Desired by the Billionaire Playboy
A marriage of half a decade that Emily Winchester had poured her heart and soul into crumbled in a night after catching her sister and husband lustfully entangled. Her soon-to-be ex releases her nudes to the world, framing her with infidelity. She leaves the marriage with a little more than the clothes on her back, and desperately trying to pay for her grandmother's hospital bills, is aligned with New York's notorious playboy billionaire, Sean Woods, as he's looking for a contract wife.
What happens when a single night encounter is all that is needed for the most eligible bachelor in the country to have his sights set on her? Will she just turn into one of his many conquests or be the one woman who claims his heart alone?
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Chapter 2
Emily's pov
On a normal day, I would not have accepted my best friend's offer. I had never really been a party animal and became even more reserved after getting hitched. But tonight was not just about my anniversary.
Grandma was dying.
She was bedbound, and the doctors said they were doing everything they could to treat her, but on every visit, I could see the light dimming in her eyes in real time; my heart cracked each time. I had hoped that this dinner would distract me, and he would be here for me, only to be abandoned yet again.
I obeyed the caller's instructions like my life depended on it. I arrived at the hotel, and Wendy caught me in the lobby, hooking her arm into mine.
"I'm so glad you came, girl and–"
She looked down disapprovingly at my wedding ring. It reminded me of the first time she saw it. She laughed and said, "All right! All right, I fell for your prank, now where is the real ring?"
It took a lot for my self-esteem to recover from that one, and I don't think I've really healed from that.
"Doesn't that ring ever get too tight for your finger?" She said, hooking her arm with mine and leading me towards the elevator. Once again, I was reminded why I didn't spend much time with Wendy anymore. Yes, my marriage wasn't perfect, but she wasn't helping by constantly poking holes into it. And she was single too, so maybe she was just insecure that I had a man and she didn't.
Yeah, maybe that's it.
"Wendy, the ring has always been too small. I told you that Brad accidentally got something that was a size smaller than my finger."
She nodded, "Yeah, 'accidentally',"
I frowned. "Wendy, if you're just going to badmouth my husband all night, why don't I just leave? You have other friends to hang out with, so you should be fine."
"No! Please stay," she clutched my hand. "Fine, I won't talk about your husband at all, happy?"
"But on one condition? She added."
"Which is?" I asked with an accusatory stare.
She stopped walking.
"Don't talk about him either," she warned. "I love you, Em... I really do... But sometimes I find it hard to invite you to anything, not just because you always say no, but you never fail to ruin the vibe by talking about that man."
"Me?" I asked, sincerely flabbergasted.
She nodded. "That's true, you always tell us about how your man could treat you better... How he did this and that to you, and then we console, only for you to go right back to him. Don't you think that makes us look stupid?"
We started moving again until we were in front of the elevator. She pressed the button while I was still stewing with my thoughts, thinking of how to defend myself.
"Nobody's perfect, Wendy. We've also had some falling out. But we patch it up later, right?"
She shrugged, "I guess we do; you're right, no relationship is perfect. But some things are just simply unacceptable. If he makes you complain and whine all the time, then it's not a happy relationship with a couple of bumps, but rather, a rocky one with a few rest stops."
My heart began to beat in my stomach as if it had changed position. However, I still kept my cool.
I was about to say something to defend my husband yet again; that was when the elevator doors separated, unveiling something that made my jaw drop in an instant.
My husband, Brad and my younger sister Becky, their bodies molded together and their lips glued so deeply that they were exchanging saliva. I stood without moving. It was like watching a horror movie I couldn't turn off. They were so engrossed with making out that they didn't even notice my existence.
It was when Brad's fingers started gathering the hem of her dress that I could take no more, and I screamed.
"Brad!"
He tore his face away from Becky. What came from his mouth wasn't an apology. Instead, he looked at me like I was the gum stuck under his shoe and asked, "Did you follow me here?"
l was stunned, and it was clearly written on my face. I froze as if I had been glued to that spot, and I watched the elevator close up. Everything was in slow motion, and my ears rang with high-pitched sounds.
Just then, there was a text on my phone. It read, "It's not what you think, I'll explain everything to you later, but just go home now."
My legs buckled, and if it wasn't for my best friend holding on to me, I would have collapsed on the floor.
I read the text over and over again, my eyes glued to my screen.
