Account Library Novels & Stories

Ava Reyes has spent four years doing what she does best — keeping her feelings exactly where they cannot do any damage. She is twenty-nine, co-owner of a thriving bakery, and hopelessly in love with the one man she has absolutely no business wanting. Marcus Calloway is her best friend's older brother — steady, brilliant, and infuriatingly easy to be near. When he left for London six years ago, Ava buried her feelings and moved on. Or did a convincing enough impression of it. Then Marcus comes home. Permanently. And he is engaged. His fiancée, Isabelle Ferreira, is a sharp London solicitor who is warm, intelligent, and impossible to resent. She has done nothing wrong. She deserves everything she has. Which makes what Ava is beginning to want all the more dangerous. Because the more Ava finds herself near Marcus — at family dinners, in stolen conversations, in the small accidental moments that keep finding them together — the more she notices things she shouldn't. The way he watches her. The way the air shifts between them when no one else is paying attention. She is not a woman who chases unavailable men. She has a conscience, and it is loud. But she is also a woman who is tired of being careful. What begins as a private war with herself slowly becomes something more deliberate. Ava doesn't set out to destroy anything. She simply sets out to make Marcus Calloway finally see her. What she doesn't account for is how much it will cost — and how deeply she will fall before she understands the difference between wanting someone and deserving them. Some fires don't care how carefully you've been living.

After transferring into an elite high school, I was bullied. However, it was not my classmates that bullied me; it was every object in the school. The private bathroom in my dorm only ran icy cold water when I showered, forcing me to trek to the public bathhouse in the dead of winter. When I begged the dorm supervisor, Mrs. Linda Mercer, to submit a repair request, she rolled her eyes and said, "The students who lived here last year never had this problem. Why is it suddenly broken when you move in?" My student ID card never worked in the library or the cafeteria. Every single time, it failed to scan, and I had to register manually. The multimedia equipment in the classroom froze whenever I touched it, dragging down the entire class schedule. I went to the teachers for help. They frowned and complained instead. "Everyone else can use it just fine. Why does it only malfunction when you do?" Even my deskmate rolled her eyes and mocked me. "You put on such a show every day. You are the only one who's so special. Are we supposed to stop studying just for you?" One strange incident after another completely isolated me at my new school. I cried and begged my parents to let me transfer again. They said, "The college entrance exam is right around the corner. Stop making trouble. Just endure it, and it will pass." I listened. I decided to grit my teeth and push through. Then, on the day of the college entrance exam, the security gate malfunctioned and started leaking electricity. Everyone else was fine. I was the only one who was electrocuted to death on the spot. Until the moment I died, I could not understand why the entire school seemed to be pushing me out. I was just a newly transferred student who had no grudges with anyone. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I arrived to register at the new school.

I slept with my husbands Beta. It was a mistake, or not? But I'm addicted. How can't I be? I am Diane Demora, Luna of the Delta Pack, but my marriage is a lie. For two years, Julian has played the perfect husband—gentle, patient, understanding. Yet every night, he leaves my bed empty. He lets me believe I'm infertile and there's no need for sex. After one final rejection, I run. I end up in a dark bar, desperate to forget. That's where I meet him—an older stranger whose touch awakens parts of me I thought had died. He claims me with a hunger I have never known, and for one reckless night, I let myself belong to him. Then everything falls apart. Hidden among pack records, I discover a medical audit. Three months after our wedding, Julian had a vasectomy. The truth shatters me. He never wanted a family. Never wanted an heir. Never wanted me. All he ever wanted was my father's throne. On my way to confront him, I uncover something worse. Hidden in the library shadows, I find my husband on his knees before a man whose face I cannot see. You think that's the worst of it. You're wrong. The nightmare peaks when Julian introduces the pack's new Beta and my personal guard: Dom Vormos. The same man from the bar. The same man who unraveled me with a single touch. The same man I can't forget. Now I'm trapped between a husband who wants me dead and a Beta who wants me far too much. But I refuse to be a victim. Julian will pay for every betrayal. And as for Dom? If claiming him is what it takes to become the worst wife this pack has ever seen, then so be it.

