Lace Dickie Novels & Stories

My health was not good, but I had always wanted a child. My husband, citing concern for my health, avoided intimacy with me for a year. Then I stumbled across his private messages with another woman. [You'll spend Valentine's Day with me, right? You're not going to touch her tonight, are you?] [You know I don't like doing it just to make babies. Got you some lingerie. Wear it for me tomorrow.] That ill-fitting lace lingerie he was talking about was on my body. I'd slipped it on while he was in the shower, thinking it was a Valentine's Day surprise from him. Turned out, he hadn't bought the wrong size. He had just sent it to the wrong address. I clicked on the woman's profile. Her latest video showed her at the beach, hand in hand with the person filming. I recognized her hand instantly. It belonged to my best friend.

To attract more potential customers, my wife decided to join the cycling community. During the two months I was away on a business trip, she posted new cycling routes every single day on the map and became a well-known cycling socialite in the local scene. A neighbor suddenly sent me a video. The location tag pointed straight to my backyard. [Dude, your wife is something else. Already found herself a riding partner? Looks like the bike’s not the only thing getting ridden.] In the video, an unfamiliar lace panties hung on the handlebars of the bicycle. The lush grass swayed rhythmically, with an undulating figure occasionally peeking from behind it. I dialed her number. “What are you doing?” She squealed, “I’m out for a ride, honey. I’ve been landing a lot of high-quality clients lately. I’m working really hard to make money!” “Oh?” I smiled. “With your body?” I tightened my grip on the phone and enunciated each word, “It’s pretty dark in the backyard. Want me to turn on the lights for the two of you?

A message came through on my husband's phone. 'Hey, baby. Hope this gets you nice and hard. Can't wait to see you tonight xoxo'. What? I was shocked! But I was even more shocked when I saw the picture. A woman in a skimpy, slutty, red lace bar. The bra was so sheer you could see her nipples. She had red lipstick, her face in a sexy pout. The woman was my husband's first love – Ellie! My husband was cheating on me? A wave of nausea washed over me. My heart raced. I felt dizzy. It was clear from the message that this wasn't the first time, either. I would never tolerate such a thing. I asked for a divorce and threw away my wedding ring. He would definitely regret it when he found out I was actually a billionaire. But so what? I don't care.

The seer's prophecy was clear: Alpha Alistair Blackthorn would betray his Luna in the fifth year of their mating. Alistair laughed and kicked her table over. "Eight years with Selene. You think I would throw that away for some liar's words?" For four years after, he was perfect. Tender. Devoted. He rejected Jade Moonshadow, the Gamma female who confessed her love, and had her driven from pack lands. I believed him completely. Then came our fifth anniversary. A package arrived with no return address. Inside, a photograph—Alistair and Jade tangled together, raw and intimate. On the back, written in careful script: His heart stays with you. His body stays with me. Now we're even. At the bottom of the box, a pair of pink lace underwear. The same pair she wore. I sat alone for three hours. I did not call him. Instead, I went to the elders and asked them to prepare the Severance papers.

The whole city’s paparazzi knows that Cade Finley would rather sleep with a nightclub escort than with me. The question they ask daily is: When will Mrs. Finley finally give away her precious "first time"? In front of the media cameras, Cade calmly turned towards me. "We can each have our own fun. If you don't like what I'm doing, you can go look for a man too." With that, he casually shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away. That night, he was photographed with his new fling in bed, and it made the trending news once again. While everyone thought I would just sit and wait until dawn, I contacted the paparazzi and bought a trending topic spot. Then, I tore up my lace nightgown, messed up the sheets, and took a bedroom photo from a third-person perspective. I then sent an anonymous message to Cade: "Bro, your wife is amazing. Let me know when you're getting a divorce."

Emilka Winchester is the envy of Seattle. To the outside world, she is Mrs. Perfect—the beautiful, devoted wife of a powerful man, living a life of marble counters, designer dresses, and carefully curated happiness. But behind closed doors, the silence is deafening. When her husband misses their fifth anniversary, a single crack begins to spread. A missed dinner becomes a trail of lies leading from the rain-soaked streets of Seattle to a hidden hotel room in Chicago. One receipt. One lingering scent of lilies. One scrap of red lace that doesn’t belong to her. The truth shatters everything. But Damian doesn’t ask for forgiveness. He offers a solution. An open marriage. After years of failed IVFs and the weight of a legacy that never came, he no longer wants a wife,just a woman to maintain the illusion while he lives his life elsewhere. Now Emilka must decide: remain the perfect wife in a beautiful lie… or destroy everything to reclaim the truth. Because in a world built on appearances, the truth is the most dangerous thing she can choose.

"What if I am jealous?” he whispered in my ear. “What if I can’t stand that my father gets to be the one who beds an absolute goddess while I’m stuck being her stepson?"His scent surrounded me and there was nowhere for me to escape."I want you, Aria. I can’t stand the thought of you being my stepmother.”I felt his strong hands caress my back, reaching for the zipper of my dress and slowly beginning to undo it. Before I knew it, the crimson dress had fallen to the ground, revealing my body clad only in black lace lingerie...***Yesterday I was still an illegal healer, born and raised in the slums, struggling to pay rent.Today I am to marry the wealthiest Alpha in Romulus City. Life should be easy going forward, right?Until I meet my husband's son.My Father's Luna is My Mate is created by Reina Bellevue, an eGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.

I had avoided Snow Judson’s father for the entire five years of our marriage. My career never matched Snow’s, so in his eyes, I would always be beneath them. That day, Snow had a work dinner and asked me to take his father for a medical checkup. When we reached the hospital, the staff told us that the appointment was not scheduled for today. Snow’s father blew up on the spot and swung his cane at me. When I tried to call Snow, I accidentally opened a video that had been posted three minutes earlier. Snow wore a lace camisole in the video. She stood at a sink in a bathroom and washed a man’s shirt by hand. I looked at the caption. [Dinner is over. My boss took great care of me. If I had a wife like her, I would want nothing more.] Snow smiled so gently in the video that I suddenly felt empty. I left a comment under the video. [Wow, is he confessing?]

My wife, Sandra Wren, had suggested taking our daughter, Annie, to a childcare center, saying that it would be better for our daughter. I didn't think much of it and handed her a card. I went on a business trip for half a month. Watching the daily charges on my card, I felt nothing but satisfaction. Until my best friend suddenly sent me a video. The location tag was at the childcare center. "Dude. Why is your wife staying after class for 'extra lessons'? Is it more exciting in the classroom?" In the video, Sandra's lace underwear hung around her ankles. The floor was littered with used condoms. The tables in the childcare classroom creaked noisily. I immediately called her. On the phone, I could faintly hear her suppressed yet excited breathing. She said, slightly panting, "Honey, I'm flying a kite with Annie. Did you miss us?" I let out a cold laugh. "Yes. I missed you so much, I came back overnight. Which classroom are you in? I'll bring you condoms."

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I found another woman’s lace thong in my bedroom. My husband, Mark Donovan, stood in front of the closet and said coldly, “She’s just a kid, Leslie. Don’t make this ugly.” That “kid” was pregnant with his child. That “kid” had already moved into my home, worn his shirts, slept in my bed, and made him cut down the magnolia tree my dead parents planted for me. Everyone in the Donovan family thought I would scream, cry, and beg. After all, I had loved Mark for nine years. But this time, I only picked up my suitcase. Because they didn’t know one thing. The divorce had already been filed. The Donovan wife’s emerald brooch had already been returned. And the evidence against his precious little mistress had already been delivered to the old Don. Mark thought I was walking out of his mansion. He didn’t know I was walking out of his life. Forever.