LARA MORRISON

For years, I endured my husband Kellan's disdain, while he bent over backwards to please my scheming younger sister. When a sudden aneurysm required emergency life-saving surgery, I called him from the ER in absolute despair. He was busy celebrating my sister's new job. After listening to the lies she whispered about me in the background, he actually cursed at me. "If you're going to put on this act, don't bother coming home." He hung up the phone. I signed the surgery consent form alone, facing life and death all by myself. On the operating table, I hemorrhaged heavily. Not only did I lose my health, but I also lost the unborn little life I hadn't even had the chance to tell him about. Lying in the recovery room, I finally understood. His vows were nothing but empty lies, and I was always the expendable one in that relationship. And so, I signed the divorce papers and vanished from his life completely. Yet, he started looking for me like a madman, even taking revenge on everyone who had ever hurt me!

I ran from his bed. Now he's buying my past—and coming for my present. Three years ago, I was exiled to Northridge Academy—a brutal hockey meat-grinder ruled by an absolute tyrant. That tyrant was Julian Bennett: my father’s fiercest rival, the living legend of the NHL, and my legal uncle. In the freezing shadows of an empty rink, we crossed a line we could never uncross. Then, terrified of the fire between us and the secret growing inside me, I fled. Now, I’m back in New York for one night to secretly buy back The Tryst—a painting of our midnight embrace on the ice. But before I can claim it, Julian sweeps in with his VIP card, buying the canvas and trapping me against the gallery wall. Desperate to escape his suffocating grip, I weaponize our taboo: I call him "Uncle" in front of the flashing cameras. His answer? Dragging me into his Bentley with a cold, ruthless ultimatum: a mandatory DNA test to prove we don't share a single drop of blood. As the blurred lights of the rink and the city flash past, panic seizes my chest. If he proves we aren't family, I lose the only shield keeping me from falling back into his dangerous control—and worst of all, he’ll discover the two-year-old hockey prince I’ve been hiding in the shadows.

For two years, my world was circumscribed by the biometric lock on our penthouse and silent prayers for my husband, Vincenzo, the most feared Underboss of the Cosa Nostra. But when he finally returned from a brutal three-week smuggling route, he tossed me a cheap five-dollar tourist scarf, while his ex-lover Camilla flaunted the flawless pearl necklace he had just bought her. He abandoned me with a bleeding hand to rush to her side, ignored my severe medical emergencies to comfort her over trivialities, and publicly humiliated me at a Syndicate banquet by seating her in my rightful place at the head of the table. Camilla cornered me in the powder room, her fragile victim facade dropping instantly as she smirked at my reflection. "The thing a powerful man fears most isn't a wife who screams. It's a useless one who refuses to bow out gracefully." I endured his blatant disrespect and broken Omertà, wondering why my unwavering loyalty meant nothing compared to the manipulative tears of a woman who was actively leaking his classified safehouse coordinates. I didn't understand why he treated his sacred vows like garbage, eagerly feeding her Syndicate intel just to play the big, strong hero while leaving me to face cartel death threats entirely alone. But I was done being the neglected mafia wife waiting in the shadows. I calmly activated the covert audio recording device hidden inside my designer clutch. It was time to present this irrefutable evidence to the Don's Tribunal, strip my husband of his title, and build my own empire.

