Dirty Stories Novels & Stories

The way you fucked me against the window… I’m sore in the best way. **Ryan:** You’re addictive. Can’t wait to taste you again tomorrow. Lila’s out of town till Thursday. Lila read every single message. Dozens of them. She saw photos, Ryan’s hand between another woman’s thighs, Mia’s full lips wrapped around him, videos she couldn’t bring herself to play but whose thumbnails burned into her mind. Over a year. More than a year of lies while she planned their future, supported his risky investments, and waited patiently for the man she married to come back to her.

A tear rolled down my eyes as i came one more time, and so did Stacy ,she pulled out of me and unstrapped herself, wiping it with a few wet wipes, and packing it up in her bag before fixing herself up and without a word leaving, the burial ground, I cleaned up myself, before fixing my suit and hair, looking at her tomb stone one more time. "Stacy, I am going …to miss you… So darn much--" breaking down sobbing again. Dragging my now weightless and heavy-burdened self back home. Entering into our little home, our warm cozy mansion, filled with so much love..and laughter and tears ...and sex..good sex..., I walked to the fridge and grabbed a six-pack beer, and one after the other, I drowned the

ELENA I rubbed my hands over my face, ignoring the guilty twinges in my lower stomach. They popped up the second Chloe smacked Aiden on the head yesterday and explained everything. Extra media attention on Dirty J. was the worst thing that could happen. Even if the #AidenSexTape trend on Twitter told a different story—and wow, were these girls so obsessed they’d watch him have sex with some girl?

“Your home? After what you did today? You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as us. Dira’s face is all over the internet because of you!” “I didn’t do anything!” My voice cracked with desperation. Tension coiled in my chest, tight enough to snap. “It was staged! Someone is blackmailing—” “Save the lies,” the tall guy cut me off, shoving past me to grab a framed photo of me and Clyde from the shelf. He smashed it against the wall. Glass shattered. “We saw the livestream. You were dragging her, making her beg. Pathetic.” Another intruder—a stocky boy in a varsity jacket—knocked over a chair, then yanked open drawers, scattering papers and Clyde’s school notes across the floor. “This is what

she asked. “Looking for ghosts,” I said. She smiled like she’d heard stranger things. “Ghosts are in microfilm, third floor.” Hours disappeared into the hum of machines. The screen glowed an antiseptic blue, the words sliding by like ghosts under glass. I scrolled through years of nightlife columns and permit notices, my fingers numb from the cold metal knobs. Then I saw it. A name I knew too well. Adrian Merritt, media consultant, removed from partnership in private arts collective following ethical dispute.

Every claim backed by proof. The day of the exposé arrived faster than Elara had anticipated. The air was thick with tension as she sat in the living room of her estate, watching the news unfold. Reporters had caught wind of the story, and the headlines were already flooding in: "Hawthorne Scandal: Cassia’s Empire Built on Lies?" "Shocking Revelations from Hawthorne Heiress’s Private Diary" "Manipulation, Fraud, and Betrayal: The Dark Side of the Hawthorne Legacy"

she says sweetly, “your phone has been buzzing non-stop for over three minutes. It’s charging in the kitchen.” “Oh. Thanks,” I say. “Cass, I’ll call you back.” I walk to the kitchen. Pick up the phone. Inbox: 1 New Email — RE: SHAMELESS HOMEWRECKER – You need to be stopped. My hands freeze. The fuck? I click. The message opens. A link. I tap. My screen fills with images. A press blog. Anonymous submission. Title: The Secret Whore in the Hernandez Dynasty She was supposed to be the quiet wife. The one who couldn’t bear a child. The one who “needed help.” But turns out, Dorothy Rain is no more than a calculated leech, sleeping with her husband’s cousin while pretending to preserve a marriage t

"Damien should be here." That was my first coherent thought. The space beside her - his space - lay undisturbed, the Egyptian cotton pillows still perfectly fluffed from last night's turndown service. I'd gone to bed alone again. This wasn't unusual. But today, the emptiness felt like an omen. my phone screen illuminated with a CNN News Alert. The headline burned itself into her retinas: **BREAKING: Blackstone-Moretti affair Tape Leaks - Billionaire Caught in Dubai Affair**

The graphic, violent fantasy scenarios about their relationship written by strangers who felt that they were entitled to every detail of their lives. He glimpsed his own face, the photo that had been taken for his company identification, exploded onto these boards. His life was being picked apart, his past scrutinized, his experience at the non-profit. They were looking for the clues, the secret history that would show them how nobody from the Bronx had captivated a king.

Sienna is already awake beside me, scrolling through her tablet, her face grim. "What's happening?" I ask, sitting up. She hands me the tablet without a word. The headline is from HUSH DAILY, a major online publication. One of those sites that sits somewhere between journalism and gossip. TECH BILLIONAIRE'S DARK SECRET: THE WOMEN SHE BUYS AND BREAKS By Daniel Ross