Romans & histoires Herrick District Library Holland

I slept with my husbands Beta. It was a mistake, or not? But I'm addicted. How can't I be? I am Diane Demora, Luna of the Delta Pack, but my marriage is a lie. For two years, Julian has played the perfect husband—gentle, patient, understanding. Yet every night, he leaves my bed empty. He lets me believe I'm infertile and there's no need for sex. After one final rejection, I run. I end up in a dark bar, desperate to forget. That's where I meet him—an older stranger whose touch awakens parts of me I thought had died. He claims me with a hunger I have never known, and for one reckless night, I let myself belong to him. Then everything falls apart. Hidden among pack records, I discover a medical audit. Three months after our wedding, Julian had a vasectomy. The truth shatters me. He never wanted a family. Never wanted an heir. Never wanted me. All he ever wanted was my father's throne. On my way to confront him, I uncover something worse. Hidden in the library shadows, I find my husband on his knees before a man whose face I cannot see. You think that's the worst of it. You're wrong. The nightmare peaks when Julian introduces the pack's new Beta and my personal guard: Dom Vormos. The same man from the bar. The same man who unraveled me with a single touch. The same man I can't forget. Now I'm trapped between a husband who wants me dead and a Beta who wants me far too much. But I refuse to be a victim. Julian will pay for every betrayal. And as for Dom? If claiming him is what it takes to become the worst wife this pack has ever seen, then so be it.

If the warning label could be written in red letters, it would. I'm not a soft erotic writer, so you shouldn't be a soft reader. This is a house of 50 Shades Darker Steamy Romance Compilation. ALL your taboos and kinks will be fulfilled in these 1k short stories. First five stories. 1 Marry Your Daddy & Be Your Stepmom: When the thoughts, words, and touch of your boyfriend's dad gives you real orgasms, sinning is just as sweet. 2 My Gangster Masters: Though married, you're sent to the BDSM club to hunt the notorious triplet criminals. The operation is over, but your body still aches to submit to them one more time. 3 The Church Boy Is Gay: He's more innocent than a nerd. Haven't impregnated any girl. So you make him your role model until you're trapped in a room with him and the lights go off. 4 Creampied in a crowded subway: What’s discomfort in a crowded subway when you can have a stranger’s big black cock slide beneath your dress and rub your pussy till you're wet and dripping? It gets spicier, he slips into your right cotton panties and creampies you. And when you wear jeans, his huge palm breaks your button, goes down below, rubbing your clit and finger-fucking you till you become his all your subway journey. Forever. 5 My Masked Psycho: You have a fetish for masked men, and you're just the kind of lady he preys on. Others: Beastly Alpha. Voyeurism. You're a slave to the hot cell's Don and his Capos in a prison break. Stuck and fucked. The Bulgar's cock is your new obsession. Naked stranger in the elevator. Flash your goodies. Your maid and plumber are your new toys. Sex interviews… ***** Add to library let's hit this rocky road.

I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."