If the warning label could be written in red letters, it would. I'm not a soft erotic writer, so you shouldn't be a soft reader. This is a house of 50 Shades Darker Steamy Romance Compilation. ALL your taboos and kinks will be fulfilled in these 1k short stories. First five stories. 1 Marry Your Daddy & Be Your Stepmom: When the thoughts, words, and touch of your boyfriend's dad gives you real orgasms, sinning is just as sweet. 2 My Gangster Masters: Though married, you're sent to the BDSM club to hunt the notorious triplet criminals. The operation is over, but your body still aches to submit to them one more time. 3 The Church Boy Is Gay: He's more innocent than a nerd. Haven't impregnated any girl. So you make him your role model until you're trapped in a room with him and the lights go off. 4 Creampied in a crowded subway: What’s discomfort in a crowded subway when you can have a stranger’s big black cock slide beneath your dress and rub your pussy till you're wet and dripping? It gets spicier, he slips into your right cotton panties and creampies you. And when you wear jeans, his huge palm breaks your button, goes down below, rubbing your clit and finger-fucking you till you become his all your subway journey. Forever. 5 My Masked Psycho: You have a fetish for masked men, and you're just the kind of lady he preys on. Others: Beastly Alpha. Voyeurism. You're a slave to the hot cell's Don and his Capos in a prison break. Stuck and fucked. The Bulgar's cock is your new obsession. Naked stranger in the elevator. Flash your goodies. Your maid and plumber are your new toys. Sex interviews… ***** Add to library let's hit this rocky road.

"Good evening, Mom. How was your day?" "My day was good, my love. How is yours going?" Her voice was a soothing balm against the stress of the day. "It’s... busy. My boss gave me a mountain of work to finish before tomorrow morning, so I won't be coming home tonight. I’m going to stay late and then head straight back in." "Oh, my dear," she sighed. "Just be careful. Don't get into any trouble." "I won't, Mom. Did you take your medication?" I asked, knowing how she tended to forget when I wasn't there to nag her. "Ah... I’ll take it now." "Mom, please. You need to stay strong for me." "I will, I will. I love you, Annabelle." "Love you too." After I hung up, the silence of the office felt even heavier. The lights were dimmed, except for the glow from my monitor and the soft yellow light spilling from Elias’s office. He was still in there, a silhouette of intense focus as he reviewed the project details. Suddenly, a sharp ping echoed through the quiet room. I jumped slightly, my eyes snapping to my computer screen. Unknown Email. No encrypted address. No profile picture No signature. Whoever sent this, don't want to be traced. "What is this?" I muttered, my skin crawling with a sudden, inexplicable chill. The subject line was written in bold, stark capital letters: BEFORE THE INVESTMENT. My pulse shifted into a frantic rhythm. I hesitated, my mouse hovering over the notification. When I finally clicked, my breath hitched. It wasn't just a message; it was a cache of attached documents, internal financial transfers, offshore account statements, and adjusted revenue projections. I realized instantly that these were different from the official files Elias had given me.

My friend and I married into the Castellar family together. I married the older brother, who worked in high finance. My best friend married the younger, a senior fire officer. They didn’t tell us the truth until we were both pregnant. They were vampires. We were furious. But in the end, we forgave them because we still loved them. Until that night. We were staying at a vacation cabin when the fire started after midnight. The front door sealed itself shut, locked by a spell, trapping me inside. My best friend had gone out for a walk and escaped the fire by sheer luck. A car passed by on the forest road. She ran into the headlights, begging the driver to ram the door and save me. The man said coldly, “Pay first.” Inside the cabin, blood ran down my legs and soaked the floor. I tried to transfer the money, but my account was frozen. I called my husband. He hung up three times before the call finally went through. But the voice that answered wasn’t his. It was a woman’s. Vicky sounded calm, almost amused. She said he was busy. Then she added lightly that he’d been helping her set up a subcard and had accidentally disabled mine. My best friend called her husband next. She was crying. She told him there was a fire and I was trapped. He snapped back at her. “Stop lying. I hate people who make false emergency calls. I’m with Vicky checking fire hazards in her new place. Don’t bother me.” She didn’t hesitate again. She shoved the driver out, and drove straight into the cabin. The door shattered. She dragged me out with her bare hands. We lost our babies on the way to the hospital. When I woke up,we looked at each other for a long time. “I’m getting divorced,” she said. “So am I.”

After I remarry my wife, Vivian Crowell, I decide to rent her out to other men. When her male best friend, Elliot Everhart, summons her away from me, I no longer kick up a fuss about it. Instead, I charge Vivian by the hour. The rent is 10 thousand dollars per hour during the day, whereas it'll be 20 thousand dollars per hour at night. If it's a holiday, all prices will be tripled. After running my new business for three months, I now have an additional 20 million dollars in my account. Although Vivian has promised to pick out my suit for the banquet with me, Elliot calls her and complains about how he's nicked his finger with a knife when he was cutting vegetables. I don't even bother raising my head as I hand my bank account number over to Vivian. One midnight, I suddenly suffer from a fever. When Vivian is driving me to the hospital, Elliot calls her and claims that he can't sleep due to discomfort caused by his intoxication. I merely pull out my umbrella fluently and tell Vivian to drop me off at the junction ahead. Upon noticing her hesitation, I just smile at her. "Don't forget to transfer the payment to me." On the day our son, Victor Carrington, is going for his regular follow-up appointment, Elliot calls Vivian once again. "Eleanor wants to go to the amusement park. It'll only be fun when we have a woman to accompany us there." After Vivian ends the call, she turns around and is about to crouch down to explain everything to Victor when she sees him mimicking my actions by sticking out his hand at her. "It's fine, Mommy. You can just pay us. But today's rate is the triple kind."

