thing was dangerous. Panicked, I asked him what we should do. He gave me three rules: “On Christmas Eve, from 11:30 PM to 2:00 AM, the entire family must ‘sleep’ by the Christmas tree.” “You can’t actually fall asleep, or you’ll die in your sleep.” “No matter what you hear or feel, you absolutely cannot open your eyes or stop pretending to be asleep. Once it hits 2:00 AM, it will leave on its own.”

My dad always calls me a lazy bum. It is because I often fall asleep without warning. I sleep in class, while eating, and even while crossing the street. My homeroom teacher, Yvonne Smith, suggests that he take me to a hospital for an examination. But Dad scoffs and says, "He's just staying up all night playing on his phone." After that, he confiscates my phone and removes the lock from my bedroom door. Every time I get sleepy, he slaps me. I don't want to be hit, and I don't want to make Dad angry. So, I start pinching my thighs, pulling out my hair, and even rubbing hand sanitizer spray under my nose to stay awake. But whenever the overwhelming drowsiness hits, nothing can stop it. On the day of the final exams, Dad happens to be one of the invigilators. I bite my lip until it bleeds and silently beg myself inwardly, "Just this once, please stay awake." Still, I fail to fight off the sleepiness. Suddenly, someone flips over my desk. The chair tips with it, and I crash to the floor. My temple slams into the corner of the desk, and darkness instantly floods my vision. Dad stands over me, furious and disappointed. "Zach Davies, are you really so obsessed with sleeping that you don't even care about your final exams? If you're that lazy, then stay down there and keep sleeping!" I lie sprawled across my exam paper as my vision slowly fades away. Dad, I think I am going to sleep for a very long time…

. "Shhh, Daddy won't know," Lucas whispered, his hands tracing my thighs as the silk of my robe slid away. My husband bought the robe, but it was his son's touch that made me tremble. "Stop... Stop, Lucas," I said, but my body betrayed me, already dripping with a need I'd buried for years. I was about to make out with a 23-year-old boy, in the home his father paid for. The air was thick with secrets, my guilt a sharp perfume beneath his clean, dangerous scent. This wasn't fixing him anymore. This was him breaking me open, and God help me, I was begging for the crash.

"Mommy, you have to be the first person to come pick me up, okay?" These are my daughter Dorothy Grant's final words to me when she walked me out of the house this morning. But when I stand at the kindergarten's entrance with a box of Dorothy's favorite strawberry shortcake in my hands, the security guard just stares at me as though I lost my mind. "Ma'am, this place might be where Sunflower Kindergarten is located, but it has already closed its doors for three years. This place is now a retirement home." I rush into the "kindergarten" instantly. The spot where the slide used to be is now replaced by a row of flowerbeds. The room that used to be the classroom now hosts a bunch of elderly people, who bask in the sunlight. With trembling hands, I call my husband, Chester Grant, on the phone. He sounds very exasperated and exhausted over the phone. "Honey, we've been married for five years, and we choose to be childless. You've never given birth before."