Private Moscow

After my 99th failed confession of love to Jim, my parents grounded me for two weeks. "You've embarrassed yourself enough over that illegitimate son from the Larson family," they snapped. "Has he ever even spared you a proper glance?" "Stay home and reflect. We've already arranged your marriage to the Shaw family. The wedding will be in two weeks." However, I didn’t give up. I was so determined to see Jim, no matter what. Only to walk in on him locked in a deep kiss with his precious first love in a private room. "Jim, you really know how to play," one of his friends laughed. "If the Cunningham family's heiress catches you like this, she'll probably lose her mind again." "Seriously, you've turned Ella down so many times, and now that she's grounded, you haven't even sent her a message. Aren't you afraid she'll finally give up on you?" Jim just scoffed with disdain and said calmly, "What's there to be afraid of? Everyone in the capital knows Ella is obsessed with me. Who else would want her but me?" "If I hadn't needed her to get back into the Larson family, I never would've postponed my engagement to Rowena in the first place."

Married in secret for five years, Yvonne Singer always thought I was just a washed-up nobody from a fallen family. What she didn't know was that I was the sole successor to Guzman Group, the world's largest venture capital firm. She tricked me into attending a cocktail party for the sake of her male best friend, Francis Yorke, and forced me to toast my sworn rival. Furious, I shattered the wineglass in my hand and snapped, "Yvonne, don't push me! Believe it or not, with a single word from me, your company can disappear from the stock market by tomorrow!" Panic flickered in her eyes. The next second, she threw herself into my arms. "Honey, I just needed your help. I didn't mean to hurt you." She then personally fed me a hangover pill and gently escorted me to a private room. When I woke up, I was hanging upside down from a drop tower. Francis slammed the switch. I was sent flying dozens of feet into the air, then plummeting straight down into the water. As my consciousness began to waver, I forced myself to make an emergency call. "Mr. Chance, contact global media outlets. Before nightfall, I want headlines showing them begging on the streets!"

I was Alpha Damon’s Head Beta. For six years, I had been his partner in bed and his second-in-command. When he announced our mating ceremony, the entire pack celebrated. My dream was finally within reach. But then, outside his private trophy room, I heard him bragging about his “Luna trials.” And just like that, I learned the truth. I wasn’t his one and only. I was one of thirty candidates. He’d spent a month with each of us, grading our bodies, our submission, our performance. My score? Lower than an Omega’s. Lower than Lydia’s. “Fucking Lydia was incredible,” he boasted. “I could barely pull myself away. Then I look at Elysia—so stiff, so in control—and I’m just… bored.” Ice flooded my veins. My body went numb. Six years of devotion. Countless nights tangled in his sheets. It all meant less than a cheap thrill and a wolf who knew how to kneel. My heartbreak hardened into ice. I sent a message to an Alpha who had wanted me long ago. “Adrian, you once said your offer to mate was a standing one. Does it still stand? Damon and I are over now.”

The night before my fiancé, Soren, and I were supposed to leave for Northern Europe to start our new life, the sounds of a lively discussion drifted from his private club. "Christ, Boss, are you insane? Why the sudden marriage alliance with the Rosetti family to make a play for Italy? Didn't you say you were getting out of the life with Abby and heading north?" Soren leaned back into a leather sofa, his voice nonchalant and muffled by a cloud of smoke. "Plans change. Besides, remember, I'm the one who made her who she is." "Once she sees the new empire I'm building, that little canary will come flying right back to my cage. The woman can't live without me." I stood in the shadows of the club, a wine glass in my hand, a dull ache blooming in my chest. The anniversary gift I had so carefully chosen for Soren was still in my purse, waiting for me to give it to him. I slipped out of the smoke-filled club, tossed the gift into the nearest trash can, and booked a one-way ticket to Northern Europe. But what he didn't know was that just as he could betray our future for Monica, I could abandon him for mine. All those years we spent dancing with death were never just for his sake.

My uncle’s rival, Emmett Meyer, saved me twice. The first time, I was drowning after a shipwreck—until he cut through the waves on a speedboat and dragged me ashore. The second time was after someone had slipped drugs into my drink. That night, I seduced him, a hardened man ten years my senior. In the dim glow of a private room, he guided my hand downward and growled, “I want you so bad, Babe.” He took me ruthlessly, ignoring my sobs and pleas. From then on, Emmett—the untamable “Prince of Silverbridge”—abandoned his reckless ways and devoted himself to me. Or so I believed. Then one day, he coaxed me into his Rolls-Royce and captured our tryst on camera. I flushed with embarrassment and secret delight. Later, as I hurried after him to return some documents he had left behind, I heard the sneers whispered in the hallway: “You’re so wild, Emmett. Everyone heard your girl moaning.” “Damn, the car rocked so hard I thought you’d break it.” “Hey, if Franklin Reed ever finds out that his precious niece has been your plaything for three years… think he’ll have a heart attack?”

