Lace Dickie

~ A psychic with the ability to know your darkest secrets and fate has learnt to be hidden and isolated. Till she meets the one human that is resistant to her will and for a split moment she finds peace and maybe love alongside a broken heart. ~ A ruthless billionaire has everything he desires, in the day time. But in the night, when he dreams of a goddess, he is left lost and empty. He hires an escort to soothe his loneliness but for a CEO that always gets what he desires, he is caught up in his own mind games and what he wants drifts from what he truly desires. ~•~Excerpt: "Tell me, when I fuck you, how loud will you scream?" His breathe brushed her throbbing neck, she was tempted to touch him. "As loud as you wish sir." He groaned in irritation. "I have seen the fire in your eyes, why hide it now?" Idris glared through her soul then he chuckled almost like a pleased predator, "have you ever been to the opera?" "Yes." Her pussy was burning and soaked, her nipples were impatient and her lips desired what he offered, but Joanna hid her arousal quite well, her eyes challenged his and her shoulders stood proud. "That's how loud I'll make you beg." In between his scorching promise, he made a delicious journey with his fingers passed her short gown and her lace pants into her damp folds, slowly and seductively, drawing a starved moan from her lips. "No need to hide darling I can smell your need and no matter how much obstacle you create, I'll own you. Every inch of you." Then he added another digit, deeper and drove her wild.

“Tell me, Scarlett. What do you want?” His voice is a growl — low, filthy — fingers teasing beneath the lace of my panties, just enough to make me squirm. “Say it. I want to hear you beg for it.” He murmurs the words, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “We shouldn’t be doing this…” I whisper, breathless, my body already arching into his touch, betraying every word I just said. Then his fingers slide into my soaked folds, and a sharp moan escapes my lips. He chuckles. Dark. Wicked. “Then why are you so wet for me?” — All Scarlett Bennett wants after a messy divorce that nearly destroyed her reputation and forced her out of the career she loved is a fresh start with absolutely no complications. Even when she wakes up dazed after a reckless, mind-blowing one-night stand, she tells herself it was just sex. A mistake. A moment of weakness that would never happen again. Until she walks into her new office… and sees him. The man who had her spread across his bed, begging for more. The man she now works for. Lucien Whitmore. Lucien is all sharp edges and sin. He's a Billionaire. Brilliant. Mysterious and every bit as dangerous as he is irresistible. He is everything she should avoid — powerful, untouchable, and entirely too used to getting what he wants. And what he wants… is her. She swore it would never happen again. But when he’s got her bent over his desk, whispering praise in a voice that makes her knees weak, she forgets every reason she ever had to resist him. She’s not just a part of his empire now. She’s his favorite sin. And if the world finds out? They’ll both burn for it.

She hides behind ugly suits and fake names. He's done trusting women. When they meet in a masked sex club, neither realizes they've been fighting each other across boardroom tables for eighteen months. At Taylor Industries, she's Joy Smith—the frumpy CFO who drowns her curves in shapeless polyester and wearing a wig. At home, she's the forgotten wife of a cheating lawyer who hasn't touched her in so long she's starting to wonder if she's broken. When she finds hot pink lace panties stuffed in her couch cushions...definitely not hers, it's not heartbreak she feels. It's freedom. Grayson Taylor doesn't do relationships anymore. Not after walking in on his actress fiancée with another woman. Now he channels everything into hostile takeovers and board meetings, especially the ones where his overcautious CFO fights him on every goddamn acquisition. Joy Smith is brilliant, infuriating, and funny when he pushes all her buttons. But Honey is tired of being invisible. Tired of never having felt real pleasure. So, when her best friend gives her the details of The Velvet Room—Manhattan's most exclusive masked club—she promises herself just one night. One night to find out if her husband's right, if she really is frigid, or if she's just never been touched by the right hands. She doesn't expect the masked stranger who claims her the second she walks in. Doesn't expect the chemistry that ignites between them, the way he makes her body sing, or the orgasms that leave her shaking. Doesn't expect him to hand her an email address with one command: "Only me. No one else touches you."

“ Take off your robes,” Ava heard the command and the other slaves obeyed almost immediately. They took off their robes, and their almost naked body came into view except for the tiny little lace that covered nothing but their nipples and balls. The male slave's dick dangled and Ava looked away, still clutching her robe to herself. How could she undress in front of this multitude? What kind of humiliation was this? The audience erupted into murmurs, indecent comments flying from every corner. “ Steele, you slave seemed to be a disobedient one,” Ava heard the man's stern words and she turned to see Jacob’s stern gaze on her. She gulped and slowly let go of her robe. It fell to the ground and the audience gasped at the sight of her nakedness. Her hands clenched into fists by her side, resisting the urge to pick her robe from the floor and cover herself from their lustful eyes. “ Shit! How did Jacob get himself such a perfect slave?” Panic gripped Ava. No. It cannot be what she is thinking. She wasn't about to fuck these people. No. Jacob cannot make her do this. I was only his tool for power and revenge. I should have known he was no ordinary man but knowing wouldn't have changed anything. I was helpless, trapped with no choice and he was my savior from the Slave den back then. My hatred for him wouldn’t have allowed me to go with someone else. It’s not like I had a choice to choose my buyer. He was the highest bidder and I’m a commodity he bought from an illegal market. A commodity he has great plans for. His tool for power and revenge but I hate that my heart palpates for him.

