Starfire Pet

Desire might be gentle but not here, it is filthy, possessive, obsessive and once you taste it you can never get enough. Steamy Sessions is NOT sweet slow burn novel with a charming prince, this collection contains quite a number of EXPLICIT ADULT CONTENT including: •Intense power play. • Pet play, pain play, bondage, obedience training. •Dubsub elements. •Possessive, obsessive, morally questionable love interests. •Dark Erotic Fantasies. •Exhibitionism, degradation and praise. •Noncon/Dubcon. •Sharing, Public Submission. •Sadistic Dom, Brutal Switches and Feral Brats. •Queer Characters. •Possessive Monsters.

⚠️ Trigger Warning!!! This is an intense dark romance novel. Reader's discretion is advised. **** "You were born for me. You waited for me. The moment you came into this world, you cried for me, and you will keep crying for me until your last breath, Ixora." ---- Drexton Blackthorn had his bloody, thirst-filled eyes on a couple for the sins they committed. He swore to make them pay. But everything changed when she was born. She became his target. Just like a ferocious tiger, she was his prey. The moment she was born, she became his. The moment she breathed her first, she became his to destroy. His to taint. She lives all for him. He plans to make her shed blood; only then will his thirst for revenge be quenched — only then will his long wait come to an end. Ixora Castellan, his prey, became his little stalker—or so she thought. Little did she know that she was the stalked. He knew things about her...things neither her body nor mind could discover. The game was his, the prey was his, the hunt was his. But slowly, the hunter becomes hunted. This game of revenge was slowly turning into a game of obsession—an obsession he wasn't ready to succumb to. He wants every inch of her. Her body, her soul, her mind, her heart. She wasn't just a part of his want; she was his need. But she wants to be free...Is that even possible? How can she escape from his clutches, his web, his wings, when she's not even sure who she is? Play pet, little thief, Ixora Castellan...She doesn't know, but one thing is clear, she is whatever he wants her to be. She's lost her identity to him. Her ruin. Her tormentor. Her destruction.

Elena had once believed that silence could mean safety. That a gentle hand and a warm cup of tea placed quietly on her desk every morning could be a form of love. Lucien was never cruel—not in the obvious ways. He remembered how she liked her eggs, noticed when she swapped her perfume, and sent flowers on days he knew she wouldn’t expect them. He raised her like one would raise a pet—softly, without question. And Elena, foolish in the way only the very lonely can be, mistook his quiet affection for devotion. She told herself he was reserved. Mysterious. That love didn’t always wear its heart on its sleeve. But when the old flame returned—the one who spoke his language without needing to try—Elena saw it. The difference. He looked at her like a man who had found his lost religion. And Elena? She had simply been convenient. No tears, no scene. Just papers on the breakfast table, beside the eggs he cooked perfectly. She didn’t accuse or beg. She only asked for freedom. He didn’t sign. He chuckled. A soft, dismissive sound. “A cat raised indoors doesn’t know how to survive on the street, Elena. You’ll come back." But she didn’t. She disappeared, like smoke—except she didn’t vanish, not really. She lived. She wore colour again. Laughed at bad jokes. Let strange men hand her coffee and ask for her number. Lucien? He watched. He watched her become someone without him. And it drove him mad. The night he cornered her outside the gallery, rain in his hair and desperation in his eyes, he looked like a man undone. "Elena," he breathed, "please. Look at me. Just once." She did. Calm as ever, and her love already gone.