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Genre:- EroticaPrologueDark RomanceWarning! Warning!! Warning!!!THIS BOOK CONTAINS STEAMY SCENES IN EVERY CHAPTER, IF YOU ARE BELOW 18 AND YOU FEEL INSECURE ABOUT READING AN EROTIC BOOK, PLEASE DON'T READ IT. IT CONTAINS HIGH SEXUAL CONTENT!!!... Sexual violence is one of the most awful weapons of war, used against women. But huge numbers of men are also victims. Governments, aid agencies, and human rights defenders barely acknowledge its possibility. This made some men scared to speak up. This is the case of Nate Wilson.his stepmother sexually abuse him when he was a kid. Any time he summon the courage to open up to his father, the young man always came up with one or two things just to escape from it. He has no choice than to keep it to himself, 20 years later, he grows up to be an handsome guy, he graduated from college but decided to drop his certificate in the house and go for a stripper workBeing a victim of rape from a tender age, has made him good in all aspects that have to do with SEX, he stripped at the club and also has sex with any available woman for money, let's just say, he is a manwhore.But what happened when he meet her?Oliver Thompson, a married woman whose husband didn't satisfy her with sex, her friend invited her to the club where Nate worked as a stripper.What happened when they meet?"I will do what your husband can never do to you, I will worship your body in a way that your husband hasn't done before, now strip!"

Alan circled them slowly, his gaze lingering on her flushed skin and then Karl’s tense body. “You want me to keep quiet, right?” He asked. “Then you… have to be mine. Both of you. " He slapped Karl's dick and the traitor sprang back to life. Karl gulped but said nothing. Alan stalked to where Selina was, half of her body on the bed and the other half resting on air, her pussy available for anyone to view. "Just for me.” He cupped her right breast and molded the flesh. She swallowed, feeling a dangerous thrill course through her veins. “I… agree.” She whispered, almost breathless. “I’ll be yours.” ******** Selina’s marriage is flawless to the outside world—and empty behind closed doors. Two years as a wife have taught her loneliness, silence, and a husband who treats her more like an obligation than a woman with needs. Starved of affection and desperate to feel wanted, Selina finds herself drawn into a dangerous temptation within the walls of her own home. What starts as a single reckless mistake soon becomes a web of secrets she can’t escape. But everything shatters when the unthinkable happens—and Selina realizes she’s crossed a line that can never be erased. Now trapped between desire, guilt, and forbidden attraction, Selina must keep her secrets hidden while living under the same roof with the very people who could destroy her. Every glance feels loaded. Every moment is a risk. And every choice pulls her deeper into a scandal that could ruin them all. In a house built on silence and betrayal, Selina will learn that the most dangerous desires are the ones no one is supposed to see.

My adopted daughter, Phoebe Marsh, possessed an evil ability. Whenever she got hurt, the pain would also be inflicted directly on my biological daughter, Maisie Shaw. She deliberately hurt herself, covering her body with wounds and bruises. Then, she would turn around with cold eyes, watching Maisie writhe on the floor in agony until she passed out from the pain. With no medical solution available, I broke down and held Maisie close, begging my husband, Brandon Shaw, to send Phoebe away. However, he would erupt in fury. "It's obviously Maisie who's been faking illness for attention, and you're making up this ridiculous story to get rid of Phoebe. She's just a fragile, helpless child. How can you be so vicious?" After that, Phoebe escalated her self-harm even more viciously. Meanwhile, Maisie spent every day curled up in the corner of her bed, refusing to let anyone touch her. On Maisie's birthday, Phoebe threw herself from the fifth floor. Just as Maisie was blowing out her candles and making a wish, she suddenly began bleeding from all her facial orifices, and she died instantly. Yet, Phoebe only suffered minor scrapes. I died from overwhelming grief shortly after. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to Phoebe's first day in our home. Maisie was playing with her Legos when she suddenly clutched her ankle and started crying. This time, I grabbed the broom from behind the door and swung it toward Maisie, shouting, "I'll beat you up for faking illness and seeking attention!"