Madeline slammed the prenuptial agreement onto the table, forcing Danielle to sign herself away as a "blood bag" bride. To secure her mother's safety, Danielle was sold to the ruthless, comatose billionaire Deforest Stuart. She kept her head down, perfectly playing the role of a terrified, broken mute. But on her wedding night, Deforest's sister set a vicious trap, dragging Danielle to a hotel to be ruined by a sleazy investor. Danielle was prepared to escape, but the hotel door was suddenly smashed open by a massive figure. It wasn't the investor. It was her comatose husband, Deforest, temporarily awakened by a violent, drug-induced rage. In the pitch-black room, he pinned her down, mistaking her scent for a ghost from his past, and violently claimed her. She fled before dawn, only to be blinded by camera flashes. His sister dragged her back to the Stuart manor, ripping her collar open under the chandelier to expose the dark hickeys on her neck. "Throw this shameless whore out into the street!" the matriarch ordered. Danielle's eyes grew cold. If they kicked her out now, her years of planning to tear this rotten family apart would be completely destroyed. No one believed that the monster who assaulted her was the very man lying perfectly still in the medical wing. Playing the frantic mute, Danielle dragged the family to his bedroom. Right as the guards reached for her, she launched herself onto the bed, crushing her weight directly onto Deforest's chest. A second later, the "comatose" tyrant's eyes snapped open with murderous rage, and her real game of revenge finally began.

I was the fated mate of Ryker Blackwood, the future Alpha, but my lack of an awakened wolf made me a pathetic joke to his pack. Instead of protecting me, he publicly rejected me, chose the manipulative Lilith Vane as his Luna, and locked me in a freezing dungeon. While the entire pack cheered for their final mating ceremony above, I rotted in heavy chains below. When a rogue attack killed our unborn pups, I reached out to him in agony, but his voice through our fading bond was like splintered ice. "Our pups are dead. Don't bother me again." He didn't care at all. The casual dismissal shattered my inner wolf, and I died in that filthy cell, suffocating on my own despair and a hatred so potent it burned through my last breath. Until my last moment, I couldn't understand why my absolute devotion was met with such cruel betrayal, and why my fated mate let our children die without a second thought. Opening my eyes again, I wasn't in the dungeon. I was back in my seventeenth year, choking on the icy water of the lake Lilith had just pushed me into. Seeing Ryker's arrogant sneer and Lilith's fake concern on the shore, I didn't cry or beg for his attention like I did in my past life. This time, I would publicly sever our sacred bond, awaken my true Alpha bloodline, and make them pay for every drop of my blood.

I stood in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown, waiting to seal the merger of the century between the Singleton and English families. Everything was perfect, fragile, and obscenely expensive. But minutes before the ceremony, my brother burst into the bridal suite looking like he’d seen a ghost. He handed me a crumpled note from Jeffery, the man I was supposed to marry. "I can’t do it," the note read. "I’m choosing love." Jeffery had fled to Paris with another woman, leaving me to face two thousand guests and a family legacy that would plummet forty percent by Monday morning. Harrison Singleton, the family patriarch, didn't offer sympathy; he offered a cold ultimatum. The wedding would happen, with or without Jeffery. He stepped aside to reveal Declan Singleton, the "Wolf of Wall Street" who had spent the last year ruthlessly stripping my father’s companies for parts. To save my family from bankruptcy, I had to walk down the aisle and marry the man I hated most. At the altar, Declan didn’t just say "I do"; he claimed me with a kiss so possessive it felt like a sentencing. The humiliation was physical, a knife twisting in my gut as the world watched the "hostile takeover" of my life. I was a spoil of war, traded to a predator who believed in leverage over love. Then, Jeffery called, weeping about his mistake and begging to come back. I looked at the massive, perfectly-sized diamond Declan had already prepared for me and realized this wasn't a coincidence. I wiped away my tears and straightened my emerald silk. If I had to live in a cage, I was going to make sure I had the sharpest teeth. "Let's go to war," I whispered to my new husband.

