Werewolf Heat

That night, I got off work early and brought home some late-night snacks. When I opened the door, I saw a pair of high heels carelessly tossed in the entryway and Gregory’s blazer thrown over the couch. His heavy breathing and the woman’s moans could be heard through the gap between the door and its frame. I was all too familiar with this sight. This time, I did not storm out like I used to. Instead, I sat quietly at the dining table and finished my cold pizza.

When I witness my husband, Wayne Donaldson, and Valeria Meadows, a poor scholarship student he had been funding, exiting the hospital with a baby, I finally realize that Wayne has been lying to me about the fact that he got drugged by others. That day, I file for a divorce from him. But Wayne grips my hand and promises me, "Don't worry, you'll be the only Mrs. Donaldson. She won't be able to affect your position in any way." I just laugh in his face. He thinks I choose to be with him because of his money. But what he doesn't know is that my dad is the richest man in the city. Even the Donaldsons' ascent through the ranks is all thanks to my secretive help. That night, I send my dad two texts. The first one writes, "I agree to enter a marriage alliance with Mason Frost." The second one writes, "You can terminate all investments devoted to the Donaldsons right now."

I bought expensive red lingerie to save my marriage. When I got home on Christmas Eve, I found my husband on his knees with his face buried between another man's legs. I ran. Bought a plane ticket to anywhere. Ended up crying in the airplane bathroom where the most gorgeous man I've ever seen found me. One thing led to another, and he bent me over that sink and gave me the best sex of my life. Turns out he's Knox Volkov. The Lycan King. My husband's boss. The most powerful and ruthless alpha alive. When we landed, he looked me dead in the eye and said he had a proposition for me. One that would let me get revenge on my cheating husband while experiencing pleasure I never knew existed. The catch? Be his fake girlfriend for one week at the Christmas Summit. For seven days, I'd be completely his. I should have said no. But I was hurt and angry and desperate to feel wanted again. So I said yes. But on one condition—he has to make me come every single time. He agreed with a wicked smile. But what happens when the fake starts feeling real? When I'm falling for a man who's sworn he'll never love or take a mate again? When his rules are no emotions, no strings, no forever—but my heart doesn't care about his rules? What happens when the seven days end and he's supposed to let me go? TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING (18+) WARNING: THIS IS A CHRISTMAS EROTICA WITH SO MUCH SMUT AND JUST ENOUGH PLOT. GET THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS.

My 60-year-old father hasn't been able to sire any other children than me due to an injury that affects his manhood. However, my mom has just gotten pregnant with triplets. When I take him to the hospital for a follow-up checkup, a man suddenly shows up and drags Dad off to undergo a vasectomy. Upon returning to the scene after registering Dad's details at the nurse's station, I'm stunned by what I see. Still, I rush over to stop the man. Instead, a nurse stops me and tells me, "Ms. Ashford's husband is apprehending the man she's cheating with right now! Don't go rushing into their mess!" I'm both shocked and confused at the same time. Ms. Ashford, a.k.a Selena Ashford, is my mother! Then her husband should be my dad! "You old bastard! You already have one foot in the grave, and yet you still have the balls to seduce a married woman! How dare you attempt to fight over my family's assets with my son! I'll have you know that this hospital belongs to my daughter-in-law, Emily Carter! Let's see if you can survive long enough to spend any of my family fortune!" Dad refuses to enter the surgery room. Instead, he manages to wrestle the man away from him and try to escape. Upon noticing Dad's escape attempt, the man yells for other people to hold him down. Then, he punches Dad in the groin a few times. "Selena and I have been married for 40 years, and we only have Elias as our only son! Emily is the daughter-in-law whom we've personally selected for him as well! Since when did she become your daughter-in-law?" Dad screams hysterically. "That's right! Emily is my wife! You're no father of mine!" I quickly exclaim. The man eyes me up and down in disdain. "Nowadays, even homewreckers have their buddies to do their dirty work with them! My son, the heir of Ashford Group, is Dylan Ashford! How dare you impersonate him!" Before I can say anything, the man dials a number and starts yelling into his phone. "Emily Carter, are you and your mother-in-law both cheating on my son and me together? I'm giving you a chance right now! You'd better come over and deal with this side piece of yours before Dylan finds out about your affair!" I feel as though my world has come crashing down. Are my mom and my wife seriously cheating on my dad and me at the same time?

I've been in a coma for six months after a car accident. When I finally wake up, the first thing I hear is something sloppy in my hospital ward. My girlfriend, Quinn Simpson, is in here. She's kissing Chad Scott, her true love. Chad looks uneasy as he glances at me every few seconds. "Quinn, don't do this. I heard coma patients can still hear things. If Mateo hears us—" Quinn scoffs, completely unbothered. "So what? He's a vegetable. Probably won't wake up for the rest of his life. It's better this way, isn't it? Didn't you say you liked living on the edge?" They talk trash about me right in front of my face. I can even feel the contempt in Quinn's eyes. When the two of them finally leave, they don't notice the effort it takes for me to crack my eyes open. But the nurse who walks in next does. She sees it immediately and slams the emergency button. Once I start regaining strength, the first thing I do is send a message to my parents. "Mom, Dad, I'll do the arranged marriage."

