Strongest Finger

“Look at me.” I didn’t. A finger slid beneath my chin and forced my head up. “I said look at me.” His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The room felt smaller with him in it. Harder to breathe. Harder to think. “You don’t speak?” he asked softly. I shook my head. A slow smile touched his lips. “Good.” After betrayal stole her voice and the hospital stole her hope, she woke up in the back of a moving container… about to be sold. Dragged into Podolskaya territory… a city ruled by mafia bloodlines and silent brutality, she becomes property inside a fortress where fear is currency and mercy doesn’t exist. And at the center of it all stands Rai Mikalov. Cold, untouchable and dangerously observant He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t threaten. He simply decides. Unable to speak, and trapped in a world where weakness is hunted, she quickly learns one thing, silence can be a weapon. Or a death sentence. But Rai didn’t choose her by accident. And the reason why might be far more dangerous than being sold. In a world where fear feeds power and love is a liability… What happens when the most dangerous man in the room becomes obsessed with the one girl who cannot beg?

CAUTION: This contains Erotica Content. 18+, BDSM, KINKS, Reverse Harem, Threesome, Hardcore. My eyes trailed down their long smooth legs in front of me, and I can imagine how they’d be trembling after I'm done fucking the hell out of them. “So…what decisions have you both made?” I coldly asked, indifferently crossing my legs to cover my monster which had been throbbing with desire. My two sexy secretaries looked at each other, but said nothing. I chuckled, then stood up, walking towards them at a gentle pace, “You both don't want to lose your jobs, right?” I stopped in front of Amela, my blonde beauty. I tipped her chin up and my finger trailed down to her neck and then lower until I got to that spot I have been thinking about—Her pointy full boobs. “You both should make your decision. Lose your jobs, or… Give your bodies to me for a month.” *** This is an unapologetically steamy erotica collection with different erotica stories that would surely leave you breathless, aching, secretly dripping, and coming for more Don’t say I didn’t warn you… Get ready to drip. And oh, don’t forget your popcorn.

“You helped your sister to run away with her boyfriend, right?” Aadil Waziri yelled at his newlyweds wife Inayat and he shook her head. “I didn't know she would run away.” She defended herself. “That means you knew. Then you could have told me about that. I would have backed out. I would never marry her forcefully. Now see what you have gotten yourself into. You spoiled both of our lives. You are stuck with me forever and me with you. But you have to pay for it. I will make your life hell. You are really my wife in papers but I will never claim you as my wife.” Pointing his finger at her he snarled at her. “Then why did you agree to marry me? You could have said no to this marriage.” Now Inayat lost her temper and yelled at him which enraged him more and he grabbed her jaw firmly, looking deadly into her eyes. “Because I want to ruin your life. You have to pay for your sister’s faults all your life. Welcome to my hellhole.” Saying that he let go of her face with a jerk and started laughing like a maniac.

“I know you want me in jail, but I want you in my bed.” Every man and woman Ángel meets disappears. Their severed finger arrives first, like a pretty little Christmas gift, wrapped in silk and presented in box filled with silent promises from his stalker. Castle, Mafia heir. Executioner. Obsessed beyond reason. He doesn’t send threats. He sends bodies. Because no one touches what belongs to him. No one tastes what he’s claimed. And if they try? They bleed for it. At sixteen, Ángel Di Cristina lost everything. His father—an FBI agent—was closing in on the Mafia when a brutal massacre left his parents dead. But that night, one masked man went rogue. He killed his own allies, marked Ángel with a scar, and disappeared. For years, Ángel hunted him. And now, he’s closer than ever. But Castle doesn’t play by rules. He never had. What he wanted, he got. He bends Ángel, fills his whole life with the thought of him. He whispers filthy things against his throat while pressing a knife to his pulse. Run? Hide? Fight? Useless. Because Castillo doesn’t just want to own Ángel. He wants to ruin him. And the worst part? Ángel is ready to let him.