I was bleeding out in the dark, bound to a chair, when I heard my husband tell another woman he would burn the world down for her. Dante Moretti didn't know I was on the other side of the paper-thin wall. He didn't know that ten years ago, I was the girl who saved his life in a frozen cave, not his mistress, Sofia. Sofia had stolen my story, and now she was stealing my life. When I tried to leave him, Dante chained me in his dungeon and whipped me until I passed out, claiming he was "disciplining" his wife. When Sofia used steel cello strings to slice my fingers open, destroying my ability to ever play again, he looked the other way. He even chose to save her over me when we fell into the freezing ocean, leaving me to drown because "Sofia is my soul." That night, I finally stopped fighting for a man who didn't exist. I called my brother, the Don of New York. "The alliance is over," I whispered into the phone. "Take me home." It took Dante three months to uncover the truth. To see the medical records proving I was the one who dragged him from that cave. He burned his own boat to trap us on an island, begging for a second chance. "I can fix this," he pleaded, tears streaming down his face as he touched my scarred, ruined hands. I looked at him, then at the man standing behind him with a rifle—the man who actually loved me. "You can't fix a shattered vase, Dante," I said. Then I watched my new protector pull the trigger.

For fifteen years, I buried my dream of motherhood because my husband, Bennett, swore he carried a tragic genetic defect. "If we have children, they will suffer," he had cried on our bathroom floor. I believed him. I made him my religion. But at a charity gala, everything shattered. He introduced his twenty-two-year-old mistress as his "little sister," only to announce moments later that she was pregnant with his heir. He never had a genetic defect. He just didn't want a child with me. The humiliation didn't stop there. He moved her into our home. He took my grandmother’s emerald necklace, reset the stone, and fastened it around her neck in front of our friends. When I tried to leave quietly, he sneered that I was jealous and toxic. He was confident he could break me, planning to manipulate me into eventually helping raise his mistress's baby. He didn't know two things. First, his mistress was faking the pregnancy to trap him. Second, I wasn't going to stay to watch the fallout. While he rushed her to the hospital for a staged emergency, blaming me for her "pain," I quietly boarded a private jet to Paris. I deleted my number. I destroyed my SIM card. I reclaimed my maiden name. By the time Bennett realized his "heir" was a lie and his wife was gone, I was already starting a new life where he didn't exist.

My phone buzzed on the counter of the vet clinic, a harsh sound, demanding my attention from a complicated case. It was Mark, my husband, sharp and impatient. "Chloe, drop whatever you' re doing. I need you." He needed his backup drive, for the biggest night of his career, a speech about 'sacrifice' and 'unwavering support', to impress his investors. I, his vet-tech wife, was racing home to fetch it, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. When I arrived, he was radiant on stage, spouting platitudes about family while I clutched the hard drive in the shadows, my stomach twisting. My phone vibrated: Dr. Reed, our son Leo' s specialist. "Chloe, the new treatment protocol is our best option, but we need to start immediately. The hospital requires a significant deposit." It was an unimaginable sum. I looked through the glass at Mark, laughing with investors, the hard drive forgotten. Leo and I were not in his world. In that moment, something inside me shifted. The long, slow burn of resentment ignited into cold, clear purpose. I wasn't going to wait for him. I wasn't going to ask him. I drove directly to sell my father' s classic Mustang – my most prized possession – for the cash. Returning home, a bright orange notice was slapped on our front door: NOTICE OF FORECLOSURE. My key wouldn' t work. My credit card was declined. I called Mark, his voice laced with fury. "Where the hell did you go? You embarrassed me, Chloe!" "The house, Mark," I whispered, trembling. "There' s a foreclosure notice. My keys don' t work." "I mortgaged it. Months ago. The startup needed a cash infusion," he sneered. "It' s gone, Chloe. My last-ditch funding failed because I was too damn distracted by all this drama with Leo. Your drama." Rain plastering my hair to my face, I sank to my knees. "We' re done," he said. "I told the bank to change the locks. You can get your things tomorrow." He hung up. Just then, Leo, pale and frail, opened the door. "Mommy? Why is Daddy yelling? Are we leaving our house?" His simple words cut through my shock. I pulled him close, whispering, "What if it was just you and me from now on? A new life. Would that be okay?" He nodded, trusting. That was all I needed.

