Filthy Rich Novel Novels & Stories

Her heartbeat quickened. “This face… it feels familiar.” She leaned closer to the mirror, studying every detail. The eyes. The nose. The lips. “I’ve seen this face before,” she whispered. Her mind raced, memories colliding— And then it hit her. “No…” Her eyes widened in horror. “This is the villain from that novel.” Her heart pounded violently. “The Dirty Mafia…” Her breath caught. “And this girl…” Her voice trembled. “Rose Whitmore.” Her knees nearly gave out.

"Please! I'll be good, I promise. Let me be good for you." I slid my hand between her legs and patted her pussy, short firm little slaps that turned out to be surprisingly wet. "I'm sorry!" she cried, squirming deliciously. I slid my fingers into her soaked pussy, making her cry out. She opened her legs, and I hammered at her pussy, two fingers pounding away inside of her. "Please, Alex. Not like this. Don't make me come like this, it's embarrassing," she moaned. I reached my opposite hand across her body, and started pushing my finger tip against her little brown rose bud. "No, Alex, that's dirty, stop, please."

Fatty said and Leah paused. "His money?" Leah asked. "Yeah...that loser is filthy rich but still a loser. If I was in his place I wouldn't be like him." Fatty said, shocking Leah even more. Igneel filthy rich? Aren't filthy rich people like Tobias? Spoiled? He is different.

No chains, no cages, no dirty basements. This wasn’t a wild auction, this was luxury! Opulence dripping off every corner of the room like sin. I sat up slowly on the plush bed, eyes darting around. The door was steel. Windows locked tight. A silent camera blinked in the corner like it was watching my soul unravel. “What the hell,” I muttered. “This is Rich with a capital R. Rich people crimes kind of rich.” After squinting my eyes, I saw her when I looked at the last spot. Ciejill. Sitting in the corner, legs crossed, a martini glass in her hand, grinning like she’d won the lottery and then set it on fire.

“The nerve of that woman. How dare she show her face here after everything that happened.” “They say greed for wealth has no shame. Sir Silvanus’s wife, Aeliana Monroe, is a perfect example.” Aeliana heard the whispers of two employees. She turned to look at them, only to find their eyes filled with judgment and disgust. She tried to keep her composure—after all, she couldn’t remember anything. Whatever stories people told about her meant nothing to her now, because she had no idea what kind of person she once was. She looked away and continued watching the city view through the glass walls.

They’re weak and feel like jelly. He fishes out some paper towels and cleans himself up with them. When I extend my hand to him for some, he shakes his head. “You’re going to walk out of here with my cum running down your thighs.” Fuck. Who knew professor Kade was a dirty talker? When my brain can function again, I tug my panties up my thighs and wear my leggings, ignoring the lines of cum that trickle down my thighs. It’s dirty but it’s so fucking hot.

He muttered to himself. The next day, the story was printed with a large picture of Theodore. Theodore was in Portugal when he received the news. Natalie was having breakfast when the news was broken to her that Theodore was on Page Six. She opened the newspaper and read the headline “The Forbidden Billionaire’s Dirty Little Secret” Maybe the world can learn new synonyms now. For Mr. Theodore Gilbert is the forbidden billionaire and Miss Natalie Greene is his dirty secret.

I held her there for a beat until her throat spasmed. My head fell back. Fuck. She kept going deeper with another line of praise. She liked this, I realized. Being told she was pretty and that she was good. My good girl. Seems she hadn’t been told that enough, which I would, all the fucking time. Right now, she looked like a fucking dream — mascara smeared under her eyes, chin dripping with spit. Fucking. Gorgeous. I dug out my phone from my pocket and took a picture. She was so dirty and gorgeous, I knew I’d jerk off to this image for weeks. Fate or luck...maybe persistence but either way, she was mine to ruin.

My hand trembled as I signed my name — Charis Woodrow— the ink drying on the page that sealed my fate for the next six months. He unlocked the cuffs and helped me stand on shaky legs, and handed me a silk robe. I put it on. But where was he getting all these stuff from? First it was the handcuffs and now, a robe. “Lesson one learned”, he said, satisfaction twinkling in his eyes. “Never blackmail a billionaire. Especially not one whose dungeon photos you stole”. I clutched the robe tighter, my body still humming and my mind spinning Six months. Live-in. Submission.

I stood up on legs that barely felt like mine, knees soft, blood humming. Every inch of my body pulsed with memory, with desire, with that reckless craving that had never really gone quiet since the retreat. Slowly, deliberately, I peeled off my scrubs. Not all at once. I let them slide down my hips with a kind of teasing ease, like my skin was aching to be bared. Underneath, I wore the set I had no business wearing to work. Blood red. Lacy. Practically a sin.