Pretty Reckless Book Novels & Stories

“We’ve already established that you’re the pervert ordering blow-up dolls. I’m just being a courteous neighbor and delivering your box. I have zero interest in picking you up. Less than zero, actually. I have negative interest in picking you up. And those aren’t my friends.” Mr. Dick Balsac steps forward, and I swear I mean to step back and put more space between us, but I’m somehow stuck, rendered immobile by the way this guy smells—masculine, like soap and cologne and—Oh God, I need to stop smelling him. He’s an arrogant ass who clearly thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and just because I had two glasses of wine and apparently lost all sense of reason doesn’t mean I should stand here sniffi

“If not for me, then for the innocent clan members. Can you really stand by and watch them scream in the sunlight?” “And where were those ‘innocent’ clan members?” I shot back. “Where were they when you lied about our bond? Where were they when you let me take the fall? Where were they when you humiliated me?” Milton had no answer. “Now that you need me, they’re ‘innocent clan members,’” I scoffed. “When you didn’t, they were deaf and blind.” “But…” “No ‘buts,’” I said firmly. “I’m going to my friend’s opening. As for your clan’s crisis, go ask your new princess to solve it.”

We look at him waiting. "Then the fucking TV turned on, I swear to God I thought I sat on the remote, so I turned it off, and put the remote on the side." We nod listening. "Then the kettle switched on again I debunked it, decided the fuse was going. Then literally my fucking cup moved across the table and smashed on the floor as the TV turned back on. So here I am, giving up, they are not crazy. Whatever it is wants until you're fucking alone." Marcus nods. Clearly, even he realises for Demitri to be shaken up it was bad.

"Everyone in that book makes terrible decisions. That's the point." "He knows the other man is lying and he keeps giving him more access. It's not romantic, it's a liability." "It's about choosing someone even when it's risky," I said. "Which you would know something about." He looked at me. "Are you comparing us to a novel where someone gets shot in chapter six?" "No one gets shot in chapter six." "I'm on chapter six." I laughed. Actually laughed, the kind that comes out before you can decide whether to let it. He watched me with the expression he reserved for moments he thought I wasn't paying attention. Like he was storing it somewhere.

Her cognac-dyed eyes widened and her lips were parted from the sequel, unable to close again. What is this? Remy you rascal, what the fuck have you been reading? The first title that jumped up was that of a bright red-covered book with the words "Conversation Casanova" written over it in capitals. And that was the most decent title... or book. The other ones had titles that shall not be said with contents that shall not be mentioned. Is this... this is how he got Jasmine? No way. These... W*****d books were better than these. Ryder couldn't look away from the books on her laptop's screen, her lips twitching, reconsidering some decisions she had taken lately.

_______ This Book is DARK BULLY ROMANCE with themes like Revenge, bully, húmiliation, reverse harem, MMMF, MF, and dúbious cónsent. A. Gupta

Jenni laughs, the kind of laugh that bubbles out of her, half amused, half horrified. But crazy works. “Crazy is the thing that pulls people in,” I say, my excitement building. “Imagine it, I could promote the book with ‘Researched by following a real-life serial killer.’ You know I’m right.” God, this is it. This is exactly what I need.

On her neck was a red collar that looked heavy enough to choke a baby to death. Yes, this was a luxurious bar built and founded by Sebastian and his two best friends. This bar consisted of the masochist, submissive, dominant and disciplinary. Of course, it wasn't a bar the government was aware of and even if they did get wind of it, there is nothing they'd be able to do in the presence of three powerful figures. At the center of the bar was bent the scantily clad lady as she screamed and yelled in both pleasure and pain while her insides were being teased by a masked muscular man with a whip in his hand.

Luan said beside me, his voice tight with anger. “I can feel it.” I turned to him slowly, measuring my words. This was the moment. One wrong sentence and everything would crumble. “Luan,” I said, lowering my voice, “You shouldn’t go in first.” He frowned. “Why not?” he asked. “This man burned a warehouse. He didn’t hesitate. That makes him reckless and dangerous. If there are traps inside, or if he’s armed, you’ll be walking straight into it.” “So will you,” he countered immediately.

Clara Vale lived on the 12th floor of an old, rundown building in downtown São Paulo. At 32, she was the undisputed queen of bestselling erotic romances. Her books sold by the thousands: Fuck Me Until Dawn, where the protagonist was destroyed by a mafioso with a 23-centimeter cock; Fireman’s Dick — the irony of fate hitting hard now — and her most recent one, Emergency Orgasm, which had spent three straight weeks at the top of the charts.