Tears began to form in my eyes and roll down generously. People who passed by had different variations of looks, from concerned to irritated. Most, if not all, were probably wondering why a full-grown woman was bawling her eyes out like a toddler. Wendy was tenderly stroking my back as she pronounced every curse under the sun at Brad.
By the time I was back on my feet, at least literally, I felt so embarrassed for myself. Breaking down like that in public, where other people could see me.
How humiliating!
I looked at the text again and wondered if I was in some nightmare that didn't want to end.
As if to torment me more, the scene of Brad kissing Becky flashed back in. When they broke off the case, she looked at me; she hadn't said anything, but she had this satisfied smirk on her face.
As for me, I was trying to grapple with reality.
All these years, I had poured everything into this man; my blood, sweat and tears. I gave them to him, and what did I get in return? Crumbs of affection!
I never saw a problem with him. Growing up, my parents always told me in a million ways and one that my younger sister, Becky, was the center of the universe, and I just had to deal with it.
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9.5
"Do you know what marriage is?" Evelyn asked with a raised brow.
"Marriage is 'I do' and 'you do', then boom, children come in anytime they want," Drake replied with a cute smile.
"How do children come in?" She asked knowingly.
"Man and a woman call them," he replied foolishly.
"How do they call them?" She probed.
"Just like this..." He placed his phone to his ear.
"I already forgot that it's useless talking to you," Evelyn got annoyed and walked away
***
Twenty years old Evelyn Brown was forced to marry the son of the richest man in the country, Drake Valentino.
She thought her life was perfect, not until she was forced to get married to a man she barely knows because of money.
Evelyn had thought the arranged marriage wasn't bad as her groom was a handsome young man from a rich family, just like hers until she entered the marriage.
She was shocked into disbelief when she realized her husband wasn't as normal as she thought he was, he was a complete... Moron!
9.7
For seven years, I was Grant Charles’s shadow—his top executive assistant by day and the woman in his bed by night. I managed his billion-dollar empire and handled his every crisis, believing our bond was the one thing his money couldn't buy.
Everything shattered when I walked into his penthouse and found Aimee Austin sitting on his lap, wearing nothing but his favorite white dress shirt. Grant didn't even look guilty; he just stared at me with cold, arrogant eyes and told me I was dripping rain on his expensive Persian rug.
When I tried to resign, he showed me exactly how cruel he could be. He knew I had drained my life savings to pay for my mother’s specialized care for her dementia. "Without my salary and the foundation subsidy, she’ll be on the street in a month," he whispered, his voice dripping with malice. "Is your pride really worth her life?"
He didn't stop there. He tried to break my spirit by publicly humiliating me at a high-end restaurant, orchestrating a "setup" to show me that without his protection, I was nothing more than a common servant. He wanted me to realize that without him, I was a nobody with no future.
I couldn't believe the man I had protected for nearly a decade was weaponizing my dying mother to keep me as his subordinate. He thought he owned every inch of me, and he was waiting for me to come crawling back on my knees to beg for my old life.
But Grant made one fatal mistake: he assumed I was a charity case. He had no idea I was the secret heir to the billion-dollar Klein Trust, currently frozen behind a single marriage clause. I didn't need his money; I just needed a husband.
Instead of begging for my job, I walked straight into the office of the only man Grant feared—the ruthless litigator Julian Vance. I threw a marriage contract on his desk and gave him an offer he couldn't refuse. It was time to stop being a shadow and start a war.
9.2
"Rip my ass apart, Daddy! Fuck the shit out of me! God, yes!"
"So fucking tight, Jenny. No matter how many times I fuck your ass, it's always like the first time... Are you being good for daddy? Keeping other dicks out of this perfect ass?"
"Yes, Daddy. Only yours," she moaned...
###
Plunge into a filthy taboo erotica collection where daddies (step daddies, daddies-in-law, and other forbidden fruit) crave and claim their teasing little girls in raw, boundary shattering steamy shorts.
Loaded with intense dirty talk, dubious consent edges, high risk exposure thrills, possessive breeding kinks, degradation and humiliation, and scorching incest.
Please take care of your mental health. It gets dark and twisted in here...
###
A conflicted step daddy wrecks his stepdaughter's holes on his marital bed while his wife lurks nearby.
A blind step daughter is tricked into fucking daddy.
A daddy fucks his step daughter on her wedding day... to his son.
Billionaire daddies. Don daddies. A daddy that fucks his son's girlfriend... in front of his son.
###
Indulge in these and other dark fantasies with twist endings that will stay with you.
She begs for daddy's brutal cock. He can't stop stretching his filthy little girl.
