Blesiv Grinding Edits Novels & Stories

Emelia's home from college and she's done pretending to be a good girl. The second her mother's car pulls out of the driveway for a two-hour appointment, the bratty little tease makes her move. Wearing nothing but a soaked black thong, she struts into the living room, tits bouncing, and plants herself right between her stepdad Marcus's legs. "Tick-tock, Daddy," she purrs, slowly peeling the thong down her thighs so he can see how obscenely wet her tight pussy already is. "Mom's gone for two hours... but I only need fifteen minutes to climb on that thick married cock and ride you like a desperate little slut." Marcus tries to resist. He really does. But Emelia just smirks, spreads her legs, and starts rubbing her dripping cunt against the massive bulge in his pants. "I've been dreaming about this for months," she whispers, grinding harder. "I want you to stretch me open, Daddy. I want you to ruin my pussy and pump me so full of your hot cum that it's still leaking out when Mom kisses me hello later." She leans in, biting her lip with pure brat energy. "So what's it going to be? Are you going to be a good stepdad and send me to my room... or are you finally going to let your filthy stepdaughter bounce on your cock cowgirl style and beg you to breed me before she gets back?" Because Emelia isn't leaving until she gets exactly what she wants a deep, raw, creampie from the one man who's supposed to protect her. Some lines should never be crossed. Emelia's about to ride right over them.

CONTENT WARNING. EROTICA ROMANCE: RATED 18+. "Tell me," he said. "Tell me what you want..." My senses were reeling, my body jerking against his hand. "I want you to fuck me," I said. "I want your gorgeous fucking cock in me..." "Nice," he smiled against my cheek. "More..." My voice was just a whisper. "I want to feel you inside... I want you to fuck me, hard... I want you to take my ass, and make me fucking squeal..." "You want to be stretched, little girl? Is that what you fucking want?" Oh fuck, my clit was clanging like a church bell. "Yes... Oh, fuck, please... I want you to stretch me..." "Gonna open you up so fucking wide," he growled. "Gonna take your fucking cunt with two fat cocks, stretch you nice and fucking big... two big fucking dicks in your sweet little pussy... gonna feel so fucking dirty... gonna feel so fucking tight..." "Yes..." "Wanna see inside you... into your pink fucking hole..." "Yes..." "Gonna make you wet... make you stretch... make you fucking gape for me..." The heel of his palm was so hard against my clit. "Fuck..." I ran my fingers down his chest, over his abs, until I found the swell in his pants. I squeezed him through his jeans. "Fuck me..." "I fucking shouldn't..." he groaned. "Fuck..." But he was grinding against my hand, moving over me. "Just a quick one. Hard and fast. Please..." "I can't..." he said. "I can't..."

Raven Academy claws three primal laws into every shifter's soul: 1. Never deceive an Alpha. 2. Never hunger for an Alpha. 3. Never let Jason Voss inhale your desperate scent. I demolished them all in a fevered rush. One forged assignment, hidden in shadows. His silver gaze pierced through, summoning me to his den. "Exile yourself," he snarled, voice like velvet-wrapped steel, his alpha presence coiling around me, thick with dominance. I collapsed to my knees, pulse thundering, body betraying me with heat. "I'll do anything," I whispered, voice raw, eyes locked on his sculpted form—the godlike alpha every wolf in the academy craved, their fantasies paling against his brutal reality. He didn't smile. He claimed. Now, nights devour me in his sealed lair. His forbidden pupil, spread open for lessons in sin. He unravels me with calloused hands mapping my skin, tongue tracing veins, cock demanding surrender. First lesson: my shattered moans as he pins me to the desk, thrusting mercilessly, his knot swelling to lock us in ecstasy's vise, flooding me until I drip with his essence. Second: the burn of his fangs sinking into my neck mid-fuck, his hips grinding deeper, growling "Mine" like a curse that brands my wolf's core. Third: orgasms ripping through me untouched, his fist twisting my hair, breath hot as he hisses, "My thieving slut, begging for every inch." He etches ownership in flesh: Purple blooms from his grip. Claiming scars pulsing with heat. His release slick between my thighs during sunlit classes, a secret torment that has me aching for more. The pack still worships untouchable Jason Voss from afar, drooling over his lethal beauty. Blind to his mate. Me. Broken. Addicted. Praying this dark bliss never ends. Salvation? I'd claw it apart for one more bite.

I couldn’t cum ,not once in two years with him nor with someone. Then Sophie,my best friend….slid a card across the table. Dr. Vincent Kane; Specialist in women’s sexual dysfunction. The man who could fix what felt permanently broken. She didn’t mention he was her ex-husband Or that his “program” meant thirty locked days at his private estate. No sterile exam rooms, Just silk-draped suites, candlelit treatment spaces, and a discreet staff who vanished when he entered. In our first session he asked me to undress behind a screen and i did. When I stepped out in the thin robe, his gaze dragged down my body,slow, deliberate,before snapping back to my face. His throat worked. “Lie back,” he said, voice rougher than the day before. His gloved fingers parted with me for the exam. Clinical and professional until they lingered, circling my clit with the lightest pressure, testing responses I didn’t know I had. My hips jerked. A gasp tore from my throat. He froze, knuckles white on the table edge, breathing hard through his nose. He didn’t stop….Night after night the sessions grew bolder. His mouth replaced fingers, tongue stroking in slow, deliberate circles until my thighs shook and my back bowed off the massage table. When I finally shattered, clenching, crying out, soaking his chin, he pulled back, lips glistening, eyes black with something feral. He pinned my wrists above my head one evening, cock hard against my thigh through his trousers. “This is still therapy,” he growled, grinding once, twice. “Tell me to stop.” I arched into him instead, nails digging into his shoulders. My ex is threatening to leak photos, ruin us... Sophie keeps texting: How’s the retreat? He’s helping, right?