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 4
Emily's pov
His look of utter confusion might have been mildly amusing if I weren't insanely furious. The lines of stupidification written all over his face told me that in his wildest dreams, he did not expect me to place divorce on the table, even after seeing him pushing his tongue into my younger sister's mouth.
He finally pulls away from Becky; "Sweetheart, why don't you give us some time alone? Go fix yourself a sandwich in the kitchen?"
I watched the two of them with my jaw on the floor. Mixing with my rage was shock. This was not the man I had married; the man I married had no idea how to be sweet or romantic. He was blunt and irritable at every turn, or maybe... Just maybe he was that way with me because he never liked me, not to mention love.
It took all the patience inside of me to wait until Becky was done whining, and finally let just the two of us discuss.
Good!
I don't think I would have been able to handle both at the same time.
"When did it start?" I asked. My voice felt like it was echoing out of an empty shell.
Brad brushed his fingers through his hair excessively, as if he were trying to rake out another lie from his scalp.
"Look, I never meant for it to happen... It started a year ago because of a project at the company. I was really working overtime, and that project just happened to be with Becky's company too... So since it was a partnership, we ended up talking late into the night to distract ourselves from the heavy workload."
.
It was supposed to be an apology, but yet it sounded more like he was recreating the most romantic story in his head.
"... I really don't know what happened. When I noticed that I was attracted to her, I did my best to resist... But you know how our marriage has been for a long time now."
"And whose fault is that?" I screamed at the top of my voice. "I was always trying to talk with you... To plan something with you, to be with you! But you rejected me at every turn, didn't you?"
He looked at me with genuine confusion as if I had just switched into a different language without giving him a heads up. Then he continued talking without even considering what I said.
"Like I was saying before, I really tried to resist, but before I knew it, we started going out together after work hours, and even after the project ended, I still wanted to see her, to be with her. And we only started sleeping together five months ago."
Gosh! I was so shocked! He was so confident saying these words like they were meant to make me feel good.
He said the last part like I was supposed to throw my hands up in bountiful joy.
"I'm so flattered," I sneered at him sarcastically. "You were cheating on me emotionally for an entire year, but only recently decided to start cheating physically. How did I ever get so lucky?"
The veins on his forehead became visible, and he stood upright in one sharp, fluid motion.
"Well, if you were half the woman that your sister was, then maybe I wouldn't have to cheat!"
My throat nearly closed up when he said that. It felt like a sharp sword had been pierced through my side. I staggered to the nearest couch to avoid a heavy fall. He knew that most of my self-esteem issues took root from my parents' blatant favoritism of my younger sister, Becky.
Back then, he promised me that it would never be the case, that I would be his only flower, but his words and actions had never aligned. Yet, I cared about him and kept on with the relationship, hoping that one day, they would.
So stupid.
"I've heard all I need to hear... Let's discuss how we're going to go about the divorce," I said, finally taking a seat on the couch I was just leaning on.
"What do you mean by divorce?"
Hearing that question, two thoughts popped up in my mind. Firstly, I married someone whose IQ was below room temperature, and secondly, he was testing the last bit of my patience before I'd crash out.
"Do I have to get the dictionary and explain what divorce is to you? Fine, I want to legally separate from you, Braden Winchester Junior," I said his full name with disgust tainting my lips. "Since it's clear that it's my sister who makes you happy, then there is no need for me to keep wasting my time anymore, and yours as well."
He started giving me this funny look like there was a horn growing on the side of my head.
"Why would we have to divorce just because I made a mistake?" He looked like a confused toddler who had just spoken his first words, except he wasn't a toddler. He was a full-grown man in his late 20s and should have known better.
"No, Brad... The mistake, the true mistake, was me ever getting married to you when I knew deep down that you hated me to your core." I reached for the Ring on my finger, and his eyes bulged out.
"What are you doing?" He screamed, but I ignored him, tightening my grip on the ring as I twisted it back and forward. It was a hard fight, but I came out victorious, pulling it off my finger.
It fell on the floor, and I didn't bother picking it up. I passed it towards him with my foot, watching his every reaction.
I stood up to leave, swinging my hand back and forth because it hadn't felt lighter in years.
"Emily, you can't just..."
I slammed the door behind me as I was already tired of listening to his crap story.
Leaving home wasn't a big deal. Where do I go?
That was the real issue.
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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.