Why Couldn't They Save Dobby Novels & Stories

Don’t Stop: Short Erotica Tales is a red-hot compilation of standalone short stories exploring forbidden desire, raw power, and explosive passion. From fake marriages that ignite into rough, bed-shattering sex to hate-fueled hookups where exes tear into each other against walls, skirts hiked, thrusts punishing and deep. Forbidden affairs, crazy age gap, captive fantasies, one-night stands turned addictive. Each tale delivers explicit, no-holds-barred heat: teasing oral, hard spanks, multiple breathless orgasms, and dominant men who take control while fierce women push back and beg for more. Short, filthy, and intensely satisfying. Perfect for readers who crave scorching erotica that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Synopsis Katherine McQueen's world shattered when her father borrowed from Massimo Hollingsworth, a ruthless New York billionaire who commands the fearsome Hollingsworth dynasty. When Massimo arrived to collect his due, a tragic accident left him in a coma. Desperate and cornered, Katherine was forced into a marriage she never wanted. His powerful relatives plotted his death, certain he wouldn’t survive, eager to erase her as well by throwing her out once she becomes a widow. But Massimo did survive. When he awakened, the ice in his gaze was nothing compared to the fury in his heart. He recognized Katherine as the daughter of the man who orchestrated his accident. Hatred replaced reason. Cruelty became his weapon. “I heard you might be pregnant with my child already? Abort it. I don’t want a child from your wretched bloodline.” Devastated, Katherine fled, building a new life far from his shadow. But seven years later, fate played its cruel hand again. At a bustling amusement park, her brilliant young son, a boy who looked like a miniature Massimo, pointed to a man on stage. “Mom, why does that man look so much like me?” “Because he’s your uncle. But remember, never cross his path. He’s dangerous… he even threatened me while I carried you.” Yet her son was no fool. Taking matters into his own hands, he wrote a letter to Massimo. "You are my dad, but you terrified my mother while she was pregnant with me. What kind of father does that make you? I hate that I look so much like you. But guess what? I’ve come to stay and suffocate you.”

Synopsis Katherine McQueen's world shattered when her father borrowed from Massimo Hollingsworth, a ruthless New York billionaire who commands the fearsome Hollingsworth dynasty. When Massimo arrived to collect his due, a tragic accident left him in a coma. Desperate and cornered, Katherine was forced into a marriage she never wanted. His powerful relatives plotted his death, certain he wouldn’t survive, eager to erase her as well by throwing her out once she becomes a widow. But Massimo did survive. When he awakened, the ice in his gaze was nothing compared to the fury in his heart. He recognized Katherine as the daughter of the man who orchestrated his accident. Hatred replaced reason. Cruelty became his weapon. “I heard you might be pregnant with my child already? Abort it. I don’t want a child from your wretched bloodline.” Devastated, Katherine fled, building a new life far from his shadow. But seven years later, fate played its cruel hand again. At a bustling amusement park, her brilliant young son, a boy who looked like a miniature Massimo, pointed to a man on stage. “Mom, why does that man look so much like me?” “Because he’s your uncle. But remember, never cross his path. He’s dangerous… he even threatened me while I carried you.” Yet her son was no fool. Taking matters into his own hands, he wrote a letter to Massimo. "You are my dad, but you terrified my mother while she was pregnant with me. What kind of father does that make you? I hate that I look so much like you. But guess what? I’ve come to stay and suffocate you.”

Michael spent five years dealing with his disorder: haphephobia. Afraid to be touch. Afraid of stepping out of his home to enjoy a normal life. After moving to a new school, Michael has to challenge himself again from the beginning, but now with help from his new friend Elliot. Update: Monday Disclaimer: trigger warning. The novel goes through disorders that can be triggering and sensitive for viewers.

