Fruits Basket Novels & Stories

Warning: This book contains violence, explicit content, taboo affairs, forbidden relationships, and BDSM. It is intended for adults, 18 and above. “This is…wrong, you are my twin sister's mates.” I stammered breathlessly, teeth sinking into my bottom lip as my body convulsed with the arrival of my fifth orgasm. ***** Betrayed by my mate and enduring a heartwrenching rejection, my world crumbled the day I was sold off to a vegetable Alpha to become a breeder. But things took a swift dark turn as the vegetable turned out to be not one, not two, but three savage, sinful, dominant forces. The rules were simple; No strings attached. Avoid eye contact. Speak only when spoken to. Produce the next heir. Disobedience meant swift death. Once all these were in place, hopefully, my freedom or death would be granted. Sticking to the rules was easy, until the rhapsody of an unforgettable night in the red room. A deadly mistake that blurred the line between loyalty and family. They were forbidden fruits, my twin sister's mates. But I couldn't get enough of their massive cocks plunging into me from unholy directions. Their hungry tongues claiming my filthy mouth, their wandering hands ravaging my body, bending me in ungodly positions. Deliciously sinful. Once a naive virgin, now, a perfect good girl for their ruin. Like a magnet, their sinful voices pulled me to them dangerously, conquering my morals. When their voices go, “Spread your thighs for us, little dove.” I responded with total submission to my master's. What was supposed to be a one-time mistake turned into a deadly secret obsession. But secrets don't stay buried forever...especially the ones laced with a curse…and my Masters were hiding more than just their dark pasts. One deadly truth was capable of tearing us apart.

We stepped out of his car after we spotted a basket in front of the gate. As we approached, I heard a sound. I walked closer and gasped. “What’s that thing?” he asked. “This isn’t a ‘thing.’ It’s a baby,” I deadpanned. I picked up the child. A baby girl. My eyes widened. she had every feature of my boss. Almost like they were related. A note hung from her necklace. “How the hell did she get here?” he asked, coming closer. I shrugged. Slowly, I opened the note and read it aloud: Dear Nick, You probably don’t remember me. We met at a party almost two years ago. We had a one-night stand. Too drunk to use protection. Luciana is the result of that reckless night. I’ve cared for her for a year, putting my life on hold. Now it’s your turn. I don’t want anything from you. Just take care of your child. Xoxo. I watched him run a finger through his hair. Even stressed, the gesture was hypnotic. He’s that beautiful. I couldn’t deny it. “What the fuck? Set up an appointment with my doctor immediately. I’m going to conduct a DNA test for this…thing.” I snorted internally. “Her name is Luciana,” I replied, and he rolled his eyes. I stared down at the baby. She didn’t deserve any of this. How could a mother leave her own child? And what if someone had taken her before we arrived? Luciana. At least she had a name.

My wife and I had agreed to spend the holiday at my parents' house. Right before we walked out the door, she said, "I forgot to change my address again. The package was delivered to Grant's place!" I went still. Three years of marriage, and yet she had never once updated her default shipping address. A microwave she ordered online was delivered to her ex-boyfriend. She said it worked out, since his microwave was broken anyway. The anniversary gift she had picked out for me was signed for by her ex-boyfriend. She said it would be too awkward to ask for it back. The Valentine's Day gift she ordered for me online ended up in her ex-boyfriend's hands. She said she could not give me something secondhand, so she let him keep it. This time, she was ordering a holiday gift basket, and I had reminded her two weeks in advance. It still went to her ex-boyfriend. I kept my voice as steady as I could. "Go get it back. Drive over there right now." Her expression darkened. "He already signed for it. How am I supposed to get it back? We'll just pick something up on the way." "Get it back," I said. "Do you have to be so petty?" she snapped. "You're a grown man. You always have to make such a big deal out of everything." Every time something ended up at her ex-boyfriend's place and I asked her to get it back, that was the answer I got. My hands clenched until the knuckles went white as I watched her slam the door on her way out. I ignored the dull ache in my chest and sent a message to my lawyer. "Happy holidays. Could you please draft a divorce agreement for me? Thank you."