Filthy Riches Book Novels & Stories

Holy fuck I'd witnessed or partaken in just about every filthy sex act imaginable, but that small movement might have been the hottest thing I had ever seen. “Get on the bed” I ordered, “All fours, now.” Her hands and knees barely had time to hit the mattress before I stripped off my clothes and came up behind her, spreading her thighs with my hands. “You are so very wet, my beautiful whore” I licked her juices off her skin, savoring the taste and delicate female scent that drove every man crazy. I pushed a finger inside her and was rewarded with a loud whimper. “Do you want me to eat out this gorgeous cunt of yours?”

I moaned, trembling, my body slick, my pussy still throbbing around him. He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear, whispering filthy commands as he gripped us both in his hands. “This is the unholiest thing you’ll ever feel… and you’re going to crave every second of it.” My body quaked at the thought. This wasn’t just sex… this was taboo, raw, and filthy, and I wanted every second. Every rough thrust, every cruel touch, every filthy word from him.

His eyes roamed over my ruined body with dark satisfaction. “Morning, island whore,” he said with a smirk. “You look exactly how I want you, dripping and ready for more.” Before I could respond, the other five billionaires entered the room, all freshly showered but already hard again. Their eyes lit up when they saw me. “Fuck, she’s still leaking,” one of them, a silver-haired tech mogul named Victor, groaned. “I want her first.” Damien chuckled. “Be my guest. But we’re doing something special today. The Hunt.”

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.

"What's your definition of filthy rich guy?" "A cool sum of millions in his bank account. The one who runs his own business company with competent, loyal and smart employees," she tried to answer as straight as she could. "I'm afraid you'll end up being an old maid." Instead of countering his comment, Elaine chose to ask him questions. "Have you ever experienced being treated like shit and being looked down on because of your financial status? Did someone ever slap you on the wrist as if you never did something good your whole life?"

And then, the final, gutting truth, the one that turned the fleeting warmth to shame: His family’s fortune—the very empire he’s fighting to protect—helped fund the man who bought and broke you. The money that built this house, that paid for your “clothing allowance,” that bloodstained ledger… it’s the same money that flowed through Evan Sharpe’s hands. You are a living, breathing monument to his family’s original sin. How could there be anything real, anything clean, between us? It was all poisoned at the root. The kiss was just another symptom of the sickness—a moment of madness in a beautifully constructed hell.

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.

I’d always been dirty. But I couldn’t stay the fuck away anymore. I needed to distract myself. Finding what Emile was on about was as good a distraction as any. I didn't take my eyes off the entrance of the twenty-story SSC building. It was a high-end establishment with a bar, a boutique catering to the rich, a fine dining restaurant exclusively serving to gold members. There was a pool, jacuzzis, saunas, gyms and boutiques of highly exclusive brands and rare niceties—everything that catered to the senses of the elites.

I felt so dirty having that plug in my ass. After inserting the butt plug, I went back into the bookstore. I was almost too ashamed to go back in because I was sure everyone would know what a dirty slut I was. But I needed to be a dirty slut. I wanted them to defile me and ruin me. I meekly asked the clerk about how many coins were needed for the video booths. He said, for me, it's free to go in. He laughed and said, "Enjoy yourself."

"Early readers are calling Guilty Pleasure an addictive ride through hidden desire, wild fantasies, and raw pleasure. One reviewer said it's 'the kind of book that leaves you breathless and hungry for more.'" Months earlier, sitting in the quiet glow of her private study, Emilia had found the inspiration for her book after drinking a bottle of wine, a peek into someone's private life, and a payment of five million dollars in cash. And she was more than happy she had spent such a large amount of money. In the end, it was totally worth it.