The day before the long weekend, I stopped by the branch office to deliver a file in my capacity as chairman. I had barely stepped through the door when I saw my old college classmate, Whitney Sims, surrounded by her usual circle of admirers. One of them said enviously, "I heard your fiance, Shane, is taking you home for the holiday? That's basically meeting the family, right?" "And tomorrow night at the corporate gala, he's bringing you out for the first time? Looks like the position of Mrs. Wilson is already secured!" I didn't react. I lowered my gaze and walked straight toward the office. Whitney called out behind me, "Skylar? I sent you my wedding invitation this morning–why didn't you reply?" "Oh–right, I almost forgot. The wedding's at the Grand Bellevue. You need at least a million in assets just to get in. I'm guessing you don't qualify?" She tapped my shoulder lightly, a faint smile on her lips. "Tell you what–I'll have my fiance speak to your supervisor and get your name on the guest list for tomorrow's gala. You can come watch me have my moment. Think of it as a preview of my happily-ever-after." I didn't even look up. "I'm busy that night. I won't be going." The moment I finished speaking, the woman beside her shoved me. "Who do you think you are? You're just a clerk running paperwork between offices–what are you putting on airs for? "Our Whitney is engaged to the CEO! She's being nice offering you a seat–don't push your luck!" "And don't think we don't know–if you hadn't stolen Whitney's college thesis, how would you have even gotten hired?" I almost laughed. I was the only daughter of the Reed family. Before I had even finished college, my parents had already handed over Reed Group to me. I was the chairman. What interview would I ever need?

Throughout my seven years of living in this residential area, I've been helping my neighbors receive their parcels and babysit their children no matter how sudden the requests are. All sorts of delivered goods have gone through my hands, be it tiny regular parcels, special deliveries containing raw seafood, or furniture and electrical appliances. My motto is that close-knitted neighbors are more dependable rather than my family, who lives very far away from me. That's why I never hesitate to lend a helping hand as long as the circumstances permit me to do so. In fact, I often deliver everyone's parcels to their units. But one day, Carmen Webber, a young woman who has just moved into the apartment, brings this topic up during a casual chit-chat with the other neighbors. "Nowadays, the parcel lockers and the parcel pickup points are very convenient to use. There's absolutely no need to specifically get someone to sign your parcels for you. Could it be that Hilary is using the guise of doing things for everyone just to make some quick bucks under the table? "After all, those who accept parcels on behalf of others tend to get paid. You guys must have slipped her some money every time you drop by her place to pick up your stuff, right? Imagine how lucrative business must be for her!" Carmen then shoots me a glance, mockery dripping from her tone. The neighbors just swap looks with each other. Then, they turn their suspicious gazes to me. That's when Carmen adds, "Next time, you can seek me out when you need someone to accept parcels and babysit children for you. I have a lot of free time on my hands, and I promise that I won't earn a single cent from you guys!" My heart goes stone cold when I listen to everyone else agreeing with Carmen. Over the past seven years, I'm the one paying for everything, be it opening my door in the middle of the night to accept a delivery, babysitting children for others, or making up for the lost packages and the spoiled seafood. Not only do I not earn a single cent, but I've also lost quite a huge amount of money. On top of that, many of my plans get delayed or rescheduled, too. Since Carmen wants to be the good Samaritan this badly, I might as well let her take over all these troublesome and thankless matters from now on.

My mother was once adored and protected by three men. As such, I had three fathers. After her death, I was raised by one of the greatest doctors, the richest man in Theala, and an award-winning actor. For 13 years, I was showered with overwhelming adoration. That was until three years ago—the day they adopted Erin, an orphan girl. From then on, they began to dote on her. When she accused me of stealing her necklace, they tore my room apart in their search, smashing my most cherished music box in the process. They only felt remorse when they saw me sobbing over the shards. As compensation, they bought me every music box they could find. When she claimed I mocked her for being an orphan, they forced me to write a hundred apology letters as punishment. They only massaged my hands in remorse upon seeing them trembling so badly that I could no longer feed myself. When Erin accused me of shredding her gown, they locked me in the dark basement, starving me for three whole days. When I was let out, they were filled with remorse upon realizing how much weight I had lost. Their bloodshot eyes watched over the grand feast they prepared as an apology. All of that lasted until Erin poisoned my cup of water. I kept coughing up blood as my body grew weaker by the day. Daniel only diagnosed me with malnutrition and made me take prescribed supplements. Unbeknownst to him, those supplements only hastened the poison's effects. After I collapsed at school, I went to the hospital for treatment. "You only have three days left to live," the doctor said. Why then… Why did my fathers drown themselves in sorrow and kill Erin after my death?