My life as the "Montana Wildcat" was all about rebellion against the stuffy East Coast elite. But when an old blackmail threat jeopardized my Senator father's career, I was forced into a desperate solution: a fake engagement to Sterling Prescott IV, the blue-blood heir who personified everything I ran from. My plan was simple: unleash enough chaos to scare off the Prescotts and annul the whole charade. Instead, his formidable grandmother imprisoned me in their lavish estate for a forced "refinement," and strangely, Sterling became my unexpected confidante and ally, stealing midnight burgers and listening to my wild tales. Just as our fake relationship started feeling disturbingly real, my world shattered. Suddenly, the FBI stormed our home, planting fake evidence on my laptop that implicated my father in a national security scandal, destroying his career overnight. The final blow came with paparazzi photos showing Sterling, seemingly abandoning me, arm-in-arm with Blair Vanderbilt, the daughter of my father' s bitter rival. The man I'd grudgingly begun to trust, who had broken through all my walls, had seemingly betrayed me when I needed him most, leaving me heartbroken and politically ruined, a pariah. Then, at my father's televised Senate hearing, where his career was moments from collapse, Sterling walked in. He carried a briefcase and a recording that would not only clear my father's name but expose the true architect of our downfall, turning everything I thought I knew on its head.

My eyes snapped open. Sunlight streamed through familiar curtains in what was undeniably my childhood bedroom on a military base. But a stark, chilling truth hit me: I died. I vividly remembered fire, twisted metal, and then a profound, cold darkness. My father, General Miller, walked in, his voice deep and reassuring. "Sarah, you're awake. We need to talk about your future." He began to speak of Captain Mark Olsen, the perfect, ambitious officer everyone expected me to choose. The name was a bitter taste. Because in my first life, I married Mark. Then came the devastating news: killed in action. The grief consumed me. I stopped living, leading to my own tragic car accident months later. My world ended. But it wasn't true. As a lingering spirit, I watched my world shatter while his continued. Mark, alive and vibrant, laughing with Tiffany Evans, his arm around her. They had faked his death, eloped, and built a long, happy life together, completely discarding the woman who died for him. The rage, the profound betrayal, morphed from a cold fire to a precise, icy shard in my chest. Why did I endure such suffering, such a cruel end, while they basked in their deceitful bliss? The injustice was unbearable. But this was it. My second chance. A precious, impossible gift. This time, there would be no Mark Olsen. This time, I' d choose differently. This time, my life wouldn' t end in ashes.

My brother Leo's medical bills were a crushing weight, pulling us both into a financial black hole. Then, a lifeline: a contract, presented by a lawyer with a voice dry as old parchment. My mission for the next year: transform the Kincaid children, Oliver and Chloe, into "presentable" figures for their prestigious annual gala. The payment was astronomical, the only hope I had to save Leo. I signed, ready to become the stern governess, Sarah Hayes. Stepping into the marble-floored entryway of the Long Island mansion, I faced two miniature tyrants. Oliver, thirteen, oozed practiced apathy, while Chloe, ten, clutched a tablet displaying designer logos. "Another one? How long you gonna last, lady?" Oliver sneered, followed by Chloe's contemptuous, "Do you even know who I am?" Their father, perpetually attached to his phone, was nowhere to be found, leaving me to face their immediate, blatant rebellion alone. My first command was simple: hand over the skateboard and the tablet. This unleashed an explosion of outrage. "This is child abuse!" Oliver shrieked, threatening to call his wealthy, absent father. Chloe's wail was operatic, as if I’d declared her streaks and followers dead. The contract had warned of testing, but the sheer entitlement was a shock, making every small step feel like a war. How was I supposed to achieve "significant improvement" when their every instinct was to resist and undermine me? The Kincaid money, critical for Leo's surgery and recovery, felt like a constant mockery against their spoiled lives. The weight of my brother's future pressed down, reminding me that I absolutely could not fail, no matter how impossible the task seemed. My quiet thought, "Managing these two? How hard can it be?" now echoed like the most foolish words ever spoken. I held out my hand, unflinching, for the skateboard and tablet. Their resistance was part of the job description, a challenge I had to overcome for Leo. This was my new regime, unyielding, strict, and it had just begun. My personal philosophy was simple: family first.

