Fairy Tales Sunny Days

Brandon Hughes had it all—wealth, status, power—until a single scandal stripped him of everything. Julia Bailey never believed in fairy tales; juggling three jobs just to survive, she had no time for spoiled heirs. When Brandon crashes into her life—literally—she finds herself stuck with a penniless man who knows nothing about survival. But Brandon isn’t just another jobless troublemaker. He’s the disowned heir of the Hughes Corporation, hiding a secret identity that could change Julia’s life forever. Torn between betrayal and desire, Julia must decide: should she trust the disgraced heir who turned her world upside down, or side with James Whitmore, the ambitious lawyer who promises her stability but hides dangerous secrets of his own? A story of love, betrayal, redemption, and the revolution of two hearts.

Sunny is an aspiring writer who wants to venture the world of writing erotic romance. One night, while she was browsing some photos to use as her book cover, she saw a picture of a very handsome man with dark-blue hair yet green emerald eyes. Sunny used the photo without knowing what awaits her after the man in the photo knew that his photo was used in an erotic novel.

Strictly 18+ and strictly for the dirty minded. Lock the door behind you before you dive in. Untamed Desires Is a collection of sinful eroticas that will have you panting and dripping wet within seconds. Dive in to enjoy various scenarios, each chapter dirtier than the last, from cousins with a corruption kink to stepdaughters taking their stepfathers cock. Chapter upon chapter of panties soaking, nipple hardening and breathtaking forbidden smuts.

A weekend together on a luxurious boat… She is desperate and he is filthy rich. They don’t know each other but they need each other badly… for different reasons. Is this the beginning of a beautiful love story or a disaster waiting to happen? Sunny is a struggling actress trying desperately to keep her job in order to survive in New York and help her mother. This becomes impossible since the theater where she performs the role of Sally Bowles in the musical “Cabaret”, is about to get temporarily closed. After her last performance, Sunny encounters Magnus Karlsen, a billionaire. And he is the answer to all her prayers. Magnus Karlsen must find a fake fiancée for the weekend ASAP! And the fiery, sexy, talented Sunny Makkena, the actress he just watched in the weirdest, sleaziest, most amazing show he had ever seen, is the perfect candidate for this vital role. He absolutely needs Sunny’s presence by his side during a one-weekend cruise with his parents. So, Magnus makes her a proposal he knows she can’t refuse. But the weekend doesn’t go as planned, and not because she isn’t doing her job. Sunny Makkena plays the role of Magnus’s fiancée all too well. Almost perfectly. She is absolutely real in public and she’s even more real in bed. Too bad that it’s all just playing pretend.

I get undressed and hide in my husband's dorm at work to surprise him. Yet it backfires on me—instead of my husband coming, his three colleagues are the ones who show up. They're thoroughly aroused by my lingerie and have their way with the cooking lady on the kitchen counter. It's such a raunchy scene that desire burns within me. I pleasure myself while watching them but accidentally moan out loud. The men turn to look at the closet where I'm hiding…

The new intern, Cynthia Joller, had posted about me online, claiming the company had made them use their leave for team building. No one wanted to fly all the way to an island to spend time with colleagues. However, what the internet did not know was that our company's team-building tradition involved booking a top-notch five-star resort every year: all-inclusive, family-friendly, with an extra three days of paid leave, and a $30,000 budget per person. The whole internet dubbed me a cold-blooded capitalist, so I decided to give in to their demands and issued a notice. [In response to employee feedback and to honor personal time, this year's team-building retreat has been canceled. Instead, a $500 allowance for personal travel will be provided.] The notice stirred up a commotion in the company. Long-time employees gathered at my office door, pleading for the return of the sunny Madiles retreat.

I'm a campus belle who's addicted to carnal pleasures. The frequent triggers caused by my addiction have heavily affected my and Michael Buckley, my boyfriend's lives and studies. Left without a choice, Michael and I can only head over to the campus clinic to undergo treatment that helps me cut down on my addiction. The one administering treatment to me happens to be a well-built doctor. The way he treats me shocks me to no end. Later on, he straps me to the examination table. I'm so frightened that I keep begging him to release me with tears running down my cheeks. But he responds by lifting my legs roughly.

When my best friend died, his wife, Mia Lewis, was eight months pregnant. Mia said she didn't want her baby growing up without a father. I owed my best friend my life. He saved me, literally pulled me from death's door. So I stepped up, marrying Mia and raising their son as my own. Mia loved her career, so I quit mine. Traded my job for diapers and school runs. For seven whole years, I cooked, cleaned, folded laundry, and handled the housework. Rain or shine, sickness or health, I was there—every single day. Mia, though? She stayed cold, distant. Her warmth only surfaced in the bedroom—and even then, it was a flicker, never a flame. Just soft sighs and breathy murmurs, like she was playing a role she couldn't wait to finish. Afterward, she would quietly check the condom, as if she couldn't trust me. Then came New Year's Eve. A snap. A tear. A broken condom. Her fury struck like a thunderclap. She locked me out on the balcony, left me standing in the freezing rain, soaked to the bone as the wind howled like a wounded beast. Teeth chattering, I shivered as I watched the door like a dog, waiting to be let in. Then I saw him. Our boy, Ethan Bailey. Six years old. My son, at least in name. He came running with an umbrella in his hand. For a second, my heart leapt. 'Maybe, just maybe…' But he didn't even look at me. Just walked past in silence and handed the umbrella to the nanny heading out. Right then and there, something inside me cracked. I knew it was time to go.

My name is Haley Dixon. Ever since I was young, I knew I was different from other women. Other women have only one passage, but I have two—and both are extremely narrow. I'd heard that my mother was originally pregnant with twins, but a genetic mutation during the pregnancy caused my twin sister to die in the womb. I absorbed the part of her body that became my second passage, along with all of her estrogen. That was why I had a stronger desire than other women. As a teenager, I could use my little toys for up to four hours and still want more. For a while, I was almost proud of myself. I thought a rare treasure like me would be cherished and fiercely loved by any boyfriend. But after five consecutive boyfriends—every single one of them—bolted at the final moment, terrified by what they saw in my pants, calling me a monster and worrying I'd suck them in, I finally realized: maybe this wasn't being "different." Maybe this was a disease. But going to the hospital didn't help. Instead, they told me that my long-term use of foreign objects had led to an addiction disorder. I cried. Why did a monstrous woman like me have to suffer from this? Still, I didn't have time to wallow in misery, because the addiction tormented me day and night, stealing my peace and my sleep. So I went online and bought the largest set of toys I could find. Within just half a month, I'd broken them all—and my mild addiction had become severe. The toys were useless. It seemed I needed a man. But I no longer dreamed of finding a boyfriend. As long as someone could give me relief, any man would do. I signed up for a hookup app and chose the username: Double-Hole Slut.

I broke my leg in a car accident last week and had been stuck at home recovering, unable to go anywhere. Just as I was starting to go stir-crazy, a couple moved into the house next door—the one that had been empty for ages. I pressed my ear to the wall, catching every sound of them making love, and even recorded quite a bit. Still, I never expected something so sinister to happen. The man next door sounded exactly like my dead husband! I moved my phone closer to the wall and listened carefully. Suddenly, a scream exploded through the wall. “Lindy, you’ll die for this!” My scalp went numb. My husband was mute. The only time he ever spoke in his life… was the night I forced his head into a bucket of water. How did the man next door know my husband’s last words before he died?