Adrian Moretti’s adopted sister—She knew perfectly well that I suffered from severe asthma and could not be exposed to smoke or strong scents. Yet during the yacht reception, she deliberately dragged me onto the open deck, where cigars burned nonstop and the wind howled. Within seconds, my chest tightened. When I reached for my inhaler, my blood ran cold. It was empty. I collapsed against the railing, gasping violently, my lungs burning as if they were collapsing in on themselves. She crouched beside me and smiled. “You’re always so dramatic. It’s just a little smoke. You don’t need to act like you’re dying,” she said softly. “You’re too weak. You need to build some tolerance.” I looked toward Adrian, my vision already blurring. “Adrian,” I choked. “Give me my inhaler. If I don’t use it right now, I’m going to suffocate.” He frowned slightly. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” he said coldly. “I’ve never heard of anyone dying from a bit of smoke. She’s right—you’re always seeking attention. We finally gathered tonight, and you’re ruining it.” My heart dropped. I fumbled for my phone and called my mother. “Mom,” I sobbed, barely able to breathe. “I’m being bullied… and I can’t breathe.” My voice shook violently.

My father was a highly respected criminal investigator, and my mother was the head of the ER, dedicated to saving lives. However, I was a regular at the local police station. I fought, caused trouble, and earned the title of “the most hopeless kid on the block.” The first time, I publicly insulted my newly transferred cousin at school. My father dragged me straight to the police station in front of everyone and had me locked up for a full day and night. The second time, I led a gang of thugs to block my cousin’s way home in an alley. My mother was so furious, she dumped me deep in the mountains, leaving me to be bullied by a lecherous bachelor. The third time, I stole a keepsake from my cousin and tossed it down a sewer. My father put the handcuffs on me himself and sent me straight to juvenile detention. Five years later, I became a key informant in an anti-fraud operation, helping the police crack a major nationwide case. The media rushed to report the story, and journalists packed my parents’ house to interview the “hero’s family.” However, my parents just scoffed over the phone. “Her? A hero? We will only believe she is changed for the better when she is dead.” So why was it that when they saw me lying in a pool of blood after shielding a hostage, they finally cried?

Before I could shove my wife, Cheryl Craig, into the ocean, I turned myself in. The security guard frowned. "What? Are you saying that you're going to kill someone on this cruise?" I nodded. "It's 5:05 p.m. right now. In 20 minutes, I'll push my wife off this cruise ship. You need to arrest me, now." He stared at me like I had lost my mind. "You've got to be kidding! I've never seen anyone confess before the crime." He waved me off and started to walk away, so I had no choice but to start smashing things in the lobby. Only when the cuffs snapped around my wrists did I finally breathe again. In my last life, Cheryl was pushed off this very ship and fell into the ocean. Before I could even finish arranging her funeral, the police came for me. The ship's security footage clearly showed me pushing her overboard, but at that exact time, I was in a room with my father. There was no way I could've done it. I asked my father to testify for me, but he said I had already been planning to kill Cheryl for the insurance money because my company was falling apart. In the end, I was sentenced to death for murder. Even as I faced execution, I still couldn't understand it. I didn't do it, so why did everyone insist that I had? When I opened my eyes again, I was back to before Cheryl fell into the ocean.