Sexy Behind The Mask
She hides behind ugly suits and fake names. He's done trusting women. When they meet in a masked sex club, neither realizes they've been fighting each other across boardroom tