Broken Rules, Wet sheets
A Collection of hot, short, romantic & Erotic Stories
Warning: This book contains mature content (18+ only) - graphic sexual scenes, explicit language, steamy kinks, and themes that will leave you breathless and craving more. Not suitable for minors. Read at your own risk.
Dive into a scorching anthology that awakens your deepest, most forbidden desires. From possessive CEOs claiming what's theirs, to intense contemporary encounters dripping with seduction, each short story delivers raw passion, explicit heat, and unapologetic sensuality.
Click the "Read" button if you dare!😈
Chapters
Share
Chapter 4
STORY 2
Resignation sex
Clara had survived two years under Dave Hargrove's thumb-endless overtime, frozen salary, casual insults disguised as "feedback," all while he bought another yacht and another mistress. Today the breaking point finally arrived.
Dave Hargrove, a hot billionaire and the CEO of Hargrove LTD. Everyone knows him to be a womanizer even though he doesn't mix business with pleasure.
Clara stood in front of her mirror that morning, intentionally late.
"It's my last day after all; why should I be in a rush?" She heaved, trying to sigh her worries away. She smoothed her black pencil skirt over her hips. It hugged her curves just right.
"I'm going to dress as sexy as I want; no more T-shirts and pants. Fuck you, Dave!"
She picked a white blouse that buttoned up to her neck but left the top one open; a hint of a lace bra peeked out.
She danced around the room, spraying a light perfume on her wrists-jasmine and chocolate.
It lingered in the air as she moved. Her dark hair fell in loose waves down her back.
"Final touch." She muttered as she smeared the red lipstick on her curved lips.
Clara folded the resignation letter into her purse. Two years of long hours, skipped lunches, and low pay. She would hand it to Dave and tell him everything. The unfair tasks.
"Here you go, Mr. Dave, cocksucker! A quick piece of advice for the billionaire who treats his staff poorly, underpays them, and makes them work their asses off for penury. Fuck you, Dave!! I don't care if I get sued. Here's my resignation letter, user!!
Clara poked her middle finger at the mirror dramatically, sticking out her tongue.
"Calm down, Clara; this is how we deal with your shithead boss." She adjusted her blouse and made for the door.
At the office, heads turned as she walked in.
Colleagues whispered. 'Clara looks different today,' one said. She narrowed her eyes at them; her heels clicked on the marble floor.
The scent of her perfume trailed behind. Dave's eyes flicked up from his desk when she entered his office.
He had bags under his eyes, Clara noticed. "Who cares? He might be out banging a whore at an expensive hotel," she cursed underneath her breath.
Meanwhile, Dave just lost a contract worth 100 million dollars.
"Morning, Clara," he muttered. His voice sounds rough from lack of sleep. Clara simply nodded and set his coffee down. Black, no sugar. Steam rose from the cup.
The day dragged on. Emails piled up.
Dave kept barking orders. "Clara, handle these reports. Call the clients. Reschedule everything."
She typed fast, her fingers aching on the keys, "It all ends today." She kept encouraging herself.
Lunch came and went, and Clara grabbed an apple from her drawer. There was no time to eat more.
The resignation letter stayed in her purse. She glanced at the clock. Five PM. Workers filed out, waving goodbyes.
"See you tomorrow, Clara." She forced a smile.
By eight PM, the office emptied, and the lights dimmed in the halls. Only Clara's desk lamp glowed. She was working overtime as usual; papers rustled as she sorted files and paperwork.
Dave's door creaked open. He stepped out, tie loose, shirt untucked. A whiskey glass in his hand, ice clinked as he shook the whiskey glass drunkenly. His steps were unsteady.
"Hey beautiful." His voice came out rough and seductive, and he leaned on the doorframe. Eyes scanned her.
Clara jumped up; the skirt rode up a bit as she sat. She was caught unaware. Her blouse stretched across her chest when she reached for a pen.
"Still here?" Dave slurred.
Clara looked up; she felt her heart beat faster, but it wasn't fear. "Finishing up," she swallowed.
