Brazilian Wax Terdekat

after loosing twenty men to an unknown attacker in the Amazon rain forest, Brazil calls on U.S.A to help with investigations as to what is going on in the forest. a U.S infantry unit of seven strong men, are deployed into the forest to investigate the matter and bring back information regarding the attack on the Brazilian military. their mission becomes impossible as they loose communication and are now on their own in the rain forest with no idea of what awaits them. With no report from the first team, U.S.A sends in another team to extract the first team within two weeks, ignorant of the fact that what they will face will become a world problem that would make the world question America's action. little does anyone know that what will happen yo the U.S and her President is as a result of a twelve year revenge plot perpetrated by a very powerful player.

THIS BOOK CONTAINS RAW, STEAMY, AND EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT. IF YOU'RE NOT 18+, PLEASE ABSTAIN. When Shemika accidentally kills her brother‑in‑law during a four‑hour, drug‑laced BDSM session on the night of her sister’s funeral, she flees and was hit by a car. The driver turns out to be the smooth‑talking ex‑convict everybody calls Bishop, manager of the ultra‑exclusive nightclub known as Wet Nights. He carries her to the club’s secret hospital beneath the dance floor for her to recover.  To dodge arrest, Shemika begs for a job at the club. After a shocking demonstration of wax play, orgasm denial, and bondage, she signs a blood‑ink contract and becomes property of Wet Nights. She was taken to the performers’ 14‑storey dorm, known as the Crimson House where all the performers (employees) at Wet Nights stays. The house is managed by the predatory house‑manager known as Sinner—he fucks every newbie in the house as part of their onboarding session. On her first night, Shemika is bullied to parade naked through all fourteen floors, but the funny bisexual icon Jax steps in and helps her. Soon Shemika teams up with two dancers namely; Synn, the ice‑cold top performer, and Lexi, whose real purpose is finding her sister who vanished while working at the club. But some doors in Wet Nights stay locked for a reason…

After working abroad for several years, I returned home, only to have my parents arrange a blind date for me. He was tall and strikingly handsome, honest in character, steady in demeanor, and came from an excellent family background. In short, the perfect candidate for a husband. I told myself that sooner or later, marriage was inevitable, so I settled on him. The day before the wedding, I went to the church—only to be stunned by the sight before me. The entire place had been transformed into something sinister and grotesque. The walls were plastered with terrifying photos of corpses, the floor littered with wax figures of severed arms and legs, and even the flowers had been dyed black, dripping with blood-red stains. But the most infuriating part was the image hanging right at the center of the church—an AI-generated picture of me, pinned beneath my fiancé, as he whipped me. My whole body trembled with fury. I stormed at the staff still working on the decorations, ordering them to stop immediately. Just then, his best friend, Nina Cullen, walked in. "Don't stop. Yves prefers this wedding style." I froze, staring at her in disbelief. "How is that possible? Who in their right mind would decorate something as joyous as a wedding with gore? This is insane!" Nina only gave a cold, arrogant laugh. "That's the theme. If you want to marry him, you'll have to accept it." Speechless, I immediately called Yves. "Yves, I'm not interested in getting married in a haunted house. You'd better restore the church to normal; otherwise, this wedding is off."

My husband, Joaquin Landon, is a renowned wax sculptor. He hangs up on me when I call him to save my life so he can focus on the wax sculpture his cousin wants. Amphetamine is injected into my system, so my mind is clear as I watch my nails get removed one by one. Every inch of my skin is covered in burning hot wax. My hair and lashes are plucked off, and my organs are ground. Steel pipes are inserted into my legs, and I'm turned into a wax sculpture. Joaquin sees me during an exhibition. His colleague tells him that the wax sculpture he sees looks eerily like me, but he merely looks disgusted. "All she does is cause trouble and act unreasonably. She's better off dead." What he doesn't know is that I already am. Joaquin doesn't recognize that I'm the wax sculpture before him.

Helaine Fairgrieve wasn't sure what to do when her rent was raised suddenly, until her long time acquaintance, Evan DuRosier, offered her a solution that would benefit the both of them. Helaine travels to his apartment in the less than reputable art district of the city to indulge his less than conventional desires, only to learn that he's keeping a dark secret. She's has never been in handcuffs before, much less bound and suspended from a man's ceiling while he pours hot wax on her sensitive skin. She isn't sure what's more frightening, the knife gliding across her skin, or the fact that she loves every pulse-pounding second of it. BDSM is normally based on a foundation of trust; lacking that, Evan and Helaine's relationship begins as something of a transactional nature, until she discovers that his lust for blood is more than just a fetish. What will she do when she discovers the truth about his Vampirism?

Blurb. The candle tilted in his hand, a drop of wax falling onto her breast. She gasped, arching, but he held her down with a firm grip on her hip. “Too much?” he asked, his lips brushing her ear. Her breath shook. “No…” Another drop slid lower. She whimpered, thighs pressing together. “Open for me,” he said, voice low but steady. She obeyed, shivering. “Luca…” He smirked, dragging his tongue over the hardened wax. “Not Luca.” She tried so hard not to say the words, but the wax kept on dropping on her skin, his touch against her body was nothing to write home about. Her cheeks flushed. “Daddy…” “That’s better,” he whispered, another drop marking her skin. “Say it again.” Her nails dug into his shoulders as she moaned. “Daddy.” ****** She's 21 and he's 39. Sold at an auction, Mirabelle never expected her buyer to be Luca DeLuca—the most feared mafia heir in the country. Luca had bought her for a different reason, but didn't imagine he'd keep her. Their marriage was supposed to be a lie, a deal for power and just to deceive his father. But his touch burns, his jealousy cuts deep, and every night with him pulls her closer to danger and to a love she swore she’d never feel.