"Tell me, what was I doing to your body last night?" He gingerly kneaded his finger around her core and a moan left her lips, he was torturing her. She didn't like that. "You were touching me like this," she cried out when Darian thrust his fingers into her wet hole. "Like this, Darian!" She held onto the headboard, letting him take full charge of her clit. Darian stroked her gently, looking into her eyes as he moved his fingers against her clit. She cried out in pure pleasure, "Please Darian." She felt a spasm building up between her legs. Throwing her head backwards, she reached her peak in no time. "Was that how I touched you?" Darian rolled on the bed, positioning her back on the bed. - - As a repayment of her father's debt, Darian Dawson asked for Lena's hand in marriage. Darian is a ruthless man, the next in line to the Dawson family mafia. Lena is a normal girl from the westside of London, a fresh university graduate who is looking forward to having a good life with her best friend until Darian showed up, completely ruining her plans, possessing her and taking full control of her life.

When we were only kids, Sam Harris and I made a promise we'd marry each other if we were still single when we turned thirty. Well, my thirtieth birthday has come and gone and I'm still as single as ever. And as far as I know, so is Sam. But it's been ages since we've seen each other, and after what he did to me our senior year of college, I wouldn't put his ring on my finger even if he begged me to marry him. Never mind his devilish good looks. Or the fact that the playboy partier is a doctor now. Nope, I'm sticking to my guns with this, and when I go back to my hometown of Silver Ridge for the first time in years, I won't pay him the slightest bit of attention. Well...until he convinces me to go out for drinks to catch up. I knew it was a bad idea the moment I agreed to it. And then he brings up our childhood promise. It might be fun and games to him, but it's not to me. Because as much a I don't want to admit it, Sam has always been my first choice. And I don't want to be nothing more than his backup plan.

When James Chapman and I first got together, I was a regular student while he was one of the most popular guys in school. Five years down the road, I'm still a regular woman. James' attitude toward me has changed drastically, though. He frequently complains about my appearance. I know it's because his true love is back in the country. He misses our fifth anniversary because of her. His true love makes fun of me for being ugly to his face, so he orders me to get cosmetic surgery at her newly opened clinic. He wants me to use my fanbase to make her business boom. "You're so ugly that you'd be the perfect person to prove Barbara's skills… if she can actually make you look better, that is. We're all friends, aren't we? What's wrong with lending her a hand? Stop being so petty!" Barbara Simpson kills me—I die on the operating table in her inhumane clinic. James thinks I go missing because I'm just throwing a tantrum, but he realizes he's wrong when he finds my mangled body in the basement. The diamond ring he put on my finger is still there, too.

I went abroad for three years to build a lab and save my husband's company from collapse. After endless struggles, I finally cracked the technical problems and developed the core technology. When I returned home with that breakthrough, I saw the airport video board plastered with the same impossible headline—my husband was getting married. I felt a hot, furious ache and took a taxi straight to the venue. … A woman who had cared for our household for years blocked me at the gate and sneered. "Who do you think you are, showing up at the Stone family's wedding? Get out of here, or I'll get security to throw you out." For a moment, I stood rooted, but then the bride appeared, walking out of the villa in a wedding gown. It was the woman Adrian Stone had once told me was dead—his first love, Evelyn Sutton. She wore my wedding ring on her finger and looked at me with pure contempt. "You want to make a scene at my wedding?" she said. "If you do, you're really asking for trouble. My husband, Adrian, won't hesitate to take care of you." I folded my arms and let out a cold laugh. "Adrian's getting married? Funny, I don't recall getting an invitation."

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.

He abruptly snatches me, closing the distance between us, putting his hand on the back of my head. All the hair on my body rises on alert; one wrong move I might shapeshift in here. His masculine scent infiltrated me with so much finesse. Damn, he smells divine. "What the hell--" "Shut your mouth; those thugs are after me; I need your help." His baritone tone is manly, very manly which catches me off guard a little. No one can lay a finger on me; he is the first man ever to touch me. I'm with a stranger in a strange position. How annoying can this night be? "Alright, Mister, I will give you three seconds to let me go, or else you might lose your hands." My tone is cold and dangerous. I’m hoping he heeds my warning. The tall man keeps leaning forward to me, putting our bodies in an intimate, awkward setting. "One, Two, Thre--" He steers his legs forward. My heart was beating a mile per second. I can't believe he is doing this! Feeling his warm palms cupping my face, the next thing I know, he is kissing me. His lips taste like strawberries. I got an entry pass into heaven!