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 5
Emily's pov
I moved in with Wendy, but that was supposed to be a temporary measure. I thought that after the divorce, from my own fifty percent, I could get my own decent apartment and get back on my feet. Wendy recommended a good lawyer. He was a cousin of hers and a nice guy; plump, with thick frames and a burning sense of justice.
He told me that the affair Brad had would give me a sure advantage. For the first few months of the divorce proceedings, Brad was suspiciously docile and understanding. Of course, that did not make me want to take him back, but rather, I was on my guard knowing that he would definitely pull something.
Then, after another hectic day in court, I stepped out with a smirk on my face, knowing that soon I would be officially severed from that man forever and with enough cash to keep me afloat for a while. Wendy had suggested that we go on a girls' trip. I agreed as I hadn't been on a proper outing all along because Brad would always be waiting back at home, ready to scream in my ear about how we were going to go bankrupt soon. He made me believe that only sluts went out without their boyfriend or husband.
Eventually, I started turning down every invitation to hang out until nobody other than Wendy bothered contacting me.
"Who knows?" Wendy said with a teasing nudge. "Maybe you might just run into BlueHaven guy again?"
My fingers froze, reaching for the passenger seat door.
Instantly, my whole face turned red, remembering the electric kiss that I shared with a stranger.
"We'll see," I responded, looking forward to my single life again.
"Emily!" I heard Brad calling my name. Wendy looked half ready to cause a scene, but I didn't want her to do that, especially while we were still close to the courtroom.
"Just get in the car, Wendy," I advised. "I'll join you in a minute."
I approached Brad before he could reach us. He was sweating by the time he stopped in front of me. He then wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and I just watched him patiently with my hands akimbo.
"If you're going to say something, then you should just get on with it. I don't have all the time in the world."
His jaw clenched.
"You become quite full of yourself, haven't you?" He remarked spitefully. "Don't forget that I know everything about you." He leaned closer and whispered, "Everything."
I stretched out my arm, forcing some distance between us.
"Would it kill you not to be an ass-hole for two seconds?" I run my fingers through my hair, "Why am I even listening to you? I don't care what you know as long as you stay away from me after the divorce. Believe it or not, I'm not going back to that life, Brad."
He tightened his fist.
"We already have a life together. You are the one who is selfishly throwing it all away because of one little mistake."
I opened my mouth, almost about to speak. I curled my lips shut again, resigned not to waste anymore words on this man. It wasn't bad enough that he was the one who wrecked everything, but he was so bent on pushing all the blame to me.
I moved my legs towards Wendy's car, trying to reach it. But then I felt Brad's strong grip on my arm, dragging me back. I shrugged him off, and he grew more annoyed.
"I'll give you by the end of today, Emily..." He said with a stern tone. "Come back to me. Get rid of all this divorce nonsense, and I'll forgive you for everything. We can go back to normal..."
What did he mean by normal? The awful treatment? Eating cold suppers because I always had to wait for him? Was that the 'normal' he was talking about?
"No, thanks, but I'm good," I finally mouthed.
I walked faster this time so he couldn't catch up to me.
That night, I ignored his warning, wondering what he could possibly do to hurt me.
The next morning, I woke up to my mother's voice screaming the roof down. In panic, I slipped on my flip flops and ran to the living room in my pajamas, where Wendy was trying and failing to calm my mother down. Behind her was my Dad, shaking his head in disappointment.
"Mom, what's going on?" I asked, my voice itched with concern. With her phone in one hand, she decorated my left cheek with a thunderous slap. It hurt so bad that I tasted blood in my mouth.
I looked up at my mom with disbelief. Not sure of what to say, as if I had undergone a factory reset.
"Mom?" I asked, flustered and worried.
"Did you think that nobody would find out?" She said with steam shooting out of her ears, "You were parading around like a hypocrite, accusing your sister of being a homewrecker when you were something so much worse than that."
Wendy tried to get between me and my mom so that she wouldn't have the chance to hit me again. While I was still trying to recuperate from the first slap, my mom flashed her phone screen on my face.
My jaw dropped.
What I saw did more damage than a mere slap.
I could hear my brain, chorusing, "Ground, open and swallow me up."
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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.