Lucy Chaw, being a villain in someone else's story, was a true victim in her own. Born and raised in a strict, rich family that demanded nothing less than perfection, had drove her to be the mean girl, the bully. she lived her life being the spoiled rich girl that bullied anyone who had what they wanted to have in life. But things went too far when she almost got fired and suspended for a month without pay for messing with an old class mate who worked in the Davis Company. That day, she was met with a threat from her family. either get things together, or marry someone they choose for her because she was just useless. she tried to do her best at work and keep her head down. but all her effort was in vain as her family forced her to Marry for the sake of their name. she was given a choice. Marry Karl Thompson for the Chaw name or cut all ties with her family. in hopes of getting her freedom and getting into her dream as a fashion designer, she married the man her family chose for her. but Lucy soon realized that life was not going to be easy, as she was married to the coldest man on earth. Karl Thompson isn't just a billionaire that comes from a long line of family that has made name for themselves in the fashion industry, He was also the same reason she will be crying herself to sleep. Karl was a cold nightmare she never prepared herself for. He is the biggest billionaire bully to ever live. *** Book two of my work place romance book. It follows My Sweet Boss And I, available on this platform. It can be read as a stand alone.

I rented a house with a bloody history because it was cheap. On the first night after moving in, the faucet turned on by itself. I yelled into thin air, “Are you paying the water bill?!” The water instantly stopped flowing. I thought that was just the beginning of the ghost not bothering me. Unexpectedly, the next day, I saw a main course with two side dishes prepared on the dining table.

I die in the corridor of the private hospital my husband established after being forced to give my heart to his true love. Before my death, my six-year-old son tearfully begs him to save me thrice. The first time, he holds my husband's hand and says I'm coughing up blood. My husband sneers. "Looks like she's learned tricks—she knows how to teach children to lie now." Then, he has his bodyguards kick my son out of the ward. The second time, my son grabs his sleeve and says I'm in so much pain that I'm incoherent. My husband frowns. "It's just a heart transplant. The doctor said she won't die." The bodyguards step forward and drag my son out of the ward again. The third time, my son grovels at my husband's feet and grabs his pants, sobbing and saying that I'm already unconscious. My husband is infuriated. He grabs my son by the neck and throws him out of the ward. "I told you Nadia won't die! I'll throw her and you out of the hospital if you come here and disturb Ruby's rest again!" My son gives his most previous item—a guardian angel pendant—to a nurse to save me. The nurse accepts it and arranges for me to be admitted to the last available ward in the hospital. However, Ruby Sharpe has someone stand before it with her pet dog. She says, "Sorry, kiddo. Your father's worried I'll be bored without my dog, so this ward has been set aside for my dog to stay in."

On our third wedding anniversary, I brought a gift to my husband’s office. Walking past the secretary's suite, I stopped dead. A king-size bed had been set up inside. A young woman in a designer dress was sprawled across it, a handheld game console in her hands, surrounded by imported snacks of every variety. "Kevin, the lunch you ordered yesterday was pre-packaged meals. Marcus and I both felt sick after eating it. Today, make sure it's from The Palace Hotel." Kevin -- my husband's personal assistant -- bowed and scraped before her, his face a mask of obsequious flattery. "Mrs. Thorne, please don't worry. Mr. Thorne made it very clear -- everything should be tailored to your preferences and the baby's. He knows you love the chef at The Palace Hotel, so he set up a standing VIP account for you. Anything you want, anytime." She was Mrs. Thorne? Then what exactly was I? My brow furrowed. I glanced down at the wedding ring I'd worn for years. The girl beamed, radiant. "For the baby's arrival, my husband is throwing a lavish yacht party. Every important person in New York is getting an invitation. I want the whole world to know that I'm the love of his life, and that our son will be blessed by the most powerful people before he's even born. The champagne and flowers must be the finest available -- no budget limit. Our child is going to have the best of everything from day one." I stared at the gentle swell of her belly and called my father. "Dad, that divorce agreement you drew up three years ago -- you can have the lawyers send it over now."

