Expressing Yourself

It was almost New Year. I had just withdrawn money from the bank when I noticed that the amount on my passbook didn't match the cash in my hand. I counted carefully—my passbook showed a different figure than the five thousand dollars I was holding. Frustrated, I turned and went back to the counter to find the teller who had handled my transaction. Clutching the receipt, I tried to be polite. "Excuse me, I think there might be a mistake with this transaction." Instantly, she snapped, pointing her finger at my nose. "Don't you know that once you leave the counter, we are not responsible for any discrepancies?" I waved my hands, trying to explain. "No, wait, look again. I clearly withdrew five thousand dollars, but on my passbook, it shows…" She cut me off impatiently. "When you filled out the form, it was all right there. Once you leave the counter, it's not our problem. You signed the form yourself, confirming everything. Are we supposed to correct it every time someone claims a mistake after leaving the bank?" I froze. No wonder she kept repeating that the bank isn't responsible after leaving the counter. She thought I had come back to ask for more money. What I was really trying to explain was simple: I withdrew five thousand, yet my passbook showed that I deposited five thousand.

"Why can't I have both of you at the same time!" I shot, glaring at him. I tried to be softer with him, but he made it harder. He froze for a second, searching my face before taking my hand and stroking his thumb gently on the back. "Not so fast, pussy cat," he whispered in my ear, his free hand on my neck, pinning me head against his shoulder. "I need your cunt to get used to me to the point that you cannot satisfy yourself no matter how much you touch yourself. Only we would be able to make you cum from now on, whether you like it or not. Your cunt will only obey us because it belongs to us like all of you. Every time you need to cum, you'd have to come to us. You'd have to depend on us, giving your freedom of cumming only to us," he told me, working his fingers and hand faster. I was drenched with my wetness, and my walls were begging his fingers to let them clench, but no, he continued. TRIGGER WARNING: This is a dark romance story, so keep your fingers ready. Keep the lights low. Get your mind energized, and Baby? Let me know if you get caught up in this story. This book is rated 18+.

"You're tight," his deep voice murmured in my ear as I felt his wet tongue on my neck. My legs quivered, the walls of my pussy clenching together. "Brace yourself, don't expect me to go easy. I will fuck you hard even if you're a virgin," he nibbled my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "I bring you pain as well as pleasure," he warned before ramming into me. Rated 18+. Warning: This book contains explicit and mature content with no filters. All Shades of Passion is a collection of short stories cutting through all spheres of life, depicting our individual struggles to find ourselves. Who we are and what we want. Each story has a unique plot, individual struggle, and a meaningful closure. From a young virgin who is desperate for sex, to a girl who hopes for a Cinderella story but falls for the baddest boy in town. There's sizzling boy romance, lesbian forbidden love, and a female coach who is in love with her student. It is packed full of BDSM, forbidden love, harems, orgies, boy love (MM), girl fantasy (GG), and age gap romance. No judgment or prejudice. It's raw, it's real and it's dark. Five stories illustrating how attraction can ignite a flame of passion in all humans both great and small. Passion is pleasure, even though it may come in different colors.

From the outside, her life looked like a storybook — young love, a growing family, and the hope of a future built on hard work and devotion. But behind closed doors, it was a different world — one filled with control, silence, and bruises too deep for anyone to see. Before she turned twenty-one, she had already survived a violent marriage, the constant threat of losing her children, and a battle between truth and lies that nearly destroyed her. Every time she tried to rebuild, life seemed to find a new way to break her — a false accusation that stole her children, a fire that turned into murder, and the death of the man who had helped her believe in love again. Echos of Ruin is the raw, unflinching story of a woman who refuses to stay broken. Through violence, betrayal, and unbearable loss, she finds the courage to keep moving — to fight for her truth even when no one will listen. It’s a story of motherhood and survival, of loving and losing, and of discovering that sometimes the only way to save yourself is to walk through the fire. Told with haunting honesty and sharp clarity, this memoir is not just about what was taken from her — it’s about what she refused to surrender: her spirit, her strength, and her voice. Because even when the world tried to silence her, she learned the most powerful truth of all — the human heart can shatter a thousand times and still find the strength to beat again.

Don’t trust anyone, not even yourself….You think you know someone pretty well, until you’re awoken in the middle of the night to the sound of unfamiliar voices and realize your sister’s being swept away by some supernatural creatures who climb in and out of windows and leap from two-story houses like it’s nothing.My parents tried to tell me everything was fine, but when Cadence finally did come back from wherever they’d taken her, I knew there was something unusual about my older sister.Now, her best friend is dead.Her ex-boyfriend is acting bizarre.And I’m afraid I might be next.My name is Cassidy Findley, and I’m pretty sure my sister is a vampire, despite her “co-worker” making every effort to brainwash me into believing otherwise. With the help of my two best friends, we vow to get to the bottom of this before it’s too late, and my sister starts to claim other victims. I love her, but I won’t be turned, nor will I just sit by without doing everything I can to stop her. I can only hope that I’m not too late and that I can trust my own memories.Because I’m pretty sure my sister’s friends are coming for me next.The Chronicles of Cassidy is a retelling of The Clandestine Saga specifically for young adult/teen readers told from the perspective of high schooler Cassidy Findley.

