Spiderman Fingertips Novels & Stories

Our story started with a single, reckless night of sin while he was drugged. But I didn't regret it. After that night, I foolishly believed I had claimed his heart. For six years, we were inseparable and became a couple that made the entire underworld envious. However, everything was changed when I overheard him laughing with his capos outside the lounge. "Vincent, when will you put a ring on Lyra’s finger?" My footsteps froze. Then, his voice, still cold and utterly merciless, cut through the door. "She’s nothing but a fuck buddy. How could I marry her?" My heart hammered against my ribs, a sudden, violent warning. A suffocating, dead silence fell over the lounge. "When I broke up with my ex, she asked me to try dating other women. If we still have feelings for each other after six years, we’d reunite. We have a deal." His tone was chillingly calm. "My trial is over. It’s time for her to come back." "What about Lyra?" Another capo asked, sounding almost pitying. "I’ll throw her a fake wedding." Vincent replied, a cruel smirk audible in his voice. "Let her have little fantasy. It’s the least I can do before I discard her." A glacial chill seeped into my veins, making my fingertips tremble. Six years of affection…All those moments I thought were real were nothing but a twisted, calculated trial. Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. I resolutely turned on my heel and walked away into the shadows. By dawn, I booked a one-way flight to Switzerland.

****Mature Audience Only***** “Strip.” Heat flooded my cheeks. I hesitated, just for a heartbeat—then let the straps of my red dress slide off my shoulders. The silk puddled at my feet. My heels stayed on, my panties stayed on, and I stood there trembling in black lace, suddenly more exposed than I’d ever been in my life. He circled me slowly, his fingertips brushing over my spine, down my hip, ghosting over the swell of my ass. The touch made me shiver, made my nipples tighten against the lace. Then he fisted my hair, yanking my head back until I was forced to look up at him. His eyes were dark fire. “You’re mine tonight,” he said flatly. “Every part of you. Do you understand?” “Yes,” I whispered. “I’m yours.” “On your knees.” My body dropped instantly, as if it had been waiting for that command all along. “Open,” he ordered. I obeyed. His cock slid over my tongue, thick and heavy, and I gagged when he… Raw Pleasures will leave readers breathless, aroused, and haunted—satisfied in the moment yet craving more. Each story lingers like a forbidden memory, stirring desire, curiosity, and a secret hunger they won’t easily forget. This book is a work of adult fiction created exclusively for readers 18 years and older. It features highly explicit sexual scenes, strong language, and explores darker, taboo, and morally challenging themes. Within these pages are stories that delve into dominance and submission, power dynamics, and unconventional relationships that may not be suitable for all audiences.

After our company's IPO approval is granted, my boyfriend, Derek Calloway, finally agrees to publicize our relationship at the celebratory banquet. Derek and I have been in a relationship for seven years. For so long, he refuses to make our relationship official. He always cites the fact that office romance is forbidden in the company, and that he, as the CEO, should follow through as a prime example. On the night of the banquet, I wait for the news to be broken with bated breath and unadulterated delight. But when Derek stands on the stage, he chooses to utter the name of the new recruit who has just joined the company for two months—Jocelyn Grant. "It's all thanks to Jocelyn's contributions to the project that our company gets to go public. She's the MVP of our company." I just stand beneath the stage, completely stunned. For a moment, I don't know how to react. I'm the main person in charge of that project, and I'm the one who's contributed the most to that project. Not only have I stayed up countless nights working hard on it, but I also got hospitalized a few times because of it. Soon, I receive Derek's text message. "Jocelyn has just joined this line of work. She needs a project to help spruce her resume up. Just let her receive the credits this once. "We'll discuss more on publicizing our relationship in the future." I can only grip my phone so tightly that my fingertips go white. Finally, I key in one word. "Okay." Jocelyn can have the project. She can also have my position as the director. Heck, she's free to have Derek, my now ex-boyfriend. I'd like to see how these assholes can pass the subsequent trials without me.