The only audible sounds for the next few minutes were the platters of rain against the window and our heavy breathing. I saw him walk his naked ass to the bedside drawer, returning with a document in his hands. "What's this?", I questioned as I reluctantly took it from him. "A contract you need to sign to live." I grew silent as I read through the document. "If you sign that, you're going to be mine and mine alone. I'm going to have you whenever I want, and do with you whatever I please. In return, your father gets to live." *** Sofia's miserable life even darker when she is forced to be the payment for her father's debt to the most ruthless Mafia Lord in the city. Enzo had just one taste of her from a one night stand, and now he can't get her off his head. To keep her close he makes her sign a contract - BE MY SEX DOLL, AND IN RETURN, YOUR FATHER GETS TO LIVE. How long will the lustful contract hold? How will Sofia survive when she's suddenly exposed to the dark rollercoaster of Enzo's underworld? Will she keep being his private prostitute, or will there ever be an unlikely spark of love and desire?

By day, Annabel Walter is just another junior concierge at the prestigious Valenrose Suites—smart, quiet, and invisible. To the world, Jake Daniel is the cold, commanding CEO of the luxury hotel empire. Ruthless in the boardroom, unreadable in public, and untouchable to everyone… except her. But behind closed doors, he’s not just her boss—he’s her secret husband. Married in Paris under the stars, their love was supposed to be private, sacred, and temporary. A promise made when they had nothing but time and hope. But two years later, Annabel is still hiding in the shadows, pretending to be a stranger to the man she shares a bed with. In public, he’s terrifying. At home, he’s her clingy baby boy, obsessed with cuddles, jealous of attention, and desperate to be seen—by her, and eventually, by the world. But secrets don’t stay buried forever. As tensions rise at the hotel, scandals brew, and coworkers start to whisper, Annabel is forced to ask: How much longer can love survive in the dark? And what happens when the cold CEO everyone fears decides he’s done hiding his soft side? A romantic, steamy, and emotional tale of hidden love, power games, and the sweetest kind of duality—where the man feared by many is secretly ruled by the woman he calls his home.

I was always flying for work, so I left the whole renovation thing to my husband, Daxton Pruitt. This time, my flight got scrapped last minute, so I swung by the house to check in. The second I stepped inside, some woman named Mona Scambley, who claimed she was the designer, chucked a stack of invoices at me. Couples' lingerie display case: $15,000. High-end waterbed: $40,000. One glance at that pile of overpriced tacky nonsense made me nauseous. My brows pulled tight. "Ms. Scambley, this is a private house, not some couples' motel. What is all this?" Her face flipped in a heartbeat. She jabbed a finger at me. "The owner gave those orders. You're just the site supervisor. Disobey me again, and I'll have Mr. Pruitt fire you!" Then she spun around and called Daxton right there. I laughed, cold and low, about to ask what kind of clown show designer he'd hired—until I heard his voice. Gentle. Doting. "This is Mona and my love nest. We'll do whatever we want. Don't like it? Get out." I smiled, snatched the list from Mona, and nodded. "Sure." One week later, that overpriced waterbed showed up—Daxton, very much not smiling.

Years ago, I, Ella Marin, became the wife of Andrew Lorenzo, the underboss of the Lorenzo family. Sadly, my last three years were spent in prison after I caused a fatal car accident. I heard plenty of “good news” about my husband while I did my time. Andrew had officially taken over the Lorenzo family once the Don had stepped down. He then spent a fortune on a woman called Rose Gunfire and was rumored to have had a one-night stand with a rival. He was also seen acting intimately with Sophia, the Principessa of the Rossi family, and private photos of them kept appearing online. When the underboss came to warn me about Andrew, I remained calm. “The Don says that as long as you don’t cry or make a scene, you’ll still have a place in the Lorenzo family after your release.” I replied quietly, “So he has women on the side. I can handle that.” Three days before that, the church’s hospital had called to tell me that my mother was terminally ill. Since the Lorenzo family could help find a kidney donor, I agreed to a marriage in name only. All for my mother’s sake.

Late nights. Locked doors. No rules. An innocent intern bends over her CEO’s desk and begs for his thick cock to ruin her tight pussy, raw, relentless, filling her until cum drips down her thighs. A quiet barista closes shop with his “straight” manager, only to end up bent over the counter, ass spread, tongue deep in his hole before getting fucked raw and bred until he can’t walk. Best friends share wine, secrets, and tongues—licking each other slow until clits throb and they’re scissoring hard, squirting on the couch. A stressed office girl books private yoga and ends up face-down on the mat, instructor’s strap pounding her dripping cunt while nipples get sucked swollen. Every story drips with forbidden heat: boss/employee power play, first-time gay awakenings, friends-to-lovers filth, workplace risks, raw breeding, anal obsession, edging that breaks you, oral that leaves you shaking, multiple loads, possessive growls, and climaxes that soak everything. M/F dominance, M/M rough claiming, F/F sensual surrender. 100% raw, no limits, no regrets. Short steamy stories. Lock your door, because once you start reading, your hand won’t stop moving.