In order of priority, For Jayda Wright, her work comes first, She comes second, her best friend and family comes third and then her so-called boyfriend comes fourth. She didn't know she was losing her boyfriend at the expense of putting her job first. He finally broke up with her the day she got promoted as a partner in a reputable law firm. That night, Jayda made her way to a bar where she met Sebastian Miller, The multimillionaire with the worst personality but incredibly sexy. She had a one night stand with him, creating a bond that binds them forever!

I have a deadly peanut allergy, but my fiancé Jason's childhood best friend Kelly thinks I'm just making a big deal out of nothing. Under the guise of "treatment," she deliberately poured peanut oil into my soup, sending me straight to the ICU in anaphylactic shock. And Jason didn't defend me at all — instead, he emotionally manipulated me, saying she "meant well." While I was fighting for my life, they secretly moved away and stole my multi-million-dollar matcha café brand, putting Kelly in charge. When I went to confront them, Jason's family surrounded me and threatened me — I couldn't leave unless I ate a bowl of noodles with peanut oil. I was forced to eat that bowl of noodles, which resulted in a stomach perforation, and I nearly died again. I couldn't understand how the man who once supported my dreams could watch me struggle in agony and still call me "hard to please." In his eyes, my love and my life were worthless — nothing compared to his sick loyalty to her. After the surgery, I didn't shed another tear. I called my lawyer. Let the full-scale legal battle begin!

For years, I endured my husband Kellan's disdain, while he bent over backwards to please my scheming younger sister. When a sudden aneurysm required emergency life-saving surgery, I called him from the ER in absolute despair. He was busy celebrating my sister's new job. After listening to the lies she whispered about me in the background, he actually cursed at me. "If you're going to put on this act, don't bother coming home." He hung up the phone. I signed the surgery consent form alone, facing life and death all by myself. On the operating table, I hemorrhaged heavily. Not only did I lose my health, but I also lost the unborn little life I hadn't even had the chance to tell him about. Lying in the recovery room, I finally understood. His vows were nothing but empty lies, and I was always the expendable one in that relationship. And so, I signed the divorce papers and vanished from his life completely. Yet, he started looking for me like a madman, even taking revenge on everyone who had ever hurt me!

One week before my wedding, I walked into the master bedroom of my fully-paid penthouse apartment and caught my fiancé cheating with my best friend. They were laughing about his fake "insomnia"—the lie he'd used to trick me into sleeping in the guest room so they could have the master bedroom to themselves. Gage was a top surgeon, and I'd sacrificed almost everything to care for his supposedly fragile health. I'd even brewed essential oils from my late mother's precious collection to steady his hands. But behind my back, they were planning to pretend to marry me, then slowly push me out and take over my home. When I confronted them, they didn't show a single ounce of guilt. Gage deliberately destroyed the essential oil my late mother had left me, then violently shoved me against the wall and locked me in the room to suffer the pain and bleeding alone. I had poured everything into building a safe harbor for this man, and in his eyes, I was nothing but a convenient stepping stone. I didn't even bother shedding a single tear. I took out my phone, canceled our honeymoon trip, and listed the penthouse on the market—cash sale, 24 hours. Time to take out the trash.

