Fucked Raw by my School's Billionaire Owner
He laid me on the sheets, climbed over me, caged me with his arms. "Last chance to run," he said, voice low."I need the money," I whispered, feeling so tiny in his arms."You're soaking," he muttered. "Virgin or not, your pussy wants this."I moaned, looking away, couldn't help it,"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he pushed his tip in slowly."Fuck," he groaned. "So tight."He fucked me like he was claiming something. "Come for me," he whispered in my ears, moving faster."Damien," I cried out his name as I came."That's it," he growled. After a long minute he pulled out slowly. "One night," he said again, almost like a reminder....weeks later, I walked through the quiet hall of my school. A massive portrait stared back at me.Damien BlackwoodPrincipal Benefactor and OwnerColumbia University.Same man who'd just taken my virginity for money. My stomach dropped. "Oh fuck... what have I done?"
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Chapter 4
Damien didn't ask, he just took my wrist and pulled me toward the bathroom like I was already his to move. Inside the bathroom was quite big, everything about it screamed money.
"Strip," he said, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.
I lifted my chin, trying to look like I wasn't shaking. "You first."
He laughed like I'd told a bad joke. "Cute. But I'm not the one getting paid tonight, sweetheart."
I swallowed the embarrassment and pulled the black dress off. Standing there in just my plain underwear felt worse than being naked. He stepped forward, slowly pulling down my panties and unhooking my bra.
"You didn't shave," he observed.
I shrugged, forcing nonchalance. "Didn't think I needed to, profile said sixties, figured he wouldn't notice."
He raised a brow. "Disappointed?"
"You're not sixty," I shot back. "You're... what, forty?"
"Thirty nine," he corrected, voice dry. "Ancient by your standards, I'm sure."
I rolled my eyes, trying to act like my heart wasn't hammering. "You still look better than most guys my age."
He smirked. "Flattering me won't make this go faster."
He turned on the shower, grabbed a small leather kit from the counter that contained razor, cream and fresh towel.
"Sit," he said, pointing to the ledge beside the sink.
He knelt in front of me, pushed my knees apart with zero hesitation. "Open."
I hesitated, closing my legs tightly. He raised an eyebrow. "You want the money or not?"
I opened my legs, hating how exposed I felt. He spread the cream over my mound, slow circles that made me bite my lip. Every pass of his thumb brushed too close to my clit.
"Didn't expect to be doing arts and crafts tonight," I muttered, trying to sound sarcastic.
"Neither did I," he replied without looking up. "But here we are. You're making it interesting,"
He tilted my hips needing better access to shave the hair off, fingers grazing my clit. I sucked in a breath every time.
"You're jumpy," he noted.
"I'm fine," I lied, voice tight.
"Sure you are." He blew air over the bare skin when he finished. I jerked so hard my back hit the mirror.
He chuckled. "Sensitive little thing."
"Stop talking," I snapped.
"Make me," he smirked.
He stripped his clothes, no hesitation, no shame. His body was carved muscle, thick thighs, and a cock already half hard, I tried not to stare but I failed.
He opened the shower door, stepped in, then held out a hand. "Get in."
I walked in, he pulled me under the spray, turning me so my back was against his chest. His hands were sliding over my shoulders to my breast, my stomach, when he reached between my legs, I moaned.
He pressed himself against my ass, very hard now. "You're wet," he murmured in my ear. "Not just from the water."
"Shut up," I whispered, but my hips rocked back anyway.
He turned me around, lifted one of my legs over his hip, and slid two fingers inside me without warning. I gasped. He pumped slowly, thumb circling my clit. Then he froze, his fingers stilled, brows furrowed.
"You're tight," he said, almost to himself. "Too tight."
I bit my lip, suddenly ashamed. "Yeah... about that..."
He pulled his fingers out, looked at the faint smear of blood-tinged wetness. His eyes snapped to mine. "You're a virgin."
I nodded once, looking anywhere but at him.
He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. "You put virgin on your profile?"
"No," I said quickly. "I just... didn't think it mattered. Old man, one night. Figured he wouldn't care."
Damien stared at me for a long second. Something flickered in his expression, surprise, maybe irritation, maybe something darker. "I was planning on fucking you hard," he said flatly. "Rough. The way I usually do."
My stomach dropped. "And now?"
He stepped closer, water streaming down his chest. "Now I'm thinking about how much it's going to hurt you if I do that. You're nineteen, barely legal and tiny."
I tried to look tough. "I can handle it."
He laughed. "Brave girl."
He shut off the water, grabbed a towel, wrapped it around me like I was breakable. Then he scooped me up and carried me back to the bedroom.
