Spicyyyy Novels & Stories

He opened the door for me like a gentleman, allowing me to get in. "Want some music?" Gavin asked, the second he entered. I nodded. "What genre?" he asked, smiling brightly. I typed on my phone, "*Anything by Tate McRae, Olivia Rodrigo, Taylor Swift, or Conan Gray*." "So you're a pop girlie, Miss Spencer?" he teased. I nodded proudly. Soon, "Greedy" was playing from the speakers. We bopped our heads to the sound, and it was peaceful.

I am a slave to my carnal urges right now. Maybe in the morning, I’ll think with a fresh mind. I look down to see the delicious spaghetti in a bowl. Oh fuck it, I am eating it.

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Stupid fan! “Six, why are you here?” the guy asked. His number one fan was right about him being Spanish. “Well, I’m here to get breakfast, but I also wanted to introduce you to someone,” Six replied. “I'm actually meeting someone in your life?” the guy scowled. “Trust me, I'm just as shocked that I’m doing this. Rochelle Solano, meet Five. Five, Rochelle,” Six introduced Prominent, I repeat.. “Really?” I couldn't help but giggle. “I feel like I’m missing something here,” Five admitted.

He winked at me before walking down the stairs and rushing toward his car as I looked at the glass of orange juice and pushing it aside. “Rough night?” A man asked from beside me. I raised an eyebrow and turned to look at him, watching as he smiled. His hand had a phoenix tattoo, and judging by his scent, I could tell that the man was an Alpha. “And you’re choosing to forget about it by drinking orange juice?” “I don’t drink alcohol.” I said, and he chuckled before nodding at my stomach. “I can tell, your child’s heartbeat beats you to that.” He said, and I laughed. He extended his hand to me, and I raised an amused eyebrow. “Malakai, but friends call me Kai.”

Copyright © 2024 Unusualdee All rights reserved. Original work. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. PRINT ISBN: 9798332220357 AUTHOR’S NOTE Welcome to my world of Spicy One-Shot Collection! As you embark on this journey of passion and desire, I wanted to share a personal note with you.

His lips didn’t pucker, no flinching, no sweating—none of the usual human reactions to extreme spiciness. “Is he… a robot?” Jeslyn muttered under her breath. “Mmm,” Leonel hummed with a nod. “Interesting. There's a spicy kick to it. New experiment?” Jeslyn’s eyes widened. What?! He likes it?! “Uh… yeah,” she answered quickly, almost reflexively. “It’s… a new variant. Hellfire Lava Dessert.” Leonel smirked. “Nice name. Fits a woman like you.” “A woman like me?” Jeslyn raised a brow.

With a face as recognizable as mine, it was only a matter of time before someone spotted me. A former fan took a video of me performing at the bar and posted it online, even though photography wasn't allowed there. Once the clip got out, everything spiraled out of control. "Jean Swisher's Fake Death" blew up on social media overnight. People were tagging Conrad left and right, begging him to track me down. The fans who used to call us the perfect couple were suddenly desperate to reunite us, until the more reasonable crowd stepped in and shut it down. "Just do this for me, okay? You two should meet one last time! All these old memories are hitting me out of nowhere!"

The glistening head of his cock brushed against my lower lip. “Don’t be shy pen,” he ordered softly, hand around my jaw. “Open.” My lips trembled. Shame and horror warred with the slick heat soaking my panties. I was a licensed therapist. A married woman. This was my office. But my mouth parted anyway. Jax groaned in approval and rubbed the fat, cum-smeared head across my tongue. The taste… salty, musky, mixed with the cheerleader’s spit… made my stomach twist and my clit throb at the same time.

I scream his name, a piercing cry, a prayer, a blasphemy. It's the signal. His control shatters. His face decomposes into a grimace of pure, primal pleasure. He thrusts one last time, splitting me in two, and I feel him explode inside me. Hot, deep, the ultimate assertion. His seed marks me from within, sealing the insane pact we have just spoken. My own body follows, shaken by spasms so violent they seem to dislocate me. It's not pleasure. It's capitulation. A dissolution. I drown in him. And I let it happen.