“Is this a…contract?” “It has everything you would need if you want to go on dates with me for the next couple of weeks. From the times you can call me to the days I would not be available to pick up calls or even respond to text messages no matter how urgent they are. There’s also a number of locations we can have our dates and another number of places I would never set foot in. Things you can talk about and things you should stay out of. There’s a detailed list of questions you can ask me there and an even more detailed list of things you should never mention. It’s not too much. All you need to do is go through it, sign the contract and we’re good to go. I’ll text you the dates and locations of our dates and have my driver come pick you up.” Emily was bewildered. “You’ve got to be joking.” ——- Emily Stark was given a choice- to either get married to a billionaire she had never met her entire life in place of her sister who had ran away in fear of getting married or somehow find a way to pay her parents’ debt of thirty million dollars in a day. She is immediately stuck at a crossroad but knows she has no choice but to succumb and get married. After all, it was just marriage? How much complicated could it be? Well, unless your husband to be is a cold ruthless billionaire who only cares about his work and has absolutely no interest in you. And to make it worse, thinks marriage is nothing but another business deal. A contract to be signed and simply gotten over with with time.

The doctor told me I had 72 hours left, unless I got access to the newest experimental treatment. However, there was only one slot available, and my husband Bowen Liddell gave it to my sister Yvonne Lawson instead. "Her kidney failure is more critical," he said. I nodded and swallowed the white pills that would only speed up my death. In the time I had left, I got a lot done. The lawyer's hand trembled as he passed me the documents. "Are you sure you want to transfer the two billion dollars in shares?" I replied, "Yes. Give them to Yvonne." My daughter, Candice Liddell, was giggling in Yvonne's arms. "Mommy Yvonne bought me a new dress!" I said, "It looks beautiful. Make sure you always listen to Mommy Yvonne, okay?" The art gallery I built from the ground up now had Yvonne's name on the sign. "You're too kind, Kathy," she said, crying. I told her, "You'll run it even better than I ever did." I even signed all my parents' trust fund away. That was when Bowen finally gave me his first genuine smile in years. "Kathleen, you've changed. You're not so aggressive anymore... You're beautiful like this." Indeed. This dying version of me finally became the 'perfect Kathleen Sullivan' in their eyes—obedient, generous, and no longer argumentative. The 72-hour countdown had already begun, and I couldn't help but wonder what they would remember when my heart stopped for good. The good wife who 'finally learned to let go', or the woman who completed her revenge by dying?

Gilbert Pierce, my wife's male trainee, bragged that he could disarm a bomb just by relying on his senses and with his eyes closed. However, he misjudged it and triggered the bomb's secondary detonation sequence. I stepped in at the last second and used the most dangerous method available, liquid nitrogen flash cooling, to save the entire building. Gilbert was pulled off frontline duty and placed on suspension for review. My wife, Jasmine Clem, tried to speak up for him, but I stopped her cold. "If you defend him now, you won't save him. You'll just get dragged down and suspended alongside him." Unable to handle the pressure, Gilbert blew himself up in an accident. In his suicide note, he accused Jasmine of choosing self-preservation when he needed her most. Jasmine said nothing. She only locked that letter away in her study. Years later, Jasmine became a nationally renowned bomb disposal expert. During a terrorist attack, I was captured and strapped with a timed explosive. Jasmine came to the scene personally to defuse it, but right in front of me, she repeated the exact same mistake her trainee had made years ago. She watched the countdown and smiled lightly at me. "See? He was just nervous back then. If I had encouraged him, he'd be a hero now." The bomb detonated, and I was blown apart. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment she was about to defend Gilbert. She didn't know that inside that building sat the nation's most classified core servers.