Who Wrote 'I Was His Bed Comp'?

He swore he loved me. He swore I was his forever. But when the spotlight came, my fiancé chose my sister instead. While they celebrated their engagement under my father’s proud gaze, I drowned in humiliation… until I made the worst—and most intoxicating—mistake of my life. I kissed him. Marcus Lucchesi. Twice my age. My ex’s father. My father’s most trusted ally. A ruthless mafia king who should have destroyed me for daring to touch him. Instead, he pulled me closer. Instead, he claimed what no man had ever touched before. Now I wake up in his bed—sore, ruined, and branded by the one man I should never want. And he’s not letting me go. ❝You begged for me, princess. Now you’re mine. Even if the whole world burns.❞ Betrayed by the son. Desired by the father. I was supposed to be invisible… but in Marcus’s bed, I’ve never been seen more clearly.

He needed sex, I was there. He needed a shoulder to cry on, I was there. He needed someone to yell at, I was available. But when I needed him the most, he neglected me. He left me to die and rot in prison. Despite the fact that Tyler Bresfort was a beast, Despite the fact that he left Aurbrey Chandler to rot and die in prison, without a care in the world. Aubrey still finds herself aching to meet his needs, Aubrey should hate him, but she just couldn't. She was involved with a Demon and no matter how hard she tries to hate him, she still finds herself, waking up in bed, sleeping next to her Demon, sleeping next to Tyler Bresfort.

"Can you feel it?" Richard breathed, his thick fingers buried deep inside my dripping pussy while his eyes locked on mine. "This greedy cunt clenching around my fingers... begging for more. You're such a desperate little slut for me." "I hate you," I gasped, even as my back arched and my pussy gushed around his hand. "No, you don't," he said, his thumb finding my clit and pressing hard. "You hate that I am the only one who makes you feel this way. You hate that I am the one who knows exactly how to ruin you." Shame and pleasure twisted inside me as he continued, his fingers relentless, finding every spot that made me shake. ****** It shouldn't have been him touching me, fucking me and making me scream in ways I never knew I could. Now, nothing could end this forbidden affair. He was the wrong man — my father-in-law —- yet the only one whose touch could make me come undone... the only one who knew exactly how to break me and put me back together. I should walk away. I should end this filthy game. But a single touch from him and whispered filthy words leave me moaning his name like I'm made for him, and beg for more.

The day before my wedding, I went to our cathedral early to get familiar with the place. Instead, I found my fiancé and my stepsister, Isabella fucking on the altar. Our altar. I caught them. He didn't even apologize and just threw me out into the storm. I collapsed in the pouring rain. That’s when he found me. Alistair, the Vampire Prince. He moved like a god through the storm. He pulled me from the mud, and gave me a palace. He told the world I was his soulmate. The one he’d spent centuries searching for. His one and only. For five years, his devotion made me the envy of the supernatural world. I thought I was the one exception in his eternal life. Until I found his secret room. My fingers brushed against an ancient scroll. The script was written in blood. The first line was her name: Isabella. Beneath it, in Alistair's own hand: “Absolute priority. Above all else.” Underneath was a healer's log I’d never seen before. A vampire's healing log. The date was from the night I found out I was pregnant. The night I was attacked by werewolves. They brought me back to the castle, covered in blood. The healers never came for me. I woke up alone. The baby was gone. Our child. His blood, my blood—gone. And my clothes were soaked in what was left of it. I cleaned every trace of it. When he came home, I broke down in his arms. I never told him. I couldn’t bear for him to feel the pain I felt. Now I understood. That same night, Isabella was also being attacked by werewolves. And Alistair’s order to his council was: “Send every healer. Isabella is the priority.” My heart stopped. Despair was a poison in my veins. “If I was never the one... then you can keep your eternity. I want no part of it.”

While her husband stayed in the hospital beside his mistress, Alessia was in his enemy’s bed—naked, breathless, and moaning his name. Alessia never planned to be the woman who used sex as revenge. But when fate shoved the truth in her face that the man she loved was sharing his heart and bed with someone else, she didn’t cry. Instead she made a plan. She walks into the office of his coldest rival, Miguel Smith, and make him an offer no man expects. “Sleep with me,” Miguel has a rule; no married women. Especially not the wife of the man he hates most. But the moment he sees Alessia, something shifts. She’s fire wrapped in ice, and one night isn’t nearly enough. Now he’s hooked—on her lips, on her body, on ruining her husband, and making her his. Again and again. And when her husband tries to crawl back into her life, Miguel makes one thing crystal clear: Alessia is his now… and he doesn’t share.

"I don't like a fresh stake," My husband said while making love with his secretary in front of me, I married him for the sake of our company but he never dare to touch me, because I'm V, and that the thing disgusts him, I run to a club because of jealousy but after I wake up, the most famous perverted and playboy businessman is naked in the same bed with me, "What the hell have I done?" I said while looking at my body.