My father-in-law said he wanted to experience "how the young folks have fun these days," so I took him to my wife's newly opened upscale cocktail bar for a quiet drink. I’d just finished ordering him a custom cocktail when a man from a booth across the room swaggered over, glass in hand. His eyes scanned the drink menu on our table, and a condescending smirk twisted his lips. "Only ordering the cheapest well drinks?" he sneered. "Brought the old man here to enjoy the free air conditioning? Trash like you belongs in a dive bar. Who even let you in here?" Anger burned in my chest. I stood up, my jaw clenched. "We're paying customers. What's it to you?" But before I could say another word, his face darkened with pure rage. He snatched the half-finished beer bottle from our table and smashed it on my head. "My girl owns this place!" he snarled. "Even if I crack your skull open, I can afford the payout! You filthy pauper—either get on your knees and lick my shoes dry, or get the hell out of my sight. You're an eyesore." The beer dripped down my face. My hands trembled with fury as I wiped it away. Then, a cold calm settled over me. I opened my phone, switched to the camera, and went live. "Alright, everyone," I said into the screen. "You won't want to miss this. We're going live to catch my cheating wife and see the double life she's been leading."

On our anniversary, my husband, James Marshall, purchased a painting as a gift for me with my secondary credit card. When I got home, I went to my study to retrieve an urgent court document. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, I could hear the flirtatious voice of my assistant, Julie Summers, mingled with my husband’s low murmurs. “James, your wife is just a money-printing machine. What does she know about art? She could never appreciate you like I do.” James sighed. Then, in an indulgent tone, he said, “Claire is too perfect—so perfect it’s suffocating. Not like you, full of life and warmth.” Just then, my mother-in-law, Susan Marshall, called James. He put her on speakerphone. “James, you need to move faster. While Claire still trusts you, turn all her client contacts into yours. That Julie girl seems promising. She’s much easier to control than that iron-fisted career wife of yours.” I gripped the cold doorknob, listening to the pair of shameless lovers in the study and the wretched woman on the phone, and immediately drafted a divorce agreement. At the same time, I forwarded asset-protection filings for all my holdings to my legal team. “I’ll see you all in court, parasites.”

After receiving the report for an STD test, I went back to the barbeque restaurant, and there I ran into a young woman who was about three months pregnant. She asked me to let her cut in line, and, feeling sorry for her, I agreed to help her out. I quickly made arrangements for her and made sure she had a seat. But to my shock, after she finished her meal, she had a miscarriage. The girl posted about the incident online, and before I knew it, I was trending on social media, facing a wave of cyberbullying. The internet users went even further, digging up my health records and finding that everything came back positive. [She's positive for everything—she's clearly a woman with a messy private life!] [No wonder she caused the woman's miscarriage just by being near her—she's a biological hazard!] The cyberbullying got so bad that it pushed me into depression. Even my fiancé turned against me, accusing me of being filthy and breaking up with me. The emotional weight became too much, and in my pain, I drove straight into a reservoir. Meanwhile, the girl gained millions of followers online and skyrocketed to fame as a popular influencer. It was only after I died that I learned the shocking truth—this girl was my fiancé's first love. To boost her own popularity, she and my fiancé had come up with this entire scheme together. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day when she asked me to let her cut in line.

Ken spent a fortune on our wedding. But on our wedding night, he left me to take care of his crush, Jenny Johnson, who was struggling with severe depression. I grabbed a chainsaw, took down her door, and demanded a divorce. Jenny's eyes were swollen from crying. "I'll leave Ken alone, back to you. My life isn't as important as your happiness—" Ken, distressed beyond words, warned me, "Mayson White, listen to me. If Jenny ends up taking her own life because of you, you'll pay with yours." Later, he caught me cheating with his best friend. With red eyes, he pleaded, "Mayson, break up with him. I can pretend none of this happened. Let's just be together." "No way," I said. "He'll threaten to end his life if he never sees me. You're such a good guy and wouldn't want to force him to go through with it, would you?"

For five years, Marco Falcone was the perfect man. Or so I thought. The illusion shattered on the night of our engagement party, when his mistress crashed it, a five-year-old boy in tow. The boy ran straight to Marco, crying, "Daddy! Daddy, I finally found you!" It had to be some kind of sick joke. But then Marco turned to me, his voice stripped of all warmth. "This is my son, Leo. A… mistake Sofia and I made five years ago." "Leo is the Falcone heir. I have to legitimize them. That means I'll be engaged to Sofia first." "But Lydia, believe me, I still love you. We can have our engagement party in six months. You're going to be the Donna of the Falcone family. I expect you to be generous and understanding. This is non-negotiable." I laughed, a cold, sharp sound, and slid the engagement ring off my finger. My eyes scanned the room and locked on the man in the corner—Lorenzo Moretti, the most powerful Don in New York. He held another title, one only I knew: the man who’d been trying to make me his. "Don Moretti," I called out, my voice clear and steady. "I find myself in need of a new fiancé. Are you interested?"