He laid me on the sheets, climbed over me, caged me with his arms. "Last chance to run," he said, voice low.
"I need the money," I whispered.
He studied my face, then he kissed me, slow and deep like he was tasting something he hadn't expected to like.
When he pulled back, he spread my legs again. Putting his fingers gently now, stretching me, curling inside, finding that spot that made my back arch.
"You're soaking," he muttered. "Virgin or not, your pussy wants this."
I moaned, couldn't help it.
He lined himself up, his tip nudging my entrance. "Eyes on me."
"Tell me if it's too much." He pushed in slow, the stretch burned. I dug my nails into his shoulders.
He stopped halfway, letting me adjust. "Breathe."
I did, the pain eased into pressure. He went deeper, inch by inch, until he was completely inside me.
"Fuck," he groaned. "So tight."
He started moving, slowly at first, then faster, harder. Every thrust dragged against places that made me dizzy. I wrapped my legs around him, meeting his rhythm even though it still hurt a little.
He fucked me like he was claiming something, deep, possessive, but careful enough.
"Come for me," he whispered in my ears, moving faster and hitting spots that made me go crazy.
"Damien," I cried out his name as I came without meaning to.
"That's it," he growled, moving even faster than before, so fast I thought I might pass out.
"Fuck," he growled low, pulsing inside me as he filled me with his cum.
We stayed like that, breathing hard. After a long minute he pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip from me with dark satisfaction.
"One night," he said again, almost like a reminder.
But the way he looked at me said something else entirely.
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8.0
Abigayle was the proud heir to the Pena Group, living a perfect life and engaged to Jeffery Sullivan.
But the morning after a charity gala, she woke up drugged in a hotel room, blinded by paparazzi cameras. Her fiancé and her best friend stood at the foot of the bed, throwing a forged pregnancy report at her face to publicly frame her for cheating.
The betrayal was only the beginning of the slaughter. Before she could even clear her name, the Sullivan family ruthlessly bankrupted her family's company overnight. Her father was rushed to the ICU with a heart attack, her brother was run off the road into a coma, and violent repo men raided her penthouse. Just as she was thrown out into the freezing rain, Jeffery's terrifying uncle, Donovan Sullivan—the very mastermind who engineered her family's ruin—stepped in. He offered to cover the life-saving medical bills, but only if she agreed to become his personal plaything.
Abigayle's blood turned to ice. She couldn't understand how the people she trusted most could plot such a vicious, coordinated destruction just to break an engagement. How dared the man who destroyed her entire family stand there playing the savior, trying to buy her body with her own stolen wealth?
Facing a $100,000 hospital deadline and abandoned by everyone she knew, she didn't shed another tear.
"I will never beg him."
Clutching her last diamond bracelet, she hailed a cab straight to the biggest pawnshop in the Diamond District. The Sullivans thought they had buried her, but her counterattack was just beginning.
8.9
My father was marrying a gold-digger, the mother of my cheating ex-boyfriend.
To end the charade, I crashed their luxury wedding with a ten-foot funeral wreath.
In front of hundreds of elites, my father slapped me across the face, calling me a vicious bitch while his new wife smiled in victory.
I triggered the estate's fire system to ruin them, but a terrifying stranger in the VIP section bypassed my military-grade hack in seconds.
He was Kavon Velasquez, a dangerous billionaire heir who had been missing for twelve years.
Instead of exposing me, he shielded me from my father's second blow.
When my pathetic ex tried to drag me away, I grabbed Kavon and kissed him to humiliate my ex.
I shoved a $500,000 check into Kavon's pocket as hush money and left.
I thought that was the end of it.
But why did this apex predator move into the penthouse right next to mine at 2 AM?
Why did he violently crush my ex's face the next morning just for grabbing my arm?
"She is my woman. If you ever come within ten feet of her again, I will bury you."
I didn't understand why a man with lethal skills was suddenly hunting me.
Then I found out he had just blackmailed my father with undeniable proof of corporate money laundering.
His demand wasn't money. It was me.
He ordered my father to announce our engagement by tomorrow sunset, and this dangerous game officially began.
9.7
For three years, I believed I had the perfect, flawlessly submissive wife.
But right as I was about to sign a fifty-million-dollar divorce settlement to make her go away quietly, I suddenly heard a sharp, ecstatic voice echoing inside my skull.
"Freedom! Long live freedom! I finally shook off this absolute bastard!"
I snapped my head up, only to see Iris sitting across the table, her delicate shoulders trembling as she sobbed into her hands, looking like a shattered woman losing her entire world.