Zesa Russo commands the boardroom with the same precision and confidence she brings to every aspect of her life. At 28, she’s the fierce CEO of Techya, a company she’s built from the ground up. Driven, unrelenting, and unapologetically bold, she’s never been one to wait for a prince charming to come sweep her off her feet—instead, she’s the force that shapes her own destiny. And her destiny has always involved him. The man who had once eluded her grasp, the one she had silently craved for years. But Zesa isn’t the kind to let love slip through her fingers. No. She's determined to make him hers, no matter what. Slowly, inevitably, she knows he’ll surrender his heart to her—just like everything else she’s ever set her sights on. ____ Levi’s mischievous gaze locks onto mine, daring, seductive, his lips curving into a slow smirk as he steps closer. “Should I stop?” His voice is velvet, deep and teasing, laced with danger. But I don’t flinch. “No,” I breathe, my pulse quickening, every nerve in my body on edge. His smirk deepens, a dark promise in his eyes as his fingers slowly trace the hem of my dress, lifting it with agonizing precision. The whisper of fabric against my skin sends shivers down my spine. His lips—warm, soft, and skilled—graze the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. Levi’s hand slips beneath the fabric, fingertips brushing against my desire, teasing, drawing out a soft gasp from me. The heat between us is suffocating, yet intoxicating. “Levi…” My voice trembles as he nips gently at my thigh, his breath hot against my skin. “You’ll be the one begging me to stop,” he murmurs, the promise in his words thick, dripping with need.

As one of London's premier wedding planners, I have spent my career orchestrating "perfect moments" for others, yet I never seemed to find my own. The ballroom at Claridge's was bathed in an opulent glow for my best friend Stella's wedding. The bridal bouquet sailed over the crowd. It brushed a young woman's fingertips, bounced once, and landed squarely in my arms. In an instant, half of London's high society turned toward Ryan. "Proposal! Proposal!" the crowd chanted over the rhythmic clink of champagne flutes. "Ryan, a sign like that is rare. Looks like we should prepare for the next big party!" Ryan was nudged forward by the crowd. In his charcoal Savile Row suit, he still managed to look detached, as if the noise had nothing to do with him. As I held the flowers, the lingering scent of fresh roses filled the air. For one ridiculous second, I even wondered whether I should warn him not to crease his trousers if he knelt. But he only smiled. Then, with practised ease, he took the bouquet from my arms. Without the slightest hesitation, he turned and handed it to his assistant, Emily, who was standing nearby. "She touched it first," he said, ruffling my hair with the same flawless tenderness I had endured for eight years. "Be good, Claire. Let's wait for the right time." The attention followed the flowers as they moved away. I caught the flicker of triumph in Emily's eyes and quickly looked down, tracing the intricate patterns of the carpet while forcing a perfectly poised smile. Ryan lived by schedules and efficiency, yet he never understood one simple truth: some chances, once missed, don't come with a "next time". My own wedding is next Saturday. And he has been officially struck from the guest list.

(Fourth book in the Her Wolves series) Teagan van der Merwe knew at least one thing in this life, you couldn't trust anyone. Not even your own flesh and blood. Exiled from her pack at the tender age of nineteen by her parents, all because she loved the wrong person. Harland. Her mate. They were cast out. Left to fend for themselves. As if they had any say in who the goddess chose for them. Mates were forever, another lesson she had learned. Harland was the only one who saw her for her. Now, nine years later, she was forced to go back to that hell hole of a place. Forced to face the demons she had left behind. Alone. What she comes to discover would shake her to the very core. Teagan would find a second mate. The last person on this earth she had ever thought would be hers. Bellamy Johanness. The heir of Desert Sun. And the man she had been betrothed to. *** “For you? For you I would slaughter them all. Every last person that has ever made you cry. I would burn this world to the fucking ground if it meant you were happy. Maybe I am exactly the kind of person you thought I was. But maybe, just maybe, that’s the kind of person you need in your corner,” His fingertips reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of my face. Beheld me with crystal clear vision. Saw through me. “Fuck all of them. So long as I have you.” I couldn’t stop myself. Felt my body moving forward, all on its own. The distance between us closed. Our eyes remained locked on each other. Everything stopped. Then his lips touched mine and everything fell right into place.

“You can play Priest for as long as you like,” he spat, ignoring my protests, “but you will never find salvation.” His words struck like a curse, but that wasn’t the reason my chest heaved, goosebumps littered my skin, and definitely not the reason I felt hot despite the chilling dip from the lake. Ezreal’s eyes widened momentarily, noticing. I winced as his hand shifted, pressing against the stiff betrayal straining against my soaked robes. He stilled for only a second, then a wicked grin overtook his features. “Well, well,” Ezreal drawled, his voice taunting “Look who’s getting excited,” “Stop,” I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut as the humiliation dug deep. “Please….” He leaned forward, his breath hot as his lips ghosted over the shell of my ear. “I will taint you so bad,” he whispered, his hand tightening against my crotch. “So bad you won’t have the courage to stand on the altar you abandoned me for.” ****** At sixteen, Ezreal Vossell took the fall for a murder to protect the only boy he ever loved—Baron Lander, the timid son of the town’s high priest. A known delinquent, the bastard child of the mayor, but the only one who saw him for his true self was Baron. Ezreal made the ultimate sacrifice, and all he wanted in return was Baron’s support. But alas, on the day of the trial, Baron betrayed him, casting him aside to please his father. Ezreal was sentenced to life in prison, his heart shattered beyond repair. Fifteen years later, he was released, but gone was the naive sixteen-year-old. He’s returned as the ruthless leader of a mafia syndicate, and with all the power and wealth at his fingertips, he yearned for one thing alone. Revenge.

