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But the dryness in my throat wouldn't let me. My best friend, Lorena, and I had just gotten back from a house party and decided to crash at her place. We were supposed to call Ubers and head to our separate homes after the party, but I had to escort her and make sure she got in safely because she was way too drunk to be left alone. I could've gone home after dropping her off, but it was 2 a.m., and I wasn't trying to get robbed or kidnapped. So I stayed. Little did I know that very decision would change everything.

Maya’s heart hammered against her ribs as the heavy steel door clicked shut behind her. The invitation had cost her three grand and a favor from a source who owed her big. *The Vault* didn’t advertise. You got in because someone who mattered wanted you there—or because you were useful. Tonight she was both: freelance journalist chasing a story on the ultra-rich and their dirty little playgrounds.

Forever. End of book 36

I’m not anything. --- Week Six. I start freelancing. Small stuff. Social copy for a bakery. Email campaigns for a bookstore that’s closing and doesn’t know it yet. I charge $50 because I don’t know what I’m worth anymore. My first client pays me in cash and a loaf of sourdough. I take the sourdough home and eat it with Sienna at 1 AM. “This is good bread,” she says. “This is good work,” I say, and realize I mean it.

BEFORE YOU READ Nobody is coming to save you. Themes: Forced Proximity, Snowed In, Size Difference, Breeding Kink. This story features a possessive, reclusive hero who hasn't seen a woman in years. Expect primal play, rough sex, and intense possessiveness. (***) Gabrielle

Don't forget to follow me on MyNovel and on I*******m it's mirah_selim Also guys I am thinking of starting a new story but it will be free, so you can follow me on MyNovel, I will give it there for free. Till the next adios

That was all he said as he took his briefcase and made his way out of the house while I watched him leave helplessly. “I could be good for you.” I whispered in frustration and stomped my feet before clearing the table and dumping them in the sink. I spent the rest of the day as usual, stealing Nick's shirt and hiding it in my room so that I could fuck myself to it at night. When 6 PM struck, I got a text from Mom with a message that had me sighing in despair. Mom: “There's unfortunately too much work. I think I'll be home by midnight. Or in the morning. Take care baby, xoxo.”

~Liliana~ These days after the gala don’t really settle into anything smooth. They just keep going, one after another, in a way that still catches me off guard. Every morning Rebecca wakes me up the same way, her little hands grabbing my arm and shaking until I open my eyes. She always has some urgent job for us, like lining up her stuffed animals for a big fight or sneaking a few extra strawberries from the kitchen before anyone notices. I catch how she presses closer when we sit with picture books or when she’s trying to write her letters. I don’t rush her. I just let it happen.

I kept thinking to myself if only they knew I was sitting here completely naked. It was complete torture all day knowing that I wasn't allowed to touch myself, as masturbating during breaks had become a habit. Working from home certainly had its perks, but I was almost wishing I was in an office at the moment around people so that I would for sure not start rubbing my clit. I certainly didn't want to disappoint John on this first day, and I made up my mind that I wouldn't. At 12:30pm I received a text from John that read..."My house 5pm! Do NOT urinate from now until I see you! That's an order baby."

“Like how people rush toward things they can’t resist.” Her touch was featherlight, distracting. My pulse thudded. “So if ice cream prices go up—” “I’ll still buy it,” she interrupted. “Because I can’t resist ice cream.” She licked her bottom lip deliberately. “Guess that makes ice cream inelastic… like me.” My pen slipped, leaving a stray mark on the graph. “Freya,” I said tightly, “you’re supposed to be paying attention to economics, not…” “I am,” she cut in sweetly. “See? I’m making it practical. Relatable.” Her hand slid the textbook closer, but her gaze never left me. “You make graphs look boring, Aiden. But when I say it my way, it feels… exciting.”