He walked closer. The smell of alcohol mixed with his cologne. Sharp and woody. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his manly chest and faint tattoos.
"Why does he look extra hot tonight?" Whispered to herself, but Dave heard. He stopped by her desk.
Fingers tapped the edge. "You look... good tonight." His gaze dropped to her lips, then lower. To the curve of her breasts under the fabric. Clara shifted in her chair, pressing her thighs together. The letter burned in her mind, but her body was giving a weird signal.
Now is not the time to succumb to pleasure, Clara. She thought.
She cleared her throat. "After so much thought about this, I've decided to tender my resignation letter, Dave!" She blurted.
"I've had enough of your orders roaring in my ears every now and then, enough of the news about 'my CEO' fucking some stripper. I... I have had enough of being overworked and underpaid." She breathed heavily, like those words hurt her more than him.
Dave took a sip, unbothered about the rant epistle; liquid swirled in the glass.
"Lost that big deal today. Everything's shit." He set the glass down.
Hard. It rattled. "But you... you're always here. Loyal." His hand brushed her shoulder; Clara suddenly became calm, his hand warm through the blouse.
She froze. Her skin tingled where he touched. "What if I make it worth it? What if we strike a deal?" he said slowly. His eyes locked on hers, dark and hungry.
Clara swallowed. 'What do you mean?' Her pulse quickened.
He leaned in. Breath hot on her ear. "One night with me and I'll pay you four times your salary. Right now."
His fingers trailed down her arm, teasing her softly.
"Make me feel good, and you'll get your reward right away."
Goosebumps rose all over Clara. She thought of the bills and the empty fridge and kitchen at home. Two years of nothing. One more time of being used. Just once.
She met his eyes. Nodded slowly. "Okay."
You may also like
8.0
BLURB
She had fought so hard to be able to bear her husband a child for years but all her efforts proved abortive and just when she thought that all her problems were finally over.
She was faced with a brutal betrayal from her husband, taking away her family company, cheating on her and most especially tied her in the marriage.
But everything takes a drastic turn when she realizes the baby she is carrying doesn't belong to her husband, rather a cursed werewolf who could never have a child.
Thrown into the world of the werewolves, Daisy realizes she is more than she thinks, but will she be able to navigate the challenges that awaits her?
8.4
I worked three double shifts at the garage just to buy a velvet-boxed cake for my wealthy girlfriend, Arleen.
But when I pushed open the VIP room door, I saw her lover kissing her bare leg.
She didn't push him away. Instead, she laughed and swirled her martini.
"I only forgot Finn because I knew he would stay. He is a poor boy from Queens who follows me around like a loyal dog."
Later that night, her lover intentionally crashed a Porsche to scare me, sending a piece of jagged metal into my skull.
Lying in a growing pool of my own blood, I watched Arleen crawl out of the wreckage.
She didn't even look at me. She threw herself at her uninjured lover, screaming for a medic.
"He just got scraped by a piece of plastic. He is faking it. Deal with Jaquez first!"
When I woke up, I wasn't free. Arleen had locked me in a private hospital wing with 24-hour security, planning to isolate me and keep me as her broken, captive toy forever.
My blind, pathetic devotion finally froze into absolute disgust.
I looked at the heart monitor next to my bed and grabbed an IV needle.
I severed the sensor wire to trigger a flatline, slipped out the fire stairs while the nurses panicked, and burned my identity to ashes.
This time, I was going to disappear to London, build my own empire, and watch hers burn.
8.0
Finley's stepfather gave her a sickening ultimatum: marry her predatory stepbrother Shane tonight, or he would throw her fragile mother out on the street.
To escape this hell, she used a matchmaking agency and hastily married a complete stranger. Garrison Strickland claimed to be an ordinary data analyst making $95,000 a year, driving a beat-up Honda Civic, and needing a wife in name only. They got their marriage license at City Hall that very afternoon.
But when Finley returned home to pack her bags and threw the certificate on the table, her family just laughed. Dozier ordered Shane to drag her into the bedroom to "teach her a lesson" and trap her forever.