Amanda Lemaiyan is an heiress with a problem: when she gets back from a short vacation after breaking off her engagement to her cheating ex, she realises that the strange man she slept with at the resort is the new CEO of her company. The problem? He is the replacement of her ex, who used her to rise the ranks of her family's conglomerate. She knows what to do—forget she ever slept with the man and not give him a chance to play her like her ex did. But will her plan work when she can't help recalling how good it felt being in his arms? Especially when he seems hell-bent on getting her back into his bed... Can she give in to the temptation when she risks losing her place in her family's conglomerate if she's caught in another scandal with another CEO? *** His fingertips brushed her wet, soft folds. He pushed his middle finger into her, drew back slowly, then added his index finger. Amanda's breath came in a rush. She stopped their kiss and whispered, "Fuck me already." Oh, he was going to. After he made her tell him what he wanted to hear. "Do you want me inside you that bad?" "You know I do." With the way she was moving her hips? Yeah, he knew. "Last night, when you went home, did you think of me?" "Yes." "Did you touch yourself, thinking of me?" "Lucas," she whined, one hand grabbing his and urging him to go faster. "Tell me and I'll give you what you want." "Yes. Since the resort, you're the only one I think about when I touch myself." "You're the only one I've thought about, too, since we were together. And I've thought about you a lot."

I stood at the edge of Ironwood territory, boots sinking into mud as cold seeped through my coat. I hated being this close to their land. It smelled like wet dog, testosterone, and trouble. “You’re late, witch.” The voice hit low and deep, vibrating through the ground before it reached my ears. I didn’t flinch. I refused to give him that. I turned slowly, amethyst eyes narrowing as I found him at the tree line. Guilermo Santander. He stepped into the gray light, rain sliding off his broad frame. Six-foot-five of pure menace. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, silver streaks catching the gloom, and those amber eyes—burning straight through me. “I’m not late,” I said calmly, though my pulse spiked. “You wolves just don’t understand patience.” He stopped three feet away. My skin prickled as the runes along my ribs flared hot, reacting to the dense magic rolling off him. Suffocating. Intoxicating. “And you witches don’t understand territory,” Guilermo said. He didn’t sound feral. He sounded tired—like a man carrying a century of weight on deceptively young shoulders. He leaned in and sniffed near my neck. I stiffened. “You smell like sage and burnt sugar,” he murmured, voice dropping, darker now. “It’s giving me a headache.” “Then stop breathing,” I snapped. One corner of his mouth lifted, a flash of sharp canine. “Make me.” The air between us snapped tight. My magic stirred, violet haze curling from my fingertips without permission, brushing the leather of his jacket. He didn’t pull away. He leaned closer. And standing there in the freezing rain with a man who could tear my throat out, I realized two things: Elder Sibal was wrong—Guilermo wasn’t a monster to be chained. And I was in serious trouble.

In the third year of my eating disorder, my husband, Nikolai Hollowell, is the only person who still insists on making me eat. Even when I vomit until I'm a trembling mess, he will make another dish for me again half an hour later. He coaxes gently yet stubbornly, "Have one more bite of the apple slice, Emi." But the moment I smell the food, I throw up again until I can barely breathe. That night, I make another post on X to ask for help. "How is someone with an eating disorder supposed to keep living?" The top comment says, "Get a boyfriend who's a chef! My darling cooks different dishes for me every single day, all 365 days without repeating once. Even the apple slices he cuts are shaped like cute little bunnies, so I absolutely love eating now." Someone replies enviously, "Wow! Where do you find a man like that?" She answers, "Find one? Good men like that no longer circulate on the market. He is actually married. His wife has had anorexia for three years. She has become only skin and bones. "He says just looking at her kills his appetite, and he does not even want to touch her. Well, I'm nothing like her. I always finish every dish he makes." My breathing catches in my throat. This morning, Nikolai personally made bunny-shaped apple slices for me. My fingertips turn cold as I tap into the woman's profile. Her caption reads, "Wow! If your wife won't eat bunny-shaped apple slices, then I will!" Attached is a photo of a man's long, elegant fingers holding an apple slice up to the woman's mouth. And the one reflected in her starry eyes after zooming in—is a face identical to Nikolai's.