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"You wanna gеt fuckеd likе a good girl?” I askеd, voicе low. Shе smilеd. “I’m not a good girl.” I growlеd. “No. You’rе not.” Shе gaspеd as I slammеd into hеr in onе thrust, burying mysеlf all thе way. “Damian—!” I covеrеd hеr mouth with my hand. “Bе quiеt,” I hissеd in hеr еar. “You don’t want Mommy to hеar, do you?” Hеr еyеs widеnеd. I pullеd out slow—thеn slammеd back in hard. Shе moanеd against my hand. “God, you’rе so tight,” I groanеd. “You wеrе madе for this cock.” Hеr lеgs wrappеd around mе, pulling mе dееpеr. I prеssеd my hand hardеr against hеr mouth, muffling thе sounds of hеr criеs as I thrust into hеr again and again. Thе bеd crеakеd. Hеr body shook. “Thought I wouldn’t find out you wеrе a littlе slut for mе,” I growlеd. “Kissing mе. Riding my facе. Acting so damn innocеnt.” *** Naked Pages is a compilation of thrilling, heart throbbing erotica short stories that would keep you at the edge in anticipation for more. It's loaded with forbidden romance, domineering men, naughty and sex female leads that leaves you aching for release. From forbidden trysts to irresistible strangers. Every one holds desires, buried deep in the hearts to be treated like a slave or be called daddy! And in this collection, all your nasty fantasies would be unraveled. It would be an escape to the 9th heavens while you beg and plead for more like a good girl. This erotica compilation is overflowing with scandalous scenes ! It's intended only for adults over the age of 18! And all characters are over the age of 18.

She spent three years faking moans for a boyfriend who never made her come. One night, one stranger in a mask, and she finally learns what it means to be wrecked against a wall. But when the mask comes off? He’s her professor. And he’s not done teaching her.

All I wanted was a one-night stand with a random guy, just to get back at my boyfriend, who had insulted me for never being able to feel anything with him. So, I left Brooklyn with my best friend, Ashley, to spend spring break in Cabo. The deal was simple: have fun like a normal young adult and hook up with any guy... just to prove a point. I ended up in the bed of a man with the most mesmerizing eyes I’d ever seen—a man I knew absolutely nothing about. He pleased me in ways I didn’t think were possible. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered brush of his hands against my skin ignited a hunger I never knew I had. But when I woke up the next morning, the stranger was gone. I thought it was just a forgotten one-night stand, someone I’d never see again. Until I found out he was my new statistics professor. It was supposed to be one meaningless night, but now I crave him in ways I never knew were possible. Even knowing he could be my downfall, I still want him. Still crave him. Still want him to ruin me in whatever way he desires.

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

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For three years, I worked for my coworkers for free—designing, covering for their mistakes, cleaning up their messes. They used my work to get promoted, to win awards, even to run side jobs on the sly, and I never took a cent for any of it. Then I single-handedly landed the hardest client project the company had ever taken on and walked away with a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus. That was the day everyone lost their minds. The same people who'd leeched off me the hardest led the charge, cornering me at my desk and tearing into me in front of the whole office. "The whole concept for that project was a team effort. What gives you the right to keep the bonus for yourself?" "Your work has always been garbage. That free labor of yours was never worth anything anyway!" Worse, they spent the whole night digging up old grievances, stitching together every minor slip-up they could find, and spreading rumors through the entire company—that I'd stalled projects, that my work was worthless, that I'd tanked the department's numbers. Finally, they gave me an ultimatum. "Either split the entire bonus with the department, or pay us two hundred thousand dollars for our trouble. Take your pick." Even the department manager tried to smooth things over, telling me, "We're all colleagues here. You've already got a big bonus—taking a small loss won't kill you. Don't be so difficult about it." Wonderful. So three years of quietly covering for everyone had just produced a pack of lazy, credit-stealing backstabbers. Since they wanted to gang up on the one person who'd always played fair, fine. I was going to lay out three years of original files, timestamps, and proof of exactly who'd done the work—all of it, all at once. And what none of them knew was that the special project behind my bonus was an AI system built to replace every single one of them.