***All characters are over 18. Explicit content ahead. 18+ only. Reader discretion is advised.
8.6
I spent three years being the perfect wife to tech mogul Cash Ferguson, a forensic accountant playing the role of a low-risk asset to stabilize his public image. My world shattered when I saw a live CNBC broadcast from Sundance showing Cash tenderly hoisting a two-year-old boy onto his hip—a secret son born to a socialite mistress while he was supposedly at a business roadshow.
When I confronted him with divorce papers, Cash didn't apologize; he laughed, calling me a "liability" and weaponizing my mother’s history of mental illness to claim I was genetically unfit to carry his heir. He didn't just reject the split; he locked the penthouse elevator and froze every one of my accounts, reclassifying me from a wife to a piece of disputed company property.
"You came from nothing, Isidora," he sneered, tossing a credit card at me like a leash. "Stop being dramatic. I can afford a pet, but don't think you can survive a day in the real world without my name."
The betrayal turned lethal when I discovered Cash had tracked down my mother’s stolen emerald brooch—my only connection to my past—and bought it as a gift for his mistress. He was using my trauma and my heritage to decorate the woman who had replaced me in his secret life.
I realized then that Cash had made a fatal accounting error: he forgot that I was the one who built his shadow accounts and knew exactly where the fraud was buried. He wanted to treat our marriage like a hostile takeover, so I decided to give him a market correction he would never forget.
I escaped down forty flights of stairs with nothing but a burner laptop and a plan to burn his empire to the ground. If he wanted to play dirty, I’d show him what happens when a forensic accountant initiates a liquidation protocol. I’m not just leaving; I’m going to make him crawl.
8.0
I spent two years as the perfect, dutiful wife to Foster Baird. I was his unpaid PR consultant and his emotional punching bag, enduring his mother’s snide comments about my orphan background all for the sake of a "marriage" I thought was real.
But when I went to the City Clerk’s office to replace a damaged document, the clerk looked at me with genuine pity.
"There is no record of a marriage license for you and Foster Baird. Legally? You aren't married."
The betrayal went even deeper. I returned to our penthouse to find Foster’s mistress on our sofa, alongside a five-year-old boy who shared Foster’s exact features. Foster hadn't just cheated; he had a secret family that predated our entire relationship. He had even bribed a doctor to lie to me about being infertile just to keep me docile and focused on his business. When the mistress moved into my guest wing the next day, Foster demanded I act as their hostess and serve them dinner.
I watched them play happy family in the home I built, realizing I was never a wife—I was just "cheap labor" he intended to discard once his company stock stabilized. He thought I was a barren charity case with nowhere to go.
He was wrong. That same afternoon, I received a call from the executor of the Arthur Kensington estate. I wasn't a nobody; I was the long-lost biological daughter and sole heir to a five-billion-dollar fortune.
While Foster was busy planning my replacement, I was accessing the Kensington Trust. I didn't scream, and I didn't cry. I simply bought a fifty-million-dollar mansion and hired a team of forensic accountants to dismantle the Baird Group from the inside out. I crushed my old phone under my designer heel and looked at my new security detail.
"Let's get to work," I said.
7.2
Five years ago, I was sentenced to prison for a car accident that left Blaire Lowe fighting for her life in the ICU.
The day I was finally released, I thought the nightmare was over, but it had only just begun.
Carson Long, the man who once loved me, was waiting. He didn't see a victim of a tragic accident; he saw a monster who deserved to rot.
He made sure I knew that freedom was a lie. He turned my life into a living hell, dragging me through the halls of the hospital to witness the ruin I had caused, forcing me to watch as those who once knew me spat on my name and treated me like filth.
When he demanded I pay for my sins by destroying my own face, I didn't hesitate. I carved a jagged scar into my cheek just to satisfy his cold, relentless hatred, hoping it would finally be enough to earn his mercy.
But he wasn't satisfied. He dragged me to his estate, stripped me of my dignity, and turned me into the house's lowest servant, forcing me to scrub cobblestones until my knees bled and my body gave out.
Why did he hate me so much that he wanted me to suffer every second of my existence? Why was he so determined to see my soul crushed into dust, even when I had nothing left to give?
I looked at the trash I was forced to eat, and in that moment, I realized that as long as Carson held the leash, I would never be free.
I picked up a piece of moldy bread, my eyes hollow, and decided that if living meant becoming his dog, I would find a way to end the game on my own terms.