"Come on, little sister," Shane crooned, lunging at her. "Don't fight it."
Finley's own mother just stared at the floor, blaming Finley for ruining the family, watching blindly as Shane cornered her.
Terrified and desperate, Finley smashed an ashtray over Shane's head and frantically dialed her new husband's number. Shane snatched the phone, mocking the "imaginary husband" before the line went dead. Finley felt a bottomless despair. Garrison was just a normal guy; he would never risk his life against her violent family. She was completely on her own, waiting for the end.
Suddenly, deafening bangs echoed through the house, and Garrison stepped into the living room radiating a cold, terrifying fury. This supposedly "frugal data analyst" effortlessly snapped Shane's wrist, leveled a ruthless death threat that made Dozier tremble, and whisked Finley away in a waiting Bentley. Looking at the powerful man beside her, Finley's heart raced: just who exactly had she married today?
8.6
For years, Elvera lived as the despised charity case in the cramped Wright household.
When she caught her foster sister Donita straddling her fiancé, they didn't even panic. Instead, they loudly framed Elvera for stealing a diamond necklace to justify kicking her out.
Her foster parents immediately sided with the cheaters, screaming at her to pack her trash and starve in the gutters. Only her dying foster brother tried to sneak her his medical savings, but the family violently shoved him away, mocking him as a walking corpse.
Standing in the freezing Brooklyn wind, Donita and Crockett followed her outside just to laugh. They waved a crisp twenty-dollar bill in her face, mocking her biological family as a bunch of unemployed street thugs.
They really thought she was going to freeze to death on the pavement with nothing but a faded backpack.
But then a roaring, matte-black supercar pulled up.
The man who stepped out wasn't a street thug; he was her real brother, an FBI task force commander.
He effortlessly snapped Crockett's shoulder out of its socket, put Elvera in the passenger seat, and drove her straight to a sprawling billionaire estate in the Hamptons.
Sitting by the fire in her biological parents' palace, watching them casually display an eight-million-dollar sculpture she had secretly designed, the head butler suddenly walked in.
"Sir, the fake heiress has returned from Europe."
Elvera took a slow sip of her coffee. The real game was finally about to begin.
9.5
Jennifer, a fiercely independent entrepreneur, never imagined that running her company would put her in the orbit of Joseph, a reclusive billionaire with a dangerous agenda. Their professional clashes ignite a forbidden attraction, drawing them into a passionate affair that threatens to unravel everything Jennifer has built. As corporate sabotage, hidden heirs, and dark secrets from Joseph's past begin to surface, Jennifer's world spirals into a web of betrayal, desire, and moral peril. In a story where power and love collide, nothing is as it seems and every choice could be lethal.
7.9
For five years, April Gamble loved Julian Travis with everything she had, trusting him completely.
But on a stormy night, he casually tossed a liquidation agreement at her feet, single-handedly destroying her grandfather's company.
He coldly admitted he only dated her to steal Vance Group's internal financial data.
"You were convenient," Julian said, swirling his whiskey without a shred of guilt.
Before April could even process the brutal betrayal, a breaking news alert lit up her phone.
She watched in absolute horror as her grandfather jumped from the ledge of the Vance Tower on live television.
Julian looked at her writhing, screaming form with utter boredom and simply ordered his bodyguard to throw her out.
Blinded by grief and tears, April sped into the torrential rain, only to be completely crushed by a hydroplaning transport truck at an intersection.
As the shattered glass tore into her skin and the metal crushed her ribs, she died with a hatred so pure it made her teeth ache.
Why did five years of devotion mean absolutely nothing to him? Why did her family have to die just to feed his ruthless greed?
When she opened her eyes again, the harsh hospital lights blinded her, but the familiar burn scar on her arm was gone.
She wasn't the betrayed financial analyst April Gamble anymore.
She had woken up in the body of Altagracia Blanchard, the most notorious, obscenely wealthy heiress in New York.
Julian had taken everything from her, but now, armed with a billionaire's empire, she was going to bury him.