Devotion Steamy Short Stories & Novels

Despite my parents' objections, I stay by Julian Grant's side for ten years. He goes from having nothing to building his own empire. The moment it's time to fulfill our ten-year promise, I proudly tell my parents I'm going to marry him. But then, he gives the vice president position meant for me to another woman. I confront him only to overhear a woman's hesitant voice behind the door. "Mr. Grant... you gave me the VP role, but what about Ms. Jones? Aren't you two getting married?" Julian's tone is cold and sharp, though his face is calm and unaffected. "Noelle's been with me for ten years. Who else would even want her? Relax—she won't dare make a scene." The words hit me like a slap to the face. Without another word, I turn and make a call to my arranged marriage contact. "Are you free?" I ask. "Let's get married."

I first met Kai Valentine at the basketball court when I was ten years old. Kai was taller, louder, and faster than me. And from that day on, Kai became my best friend, my safe place. But then my parents passed away, and my family went bankrupt. After that, we weren't best friends anymore. We were just two strangers living in completely different worlds. Then, Kai starts "stealing" from me. He manages to steal every single girlfriend I've ever had. The day he steals my eighth girlfriend, I finally break. That's when I decide to fight back and get myself a boyfriend instead. That's right; I'm going to pretend to be gay! Let's see how he plans to steal this one. However, I never thought that my actions would make Kai go absolutely berserk. That night, Kai presses me against a dim corner in the stairwell. His fists slam into the concrete wall, his breath hot against my cheek. "If even he can be your boyfriend," he grits out, "then why can't I?" I laugh. "Are you out of your mind?" Kai just keeps pressing closer, his scorching gaze burning into me as his lips inch closer until he is just a breath away. "Do you still not get it?" Something hot and erect presses up against me. He then growls softly in my ear. "I never wanted to steal any of your girlfriends. The only person I ever wanted was you, Aiden Winston!"

At a concert, I went wild, shouting at the top idol on stage, “Tony Townsend, spray on my face!” That night, my brother had me pinned against the ancestral altar, a ruler pressing down on the back of my neck. “Lift your head. Tell me, what did you want that idol to do to you?” Later, he shoved me down onto the mattress, his fingertips grinding against my swollen lips. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

I'm a killer who accidentally sleeps with a mafia boss twice. The first time, I walk away without saying anything, leaving behind nothing but a note and a bank card. "Fantastic night. Thanks." The second time, he lands himself at the top of the killer hit list and has a sky-high bounty placed on him. Later, he traps me in his room as I fade in and out of consciousness, drowning in his presence. He holds my hand and aims my gun at himself with a chuckle. "You're shaking so badly. Can you even keep your gun steady?"

My dad called me right after I got paid. He said my little brother needed money for school, Grandma had medical bills, and there was still the rent, water, and electricity. Then, at the end of the call, he admitted he’d lost money gambling. I sat in the security booth, rubbing my bad leg, completely lost for what to do. A car horn blared, and I quickly raised the security bar. Just one look and you could tell how expensive the car was. It belonged to the boss, who had a thing for amputees. Damn it.

Waking up hungover next to my arch-nemesis – the city's most notorious fuckboy? Worst. Morning. Ever. I handled the walk of shame with icy dignity, but fate had a bigger curveball: one month later, two pink lines. My baby. My rules. His involvement? Zero. My flawless plan hit a snag when morning sickness ambushed me in the office restroom. He walked in. His eyes locked onto my still-flat stomach, darkening with something dangerous. Before I could blink, he had me pinned against the cold tile wall. "Who's the father?" he growled. I met his glare with a frosty smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know? Definitely not you." Then it happened: a hot tear hit my neck. His voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Don't... don't leave me. Please." Me: ...Dude. Seriously? THIS IS YOURS!

My husband Preston smashed up the solo art show I'd spent three years building for Vivian, the poor girl we had sponsored through college. "Chloe! What the hell did you send Vivian?!" "She read your goddamn text and suffered a depressive episode! She nearly jumped off the rooftop!" I looked at his furious face and the whole thing struck me as absurd. "Preston. What exactly did I send? I told her that today was the opening of my show and asked her not to call you during it." "She's sick! Why do you have to make every little thing a fight! If anything happens to her because of you — I'll never forgive you." With that, he didn't even glance at me. He turned and bolted back out into the storm. I didn't cry. I didn't even have the energy to be furious. I turned to leave, but in the rain, I ran into Rowan—a classmate from college. He used to be the most popular guy at our school — sweet and hot. But now he was severely injured. The torrential rain had soaked his shirt, revealing his perfect abs beneath. Without hesitation, I took him back to my apartment. Preston showed up pounding on the door, eyes red with rage. "Chloe — I'm gone for an hour and you drag some guy off the street into our bed?" I sneered and stepped in front of Rowan. "If you can play free therapist to some other woman, why can't I try being a philanthropist?"