I was about to marry Dante, a ruthless New York Mafia boss. However, just three blocks away from the cathedral, his ex-wife sent a text message saying their son was coughing up blood. This was the third time, and Dante abandoned me at the altar once again, transferring a hundred million dollars to me as compensation instead. I accepted the money, but his ex-wife did not stop there. She moved into my home with her son, faked an illness, and tried to force me out. The last straw that broke me happened at the airport, when the little heir, instigated by his mother, viciously pushed me from behind. I fell hard onto the cold marble floor and lost the child I did not even know I was carrying. As I lay in a pool of my own blood, Dante's mother coldly gave an order over the phone: "The child is dead. You need to protect the living heir and Isabella's status." Dante looked at me, his face full of guilt, but eventually, he turned and walked away with them. To compensate for the child I lost, he threw a massive business empire at me, expecting me to continue waiting in the shadows while he enjoyed his family's bliss. I finally understood that in the face of his mafia bloodline, my loyalty meant absolutely nothing. With a steady hand, I signed the asset transfer documents and did not hesitate to liquidate all the properties he had given me. Then, I boarded a private cartel jet flying to Switzerland. This time, I am going to build an empire of my own!

This is a compilation of short erotica stories that cuts across genders and sexual preferences. Are you the Bdsm type? Or you want something a bit tamer or in between? Then this book is for you! Come check it out!

I spent months overcoming my fear of heights, just so I could go skydiving with my boyfriend on our anniversary. But on the plane, Cole strapped my safety harness onto his "best friend" Giselle, telling me to wait for the next trip because she had just gone through a breakup, was feeling down, and needed this thrill to bounce back. She didn't care about my efforts at all, trying to brush me off with just a few words. Cole desperately defended her, accusing me of being petty and making a mountain out of a molehill. "She's fragile, Cathy! You're just jealous of a bond between us that you could never understand!" He actually expected me to accept being an outsider in my own relationship, while my family kept pressuring me to drop my so-called pride. For eight years, I poured everything into our relationship, only to finally realize I was nothing but a placeholder, expected to exit the stage whenever Giselle needed him. His constant emotional manipulation and blatant favoritism left me utterly exhausted. So, I packed my bags, paid him back every single cent he ever spent on me, and left without looking back. It was time for me to take over the multi-million dollar corporate project he was about to ruin. He really needed to see how I would step to the peak of my career!

On the night before my wedding, I opened an anonymous message card, only to find out that my fiancé had been cheating on me with my maid of honor for four years. The engagement ring on my hand was actually a cheap reject that she didn't want; her so-called "emergency business trip" was actually to cover up the fact that she had just given birth to his child last week. What sent the worst chills down my spine was that his entire family knew about this perfectly well, yet they still happily watched me meticulously prepare for this scam of a wedding. When I canceled the wedding and confronted them, his mother actually slapped me across the face. "You're nothing but a poor girl clinging to my son. Camilla is the one he truly loves." And my fiancé didn't even defend me. Instead, he pushed me to the ground, causing me to hit my head, all just to comfort his crying mistress. I spent eight years by his side, accompanying him from having nothing to where he is now, only to realize I was nothing but a convenient placeholder. I took off that discarded ring, blocked all of them, and bought a one-way ticket to Oregon, USA. This time, I decided to leave forever and never look back. But now, he's going crazy begging for my forgiveness!

asked my husband a silly TikTok challenge question: if it weren't me, who would he have married? He didn't hesitate. He said one name — Chloe, my once-closest best friend, the same woman who stole my first love years ago. This wasn't a joke. I soon found out he'd lied about a business trip. While I was in surgery, he was secretly vacationing with her, leaving me alone in the hospital. When I confronted them, my husband — to protect her — shoved me hard onto the cold floor. The violent impact made me lose our two-month-old baby. Just as my world was completely falling apart, Chloe leaned in with a victorious smirk and whispered her darkest secret: she had deliberately deleted my dying mother's final voicemail, making me miss my last chance to say goodbye. My husband knew exactly what kind of vicious person she was, and he still chose to protect her in front of his bleeding wife. Looking at the man now kneeling before me, crying and begging for mercy, I calmly pulled out the divorce papers. "Sign it. Then leave."

Annie Davis was beyond furious when she was told she had been inseminated with the wrong sperm which belonged to a Billionaire who insists he wants to be in her life and the baby's life if she falls pregnant.