Plush Couch

“On your knees,” Caspian ordered, his voice leaving no room for debate. Her legs gave way, the plush rug coarse against her skin. She looked up at them, four gods of her new, twisted world, each holding their cocks, hard and ready for her. “This is your punishment,” Caspian said, his hand moving slowly on himself. “For letting other men look. For being a naughty stripper .” “And your reward,” Raphael purred, his thumb swirling over the head of his erection. “For being so fucking perfect.” “Open your mouth,” Jeremy instructed, his voice thick. “Open your eyes. And don’t you dare look away.” Lyra became Jade, the faceless Stripper who could make men forget their names.But when four familiar faces took over the VIP booth, the illusion shattered. And instead of walking away, they bought the club that night—bought her stage, her contract, her secret. Four stepbrothers. One forbidden secret. She was their sin before she became their obsession.

For four years I was his secretary, and for four years I warmed his bed. I knew everything, from his family business to the secrets he whispered to me at night. But to him, I was nothing more than a toy he could summon whenever he pleased. The moment his first love, Sofia Costa, flew back into the country, he humiliated me without a second thought. He kissed her in a Sicilian church, abandoned me on a rain-soaked road with a gash ten inches long on my calf, and later dismissed me with a cold, cutting line. He said I was someone unimportant, someone he could simply ignore. She waved the tulip plush he'd given her in front of me. "I'm the only one he loves. You were just a stand-in." While I rebuilt my life in Chicago and finally found some peace, this ruthless Mafia don knelt outside my door, eyes red with emotion. "Elena, come back to me." I kicked his hand away with a smile. "Your so-called devotion disgusts me."

Late at night, my husband came home with a young model. "So, you are the washed-up wife that Mr. Dawson keeps at home?" The girl looked at me with a mocking smile and said. Jay Dawson, my husband, reeking of alcohol, glanced between us with interest. He then hugged the young girl and led her into the bedroom. I sat alone on the living room couch, wrapped in a blanket, and listened to their shameless noises all night. I endured it for two years. Our agreement had finally ended this year, and so had my love for Ethan. I walked away. But Ethan chased after me like a madman.

On the night of our fifth wedding anniversary, I set the table, lit the candles, and waited on the couch for my husband to come home. As I scrolled through my feed to pass the time, a message notification popped up–from his old classmate, Susie Cartman. "Angela, thanks to Calvin's seed, I can finally have my own baby." The message came with a selfie–her grinning at the camera, holding up a medical slip in one hand, flashing a peace sign with the other. I touched my stomach, where our child was quietly growing. Calvin… Did you really think everything in life would always go your way?

My flight was suddenly canceled, so I dragged my suitcase back home. As soon as I stepped inside, I saw torn black stockings scattered on the floor. This was the eighth time Simon Jones had brought a different woman home. The sound of running water and a young woman’s laughter echoed from the bathroom. I didn’t cry or make a scene. Instead, I sat quietly on the couch, waiting for them to finish. Everyone assumed I would continue being Simon’s devoted fool like before. But no one knew that the man I truly loved had returned. After tonight, Simon, the stand-in, would be discarded.

On the day Ethan Moore and I are supposed to marry, his adoptive sister, Hazel Moore, threatens to jump off a building. Ethan abandons me in my wedding dress and leaves me jilted for her. As the guests watch me mockingly, I boldly announce, "I'll marry anyone who dares walk down this aisle to me!" Three years later, Ethan returns to the Moore residence with Hazel. I'm seated on the couch and enjoying some oatmeal while watching TV. Ethan stares at my baby bump and snarls, "Who's the father of that child in your belly?" I sip my oatmeal and smile faintly. "A member of the Moore family, of course."

She was breaking out. She was struggling to breathe, she tried to pull away from him but no, he was gaining in on her. He had her sprawled on the couch unfastening the rope of her robe and clutching her bare skin. Her mouth fell open and her face threw to the back with her hair spread all over the couch as his lips came to her neck, and he was grunting into her ears with raw need. “I need you Bambino Mio (my baby)” he whispered as his tongue touched her naked breast. Her hands were useless against him. Her toes curled up as a ticklish feeling transferred from her body and straight to her brain. Her mouth let out a sweet moan. She has never felt this good before. “I will make you feel beautiful.” He said as he kissed her face sticking his hand into her panties. “I will make your pain go away for a while, bambino.” She screamed when she felt his hand inside of her, their eyes locked into each other before their lips met again. “Do you feel better now?” He grunted out and she tried to nod her head. “No Bambino, you have to be grateful by replying me with words.” He said driving deeper into her. Amora’s life turned topsy turvy down when the powerful and brutal cold billionaire of Venice walks into it. A man filled with a raw taste of need and affection and he offered her what she wanted most in her life. AFFECTION but it came with a price which will cost her a lot more than she would gain. Will she survive being in the billionaire’s world or will she be consumed? This book is RATED 18+

I'd been gone three months, growing our turf. Came home to find some chick in my robe, on my couch, sipping my wine. I called security. Lesson time. Then Damon—my husband, who only mattered because he married me—jumped in front of her. "It was a drunken mistake. She's just some poor girl. You're not seriously gonna flip over this, right?" I slapped him. "A trophy like you thinks he gets a say now?" Instead of shutting up, he asked for a divorce. For her. Cool. I said yes. He thought ditching me meant freedom. What he didn't get? Without me, he was nobody.

The last time I mentioned my engagement to Walter Reagle, everyone in the room went quiet at first. However, after seeing Walter's annoyed look, they all started laughing. "Who still believes in old-fashioned childhood betrothals these days?" "Is Ms. Lawson feeling insecure?" I ignored their teasing. I just looked at Walter, who was lounging on the couch with his shirt collar open, showing off the lovebites on his neck and collarbone. My heart felt like it was being stabbed. The pain came slowly. "We were too young to agree to something so silly," he said. Walter looked up with a faint, mocking smile. He gave me a lazy look. "We're grown up now, Emma. "Let's just forget about the past."

Sandra Kinsey's dance studio was where she buried her passion. It was also our secret place. No one else was allowed in. No one but me. Until one day, her assistant barged in, using a love for Latin dance as an excuse, and danced with her intimately. Sandra didn't push him away. That was the moment I knew—you can't make someone stay when their heart has already left. I stripped her of her authority, took over the company myself, and gave Sandra all the freedom she could ever ask for. But later, eyes red and voice trembling, she looked at me and demanded to know why. I sat on the couch and glanced at her with indifference. "Freedom," I said, "always comes at a price. Doesn't it?"