I married my Don husband, Ethan Solas, because of a family arrangement. What he didn’t know was that I’d harbored a long crush on him. He, on the other hand, had never sparked any interest in me. Today marked our third anniversary. After our usual, mechanical lovemaking, Ethan rolled onto his back, leaving me staring at the ceiling. He always treated it like a duty, nothing more. Then a sudden, intrusive voice pierced my mind: “Did Vivian reach her climax? Did I do well? Is it too soon for a second round? Am I desperate? She smells so good…I just want to devour her.” I froze, eyes turned and locked on Ethan’s bare back. Had I imagined it? Or had my icy, distant husband just confessed his wild, obsessive desire for me?

I fell in love with a mysterious stranger online. Morpheus. For three months, I’ve fallen asleep blushing at his blunt, dirty texts. "Can you feel how much I crave you, sweetie?" "I saw you in my dreams again last night. Writhing beneath me, screaming my name." I was finally ready to ask him to meet. Then he sent a photo. Just a casual shot of his desk. But right in the center sat an ancient book. Stamped on the cover was a crest I knew all too well: the Ouroboros of the Valerius vampire clan. And I happened to work at the exact museum where the Valerius clan stores their immortal relics. For three whole months, I had been sexting an immortal predator. A vampire who was probably watching me from the shadows every single day. While my brain was spinning, trying to piece together his face, my eyes landed on it. The custom blood-garnet signet ring I had helped "Morpheus" design... was currently gleaming on the finger of my boss, Alistair.

I was arranged to marry the Mafia Don Silas Monroe. I thought our marriage would be cold and boring. Instead, after the wedding, he became impossible to resist—distant and unreadable by day, but heated and possessive by night. I thought that secret side of him belonged only to me. Until one night, while his mouth was on my skin, a man with my husband’s exact face stepped into the room. The man behind me only smiled against my shoulder. “Be quiet, Anna. You wouldn’t want Silas to find out you’re sleeping with his brother, would you?” That was when I realized the man in my bed was never my husband. It was his twin brother, Eric Monroe.

For three months, the same steamy dream has haunted my nights. There's always a tall, faceless man. Every time, he kisses every inch of me. Heat pools in my belly, making me tremble until I shatter. I always wake up gasping, heart pounding. Staring at the damp sheets, I'd pathetically tell myself I was just touch-starved. Craving release. But last night, he spoke. His voice was deep, thick with desire. "I wish I could hold you for real. Be inside you. My little star. Let's meet. In the Eternal City. Please?" I froze. He's in the Eternal City? He's real?! I wanted to ask how to find him, but the dream shifted. Suddenly, I was seeing through his eyes. I saw him leaning against a lavish bed, his right hand sliding down to grip his hard length. My pulse raced. Then, I saw it. Carved into the bedpost was a pomegranate crest. My heart stopped. The Night House. The absolute rulers of the Eternal City. Descendants of the Underworld God. Mortals didn't cross them. And me? I was just a newly appointed court astrologer working for them. I couldn't afford to offend a single one of them.

I had been living in my new apartment complex for less than a week. For the past few days, strange packages had been showing up at my door. Every time I opened one, I found another kind of "toy" inside. There were vibrating toys, remote-controlled devices, and even realistic adult toys. You name it, they sent it. Sure, I had a weakness for that kind of thing, but I hadn't ordered anything lately. As I tried to figure out what was going on, a friend request popped up on my phone. The moment I accepted it, a video came through. A man's long fingers toyed with a flesh-pink dildo. His deep voice was full of teasing amusement. "Can that basic toy really satisfy your insatiable mouth? Why don't I train you instead?" My face burned with humiliation and anger. I forced myself to stay calm and typed back. "Sir, if you keep harassing me, I'm calling the police." He clearly didn't care. Instead, he sent me another video. A flushed woman sat on a couch, gripping a dildo as she moaned with pleasure. I froze. That was me. The footage had come from my own security camera! That bastard had hacked my camera and stolen a video of me masturbating. Before I could recover from the shock, my phone rang. It was him. His deep voice carried a lazy hint of amusement as he said, "Tomorrow night at eleven sharp, your training begins."