WARNING: ONLY FOR MATURE AUDIENCES (18+) "If you want to discover parts of yourself that you never dreamed of, if you want to feel pleasure and pain dance together in ways you didn't know was possible, I will give it all to you on a silver platter. I will accept your gift of submission, and gift you with my dominance in return." He is a dominant. She is a submissive. He craves control. She wants to loose control. Seems like a perfect pair? Anna has always had a craving for something beyond what her boyfriend, Nick could offer her. She keeps her life neat and tidy which seems to be picture perfect. So why does she feel the desire to let loose and give into her deepest darkest fantasies when she met the dark side of Will? Will doesn't do romance. He does sex, excitement, passion and moves on once the thrill dies down. So, why does the little woman named Anna gets his every nerve on fire and why does it feel like it's never going to fade away? When Anna is sexually frustrated because of her long time boyfriend, Nick, she turns to her boyfriend's dominant father, Will. What happens when Will asks Anna to move in with him and be his 24*7 sub? When feelings get involved and danger surrounds them, how will they survive with their newfound chemistry? Their story unfolds with exciting experiences and kinky activities.

My mom is 71 years old. Thanks to her arthritis acting up, she's in so much pain that she can't descend the stairs at all. She tentatively calls me and asks if she can rent an apartment that comes with an elevator of its own. But my wife, Lucy Glaser, brings out the household ledger and points at the red numbers on the pages. "Last month, you bought yourself a tie, which is 300 dollars beyond our monthly budget. Yet now you're planning on adding another impulsive expense?" Only then do I realize that I don't even have the freedom to buy myself a tie despite earning an annual salary of tens of millions of dollars. My mom is still trying to explain herself in a humble tone over the phone. "Oh, please don't feel troubled about it, Caleb. I was just asking on a whim. I've already grown used to my old home anyway…" After I end the call, I feel rather stuffy in my chest. What's there for me to feel troubled about? After all, I'm a partner of a top-tier law firm who earns tens of millions of dollars every year. The one who keeps standing in my way is Lucy, who's only a mid-level lawyer yet insists on controlling my finances. She also calls herself the best candidate for the household asset allocation.

On the day of the wedding, my best friend, Elena Hartman, can't bear to part with me, so she threads my wedding shoes with a string and ties them snugly around her slim waist. The groomsmen turn the whole place upside down, and we end up late for the ceremony. She eventually cracks up and tugs at her billowy bridesmaid dress, revealing the outline of the shoes at her waist. "I dare you to come take them. As long as I'm here, she's not getting married!" My fiancé, Miles Lawson, shakes his head and chuckles. "You just love tormenting us, don't you?" Miles exchanges a look with the groomsmen, and they charge at her at the same time. She squeals as she falls back onto the bed, squirming under her layers of tulle. "Don't be so rough! I'm ticklish…" The groomsmen flush bright red. Miles' ears turn scarlet as he feels around her waist. She giggles even louder. "How are you going to undo it through all these layers? Use your head!" Then, she gasped. "That tickles!" Her theatrics make my temper flare. I spring to my feet, lift her skirt, and rip the wedding shoes right off her. "If you're that ticklish, smack yourself with a slipper. Drop the act, or I'll yank out the nerves that make you ticklish!"

The Garcia family's notorious illegitimate son — violent, obsessive, and dangerously unstable — had sent out a public marriage summons. One of us, my sister or I, was to become his bride. My father, with his career in ruins and his influence dwindling, had no choice but to agree. In desperation, I begged my boyfriend Eric Jordan to return home and make our engagement official. He did rush back, travel-worn and anxious — but only to ask for my sister's hand in marriage. Shattered, I demanded to know why. Eric frowned, his voice icy. "You're just a foster daughter of the Lynch family. You've eaten their food, lived under their roof for years. And if it weren't for Willa, you would've frozen to death on the street. Now's your chance to repay her. Don't be ungrateful." I refused to stay silent. He shoved me aside in frustration. "I told you — Willa and I are only pretending. Once she's out of danger and that lunatic forgets about the proposal, we'll divorce. I'll come back for you. However, stop embarrassing yourself like this — it's pathetic." What Eric did not know was… Willa Lynch escaped the marriage. However, I did not. Later, on the day of the wedding, as the bridal car passed the Jordan family estate, I looked out the window — and locked eyes with Eric. His face turned pale as a sheet.

On the company's designated monthly day off, Gigi Lott, Donald Hoover's secretary, posted an Instagram story. The caption read, "So what if you're the boss of me when we're at work during the day? At night, I'm the one on top!" In the photo, she was lying atop a water bed covered in rose petals, and the usually stern Donald was kneeling down to massage her feet for her. From his pocket hung a brand new golden necklace. Just that morning, I bought several gold bars and gave them to Donald while beseeching him to make our relationship public. He happily took the locket from me, but when I tried to take a photo of us with our phone, he smacked my phone out of my hands, smashing it into pieces. With a look of pure derision, he declared, "Why don't you take a good look at yourself in the mirror first? You really are a motherless wretch who wasn't raised right. Look at the lengths you'd go to just to ruin me!" Throughout the last five years, I had meekly gone along with his demand that we keep our relationship a secret, claiming it was because office romances were forbidden. But now, I was abruptly hit with the realization of how laughable it all was. The next day, I sent my father a message. "I admit defeat. I'm willing to come home and inherit the family business."