D D Novels Novels & Stories

Anna’s apartment was quiet except for the ticking clock and the soft patter of rain against the window. It was just past midnight, and she sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor in an old tank top and tiny cotton shorts. Twenty-three years old, working at the dusty bookstore downtown, and tired of her boring, safe little life. No boyfriend. No excitement. Just books and fantasies that made her blush when she read them alone at night. Tonight felt different. She had found the old leather book two days ago in the basement of the store, hidden behind broken shelves. No title. Just strange symbols on the cover and thick yellow pages filled with Latin. Something about it called to her. She brought

A month of learning my body has made him devastatingly good at this. Dareth’s hand slides between my thighs and his fingers find me already soaked. He groans against my neck. “Every fucking time.” “Every fucking time,” I confirm breathlessly. He slides two fingers inside me and sets a rhythm he knows drives me crazy. Not too fast, not too slow. Just enough to build the tension without letting me fall over the edge. He’s learned my body just as well as Thane has, just in different ways. “She’s close,” Dareth observes, feeling me tighten around his fingers.

Or was she bored with him? Out of curiosity, I googled her. D.R. Macklin, bestselling erotic fiction author. The initials were so she could stay anonymous, and it was working well for her. She had a decent following online, but her personal life was totally away from the internet. Very smart. I hadn’t planned on having the slightest interaction with her, but then, this morning happened, and now, I couldn’t stop thinking about how far I could push that button. The most exhilarating thought.

The study window is dark. The blue notebook is inside. On the desk. Between the law books and the biographies. "Okay," I say. "Okay?" "Yes. I will read it." "Now?" "Now." --- We go inside. Damon walks to the study. He opens the drawer. He takes out the notebook. Blue. Leather. The pages are worn. The spine is cracked. He has read it and reread it and read it again. He hands it to me. His hands are shaking.

Story 9: The Billionaire’s Contract Wife The next morning, Aria stood naked in the master bathroom of the mansion while Damian watched her with dark satisfaction. She had woken up with his cock already inside her — he had taken her slowly in the early hours, filling her with another load before allowing her to sleep again. Now, she was showering under his watchful gaze, her body covered in faint marks from the night before: red handprints on her ass, hickeys on her breasts, and a constant ache between her legs.

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Nyra darted after, her boots crunching against the snow. “Cover me!” she called over her shoulder. He didn’t answer, because he didn’t have to. Something about her in the chaos—the way she moved, precise, confident, deadly—made him… furious. Furious that he was noticing. Furious that she was saving him. Furious that he’d rather notice her than the attackers. Noelle, of course, decided now was the perfect moment to give a commentary. “Daddy,” she yelled, “you’re getting sand in your hair!”

He just shut the door behind him and began gesturing into the room, his eyes dragging across every inch of her body. Isadora’s body quivered from within, the look in his eyes stirring up something rough and dangerous within her. But she shut it out. Because… she couldn’t be dripping or desiring him again, like he and his brother didn’t fucking ruin her body like she was theirs to greedily ravish. “So, you are into stuff like this?” Damian asked, raising the book that she was reading. It was a dark romance, and the title was enough introduction about what the book contained.

Dirty. The first touch made me shiver. "Relax," he whispered. I tried to. The first finger slid in carefully. He paused every second to read my face. I moaned softly at the feeling. "This good?" I nodded. He added another, twisting gently. My body tensed, then opened for him. I let my head fall back. "Hope you're okay?" he asked. I nodded, not trusting myself to talk. He finally moved over me again, and I saw it—the hesitation in his eyes, and the hunger beneath it. I reached for him, wrapped my arms around his neck.

~BRAKOON~ Every detail of what happened in Dystopia after the apocalypse, was stuck in my memory. I never remembered the part about who I was, my history or anything else apart from the War. I was at war with some soldiers, brutally slashing their throats and diving my swords to gut out their bellies, I killed about a hundreds of them in such cold blooded manner, but the soldiers kept coming… in countless numbers. They were a huge army with purple striped armour, trooping from every corners of the battlefield and circling me at the middle. More than half of the soldiers were the Erisian creatures. I watched people with the same color of armour as I, falling off from horses without their head