Connie Kline

When I'm on the verge of dying, the kidnapper who has kidnapped me calls my fiance, Connor Weston, who's also the youngest patrol officer in the pack. The call goes through, only for us to hear Connor's voice, which is filled with suppressed rage. "Sylvia Kline, I'll give you three seconds to stop bothering me. Vivian's initiation ceremony will take place at night three days later. If you dare pull off another one of your tricks again—" "Connor…" Blood gushes out of my mouth as soon as I open it. My voice is so hoarse that I don't sound like myself at all. "Save… me…" "Your acting's pretty good," Connor cuts me off, his tone filled with disdain. "Listen, if you dare skip out on the ceremony and embarrass me in front of the entire pack, you can forget about going home." After that, the line goes dead. In the end, I die from mutilation. It's fine, Connor. I can't go home for real this time.

I fall for Asher Kline, the son of Mom and Dad's sworn enemy, and chase him for three years. When we finally start dating, our private life becomes full of debauchery. From tents and luxury cars to lounges and studies, any place that offers privacy and a thrill becomes ours. We push into every advanced position we can manage, filming plenty of steamy videos along the way. Then one day, I overhear him chatting with his best friend. "Aren't you taking it too far, using Rhea to get back at her parents? Maybe you should drop it and find another way." "No. I'm sticking with it. When the time comes, I'll leak those videos of us. Those two old farts will be so furious that they'll choke on their own rage. That's exactly what I want." "But you've been with her so long. Don't you feel anything for her?" "No. I only approached her to get revenge and destroy her family's company." I'm crushed when I realize his so-called love is filled with nothing but payback and scheming. But when I walk away and am about to marry someone else, he falls apart and begs me to forgive him.

Noah Kline is the picture of daytime purity. He is a shy philosophy student who wears glasses and shrinks under Dr. Alexander Elliott's piercing gray stare during ethics lectures. His heart races as he imagines those commanding hands bending him over the podium. At night, he turns into Nyx, the club's dirtiest pole dancer. His body is oiled and shining, his hips grind against steel in a way that makes cocks throb below. He drops into a slow, dirty split that makes cocks throb below. With his thighs spread wide around the pole, he rolls his pelvis in wet, teasing circles. His thong is soaked and clinging to his leaking erection while men stuff hundreds into his garter and fingers graze his balls. When Noah needs money for school, he gets a private VIP gig. He climbs the pole in a tiny thong and a glittering harness. He bends back and slides his fingers inside the waistband to tease his own hole on stage, moaning softly as the crowd cheers. Then the lights catch a familiar face: Professor Elliott, coming out of the shadows, his suit clean and his eyes black with wild hunger. Elliott rushes onto the stage and slams Noah's chest against the cold pole. "Daytime little mouse can't meet my eyes," he growls, shoving his knee between Noah's thighs to rub against his sore cock. "But here you are, dripping and begging strangers to break this tight hole?" Rough hands pull the harness aside, and Elliott's fingers go between Noah's cheeks, circling his entrance before pushing two thick fingers inside and curling them to hit his prostate hard.