It wasn't a hallucination; I could actually hear her inner thoughts. The realization hit me like a physical blow. My fragile, heartbroken wife was a calculating hypocrite who mentally cursed me out while physically begging me to stay. When I later dragged her out of a nightclub where she was partying half-naked, I heard her true thoughts about our intimacy—she considered our nights together a mere "complimentary clause" in our business contract. Even the loving, home-cooked French dinners I cherished were exposed through her mind to be microwaved Michelin-star takeout.
For three years, I had prided myself on being a dominant, attentive husband, yet I was played for an absolute fool. How could she fake every single tear, every single touch, with such terrifying perfection while viewing me as nothing more than an ATM?
Looking at her cowering on my penthouse floor, clutching an anniversary Birkin bag she secretly planned to sell for a Porsche, a dark rush of power blinded me.
I wasn't just going to let her walk away with my millions anymore; I was going to use my new ability to rip off her mask and utterly destroy her.
9.1
What would a woman do if one day she is waiting for her husband to tell him the news of her pregnancy but he comes home with another woman who is pregnant with his child?
........
Ariadne had a perfect life until her mother died in a car accident and her father remarried, bringing a stepmother and stepsister into her life. Once adored by all, Ariadne became an eyesore to everyone, including her father. Her stepmother and stepsister took everything from her.
However, she lost it when their eyes fell on Xander, the sole heir of the richest family in the country and her childhood love. When rumors of Crystal, her step sister and Xander's dating spread, Ariadne used her everything to force Xander into marrying her.
Despite pouring her heart and soul into the marriage Ariadne failed to make Xander reciprocate her feelings. Their loveless marriage came to an end when Crystal returned in their lives.
With a broken heart, Ariadne left the city with a secret and rebuild her life.
Five years later, she returned as a successful interior designer to design her ex-husband's new mansion. But this time, what she saw in Xander's eyes for herself was not hatred. It was something else.
She came face to face with the same people who had wronged her in the past. They still held resentment towards her. But this time Ariadne vowed to strike back at her bullies.
Many secrets were revealed in the process that made Xander regret his past actions. He determined to win Ariadne back.
BUT Will Ariadne be able to forget their past and get back together with Xander or She will choose someone else?
7.1
I was the top commander of a black-ops military program. After slaughtering my way through a hellish mission, I reached the extraction helicopter, trusting my second-in-command to watch my back.
But the moment our hands locked, he didn't pull me up. Instead, he plunged a syringe of lethal neurotoxin directly into my neck.
He aimed his gun at my chest, coldly stating that I was too dangerous to live. My lungs stopped, and I died in a pool of my own blood. But the endless blackness suddenly shattered. My consciousness violently forced its way into a new, broken shell. I woke up in a freezing alley, soaked in muddy rain.
This body belonged to seventeen-year-old Eliza Wyatt. A massive wave of foreign memories crashed into my brain. Her own younger sister had just stood at the top of the stairs with a mocking smile, watching street thugs beat Eliza to death.
"Take good care of the Wyatt family's eldest daughter. Tonight is the night she finally disappears."
The endless humiliation, the cold stares of her family, and the brutal betrayal by her own blood flashed before my eyes. Why was this fragile girl treated like garbage and pushed to her death by the very people who should have protected her?
I looked down at my pale, trembling hands. The top commander was dead, but in this bleeding shell, Eliza Wyatt was very much alive. I picked up a switchblade from the bloody puddle and stood up in the storm. It was time to hunt.
8.0
After years of a freezing, loveless marriage, my billionaire husband Israel finally threw me out to make room for his new lover, Ayla.
Before I even packed my bags, he ordered a crew to shred the Dogwood tree in our backyard and pour thick concrete into the crater, claiming it was a symbol of my infidelity.
He didn't know that buried beneath those roots was the urn containing the ashes of our unborn baby.
Stripped of everything, I tried to rebuild my shattered life by securing a supporting role in an indie film.
But Israel bought the entire production studio just to cast Ayla as the lead, demanding I act as her pathetic stepping stone.
When I refused, he cornered me on set with a sickening audio recording.
"We want one million dollars. This will ruin Karen forever."
It was my own parents. They had forged my medical records, planning to sell a story to the tabloids that I was a violent, delusional schizophrenic.
Israel smiled coldly, threatening to lock me in a padded room on an involuntary psychiatric hold unless I signed an unpaid contract to serve Ayla unconditionally.
My own flesh and blood had sold me out to a ruthless monster for cash.
Staring at the extortion contract, the last shred of desperation and love in my chest burned away into cold, gray ash.
To survive a monster, you have to become one.
I picked up his pen, violently signed my name, and prepared to rip his precious Ayla to shreds on camera.