After getting remarried, I put my husband, Steven Graham, on the family's service roster at a rate of ten thousand dollars an hour. His childhood sweetheart, Julie Ziegler, heard about it and signed a long-term contract without a second thought. Four months later, the balance in my offshore account had climbed to nearly a million dollars. On our wedding anniversary, Steven was supposed to spend the day with me. Then Julie called. Her dog had suddenly gotten sick, and she asked him to go to her. I didn't get angry. I simply sent her an encrypted message. [Don't forget to transfer the payment on time. Late fees will be charged separately.] Later, when I had an attack of appendicitis, Steven sped through the city to take me to an underground clinic. Halfway there, the encrypted communicator rang again. Julie's voice came through the speaker. "Steven, it's raining. I forgot my umbrella. Can you come pick me up?" The car fell silent. I said nothing. I pulled a black umbrella from the hidden compartment, shoved it into his arms, unlocked the passenger door, and gestured for him to pull over. Steven looked at my pale face. The veins on the back of his hand stood out slightly. For once, he seemed reluctant. I opened the door and was immediately drenched by the rain. I turned around and said one last thing. "Just make sure she transfers the money on time." Even on our daughter Nora Graham's birthday, Julie's call hit right on schedule. "Steven, can you come with me to a kennel event tomorrow? All the family representatives are bringing dates. If I show up alone, I'll seem inadequate." Steven gripped the communicator and hesitated as he glanced at our daughter, who was placing candles on her birthday cake. Without even looking up, Nora picked up a piece of cake with her fork and said, "Dad, make sure that lady pays. Since it's a special occasion today, charge double."

My partner, Derek Crawford, calls himself a traditional man. On our tenth anniversary, I bought him a pair of his favorite AJ sneakers. Instead, he gifted me a bag of pastries. "Your cake is extremely tiny, and yet it costs you a few dozen dollars! Look at the pastries I got you—not only are they cheap, but they are also huge in quantity! Now this is what I call worth it!" After that, Derek tells me that he'll make it up to me by throwing an engagement party. He has also invited my parents and my relatives to the party. With anticipation brimming in our eyes, we arrive at the restaurant, only to see Derek serving us with store-bought pickles and dinner rolls. "I'm a traditional man, you see. I'm not used to fancy food and foreign cuisines. This, right here, is the basics of a traditional dinner. You don't see patriotic men like me nowadays!" My relatives' expressions change drastically on the spot. Meanwhile, my parents look very mortified. I can only smile awkwardly at them while doing everything I can to stop them from leaving. But as soon as I leave the hotel, I receive a notification from the bank that 200 thousand dollars have been deducted from my account via a supplementary card linked to it. At the same time, Derek's childhood sweetheart, Renee Young, posts a photo of her 12-layered luxurious cake on her social media account. "When I told Derek that I wanted to celebrate my birthday, not only did he buy me the most expensive strawberry cake, but he also reserved a dozen or so tables that are served with the grandest feast! "If your man loves you that much, he won't need any lessons in pampering you! Traditional men definitely know how to love and pamper their queens!" I tighten my grip on my phone. As I look back at Derek, who keeps claiming that he's a traditional man stuck to his traditional ways, I suddenly find it exhausting to continue being in a relationship with him.

In my previous life, my three sons told me they wanted to set up a Family Bond Fund for me. Each of them would deposit three thousand dollars every month. I cried with gratitude, truly believing that decades of sacrifice had finally paid off. One of them even said, "Mom, you've given us so much. It's our turn to take care of you now." However, eight years later, I was told I have uremia. That was when I discover that the bank card, which supposedly held the fund, couldn't even cover the dialysis deposit. Soon after, my eldest son video-called me. He said he wanted to buy a better apartment in a good school district. He was short of 150 thousand dollars for the down payment and asked if I could lend it to him first. My second son came to the hospital with his wife and daughter. He didn't ask about my condition at all. Instead, he kept showing off his daughter's piano competition trophy, hinting that he needed 50 thousand dollars to enroll her in a prestigious international piano program. My youngest son was even more straightforward. He said he had his eye on a limited-edition pair of sneakers and wanted me to pay 30 thousand dollars for them as a birthday gift. The moment they realized the bank account didn't have enough money, their faces fell. "We each put in three thousand dollars every month. Over eight years, that's at least eight hundred thousand dollars. Mom, are you hiding the money from us?" To force me to reveal my savings, they took turns pressuring me, switching between sweet talk and threats. They even told relatives that I had dementia and had been scammed out of my money. Unable to take it anymore, I yanked out my IV late one night and walked out of the hospital, only to be hit by a car, dying instantly. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the day of my hospital checkup.