Horny On Period

On my birthday, Connor Simpson's first love jumped off a building due to depression. She died on the spot. Connor blamed everything on me. I never celebrated my birthday again after she died. After the murderer electrocuted me for more than ten hours, they forced me to call Connor. "Connor, it's my 25th birthday today. Can you come over and spend time with me?" However, Connor did not notice anything unusual. His voice was laced with venomous iciness. "Clarisse Winter, Audrey wouldn't have died if it weren't for you. How dare you ask me to celebrate your birthday? If only you were the one who died." I heard him coaxing a woman on the other end just before he hung up on me. That low and gentle tone was what I loved to hear the most in the past. That night, the murderer cut my body into countless pieces, packed them in bags, and threw them in front of the police station. Connor was summoned back overnight. He spent two days and two nights piecing together the body parts, but he did not realize that the dead person was the wife that he hated the most.

“Where’s your fight now, wife?” Dominic's breath ghosted across my bare skin. “Let me go. I’m warning you,” I hissed, struggling against his wrist that held both my hands above my head. “Funny... Your upper and lower lips seem to be contradicting each other. I don’t know which to trust… maybe I should kiss both, see which one’s lying.” “Fuck you!” I spat—only it came out more like a moan I couldn’t control. “Yeah…” His hand tightened, holding me just enough to make my pulse pound. “Yeah… you will. You’ll beg for it.” “You'll scream it out to the world. Tell them who you belong to,” And it should’ve been a joke. A sick one. Because Dominic Cantrell wasn’t someone girls like me belonged to. He was the billionaire’s heir with a reputation that could ruin cities and rebuild them. I was a mere cleaner with a brother in debt. But when a series of mistakes; one fight, one night, one kiss; pulls us into a contract that binds me to him for 365 days, survival becomes something I have to earn… under him. The devil thinks I’m a pawn. He thinks he can own me, bend me, break me. He’s so wrong. Because I'm not one of his bimbos. I'm his Kryptonite. And one day? I’ll make the devil kneel. WARNING: Contains high R-rated explicit scenes.

Noah’s a rising hockey star with a mouth that gets him in trouble and a body built to break rules. Sterling is the team's billionaire owner—older, untouchable, and dangerously in control. They were never supposed to cross that line. But one reckless moment changes everything. Now, Noah can’t stop thinking about the man who sees right through him. And Sterling? He’s losing control in ways he swore he never would. It was supposed to be a mistake. It’s starting to feel like an obsession.

My mother, Winona Barlowe, who was the medical director at the hospital, decided to let my intern sister, Mia Barlowe, practice her skills by performing a brain tumor surgery on me. I begged my mother to assign another doctor since it was my only chance at survival. She slapped me across the face and cried out, "How did I ever give birth to a selfish girl like you? Mia just started her internship. Can’t you give her the chance to practice?" When I died from the botched surgery, she turned gray overnight.

The one I've loved for ten years hates me to his core. He comes up with various ways to hurt and belittle me. He even deliberately lets me hear him having a steamy night with someone else. "You're the unsightly blemish that marred my otherwise perfect life," he says. The thing that he regrets the most in his entire life is getting to know me. In the end, I die. However, he regrets it dearly.

On Valentine's Day, my boyfriend invited me onto a cruise ship heading for the open sea. “Quinn, just endure it. The Godfather loves blonde, blue-eyed beauties like you. “Once you please him, all my gambling debts will be wiped clean!" At the auction, I was locked inside a golden cage. The starting bid was $3 million. Just as despair drove me to bite my tongue, the bulletproof glass of the most mysterious private box on the second floor exploded outward. The mafia godfather stepped through the shattered glass. Shards crunched beneath his feet, and smoke curled from the muzzle of his gun. He looked exactly like my ex-boyfriend from five years ago. Back then, he was a bodyguard I had once slapped in public and kicked to the curb like an abandoned dog. His eyes were bloodshot as he grabbed my chin, smiling with an icy menace. "Sophia, you're not getting away this time."

Grey Collins has the condition of hyperthymesia which allows him to remember practically every detail of his life with near-perfect accuracy. It is a condition in which an individual possesses a superior autobiographical memory. At a very young age, he witnessed the death of his father. His father was killed in their own home. Surrounded by a bunch of men. His father who's lying down on the floor covered with blood. He was killed cruelly and helplessly. To avenge his father's death, his dream to become a lawyer intensified. Hunting down all the people behind his father's death. A monster in court. A cold-blooded man. With the power of his memory, will he succeed? Will he be able to avenge his father's death? Will justice prevail? Having hyperthymesia, is it a blessing or a curse?

These are the five things on the list that could bring the spoiled brat named, Iris Gene Rodríguez, privileged life back; First, take public transportation instead of a car when going to the university or when only necessarily leaving the house. Second, no alcohol, no bars, and nightclubs alone and with friends unless you're with the family. Third, look for a job where you can earn money by yourself. A decent one, please. Fourth, don't ditch classes, featuring no sleeping, take studies seriously, and get good grades. And last but definitely not the least, kiss Leon Gael Johansson, the man with a beautiful face, indeed. . . remember, with consent.” The list is only good for two months and needs to be accomplished within the time frame. If he happened to fail, then should Iris forever live the harder way around. The last thing on the list is definitely the tough part, as they also started as enemies. Will Iris become successful with his list? Or will he end up getting hurt amidst accomplishing it that made him say, “You’re the worst, Leon Gael Johansson.”

"Are you sure you want to change the bride's name to Jasmine Shaw, Quinn?" Quinn Sullivan's voice was resolute. "Yes, I'm sure. Do as I say." She sat in silence for a long time after hanging up. She recalled what she saw after her engagement party. Her fiancé had his arms wrapped around another woman in a swaying car. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, looking like he couldn't bear to leave. Quinn didn't understand. She and Nicholas York had gone through so much to get to marriage. How could he cheat on her? Well, it didn't matter. She was willing to give him her blessings since he was in love with another woman. He could marry someone else, then. She would give him the wedding of his dreams.

In the fifth year of our long-distance relationship, I secretly quit my job without telling my boyfriend, Ian Gambino, and travelled more than a thousand kilometers to South Bordington. I wanted to give him a surprise: to get registered and married to him. He worked as a bodyguard for the biggest mafia Don in South Bordington. His job kept him extremely busy, and we were often out of contact. The last time we spoke, he said he had to accompany his boss to an underground auction for security. The job would last three months. Relying solely on the address that I remembered, I managed to find the place. When the guards at the entrance heard that I was looking for Ian Gambino, their expressions turned a little strange. "Don Ian is still busy. Please wait a moment," one of them said. I froze. Don Ian? Before I could process what he meant, I heard him whispering to the person next to him, "So, she's the one that the Don keeps outside? How did she end up here? If Donna Jeanine finds out about this, she's going to cause a huge scene." I was just about to explain to them that they had the wrong person when a woman in a custom-made evening gown walked in. The staff immediately fell silent and addressed her respectfully, "Donna Jeanine." She was on the phone, her voice coquettishly sweet. "Honey, I'm here. You promised you'd come with me and the baby for the medical checkup this time!" From the other end of the call came a deep male voice, filled with affection. "Darling, it'll be over soon. Go take a rest in the VIP lounge. Don't tire yourself out." I had listened to that voice for five years. It belonged to Ian Gambino.