His fingers were already at the lace between my thighs when he pushed me against the marble vanity, breath hot, voice darker than sin, his arousal pressing against my throbbing core. "Open your legs for me, Mrs Valentino." He didn’t wait. He plunged into me roughly, his mouth trailing down my neck like he owned it. I hated the way my body arched for him. I hated even more that he smirked when it did. I was supposed to be terrified, not trembling for the man who forced a ring onto my finger two days after abducting me. Before Dante Valentino touched me like that... before he whispered filth and promises into my ears, I was Valentina Morrison: a quiet girl, psychology graduate, volunteer counselor blissfully unaware that my entire life was a lie. I didn’t know the truth about my parents. I didn't know my bloodline belonged to a mafia empire that their hands were filled with blood. I only knew one thing the night I witnessed a murder in a Manhattan alley and it was that I was going to die...until he showed up. Dante, the most feared Italian boss in New York. He was ruthless and calculating. He didn't save me, he claimed me. Only because I’m not just some civilian. I'm the last surviving Castellano heir, the one piece of leverage that can rewrite the entire underworld. So Dante forced a marriage to protect me. To control me. To bind me to him in pleasure and law. And somewhere between running from gunfire and running from him, I made the worst mistake possible: I let the devil touch me. I let his hands teach my body a language my mind despises but my body craves. I let him explore me.

Serene’s heart raced as she stood in Nicholas’s dimly lit study, the scent of leather and whiskey heavy in the air. She’d been dusting the bookshelves when he entered, his presence filling the room like a storm. Now, he stood inches away, his black suit hugging his broad shoulders, his dark mullet framing a gaze that burned with intent. “You missed a spot,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, pointing to a shelf she’d already cleaned. Her cheeks flushed as she turned, the hem of her maid uniform riding up her thighs. “I-I’ll get it, Mr. Volkov,” she stammered, reaching up, but his hand caught her wrist, firm yet gentle. “No,” he said, stepping closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Let me show you.” His fingers slid down her arm, leaving a trail of heat, before guiding her hand to the shelf. His chest pressed against her back, and she gasped at the hardness of his body, the evidence of his arousal unmistakable. “You’re trembling, little maid,” he whispered, his lips brushing her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “Do I scare you… or do I excite you?” Her breath hitched as his free hand trailed up her thigh, slipping beneath the lace of her uniform. “Mr. Volkov…” she whimpered, but her protest melted into a moan as his fingers found her, teasing her through the thin fabric of her panties. “ Nicholas,” he corrected, his voice rough with desire, his touch growing bolder, circling her most sensitive spot until her knees buckled. “Say it,” he demanded, nipping her earlobe. “N-Nicholas,” she gasped, her body arching into him, surrendering to the fire he’d ignited. In that moment, the billionaire and his naive maid were bound by a hunger neither could deny.

An alarm wakes everyone up at 1:00 am. It turns out that a few college students have gone missing during their exploration in Wolffang Valley. My heart goes tense at the news. After all, my stepdaughter, Nancy Campton, had told me yesterday that she'd be exploring that place! Since Nancy has asthma, I specifically prepare medication that's meant to treat asthma in my medical kit just in case anything happens. After carrying my backpack, I begin urging my husband, Jack Campton, who's also the leader of the rescue team, to set off right away. But he keeps stopping me in my tracks. "What's the rush? Let's wait for Dakota to finish doing her makeup." Half an hour later, Dakota Sweeney, who has a face full of makeup and is wearing a pink rescue jacket, begins complaining in a high-pitched voice. "Why did you keep rushing me? Thanks to you, my eyeliner came out all crooked!" On the way to the valley, Dakota actually pulls out a pair of pink lace panties. After unscrewing the cap of a bottle of life-saving water, she starts washing it with said water. I can't endure her stupid antics anymore. "Have you gone nuts? This bottle of water could potentially save someone's life!" But Dakota replies in a matter-of-fact tone, "I'm a woman with principles! I must wash my underwear that I've changed out of on the same day!" Jack shoves me away at that moment. He then snatches the bottled water from me before passing it to Dakota. "Willow Armstrong, you're the crazy one here! Is it wrong for Dakota to take care of her hygiene?" As I stare at Jack, a cold smile slowly spreads across my face. It's not wrong for Dakota to take care of her hygiene. I just wonder if Jack is capable of facing the consequences behind Dakota's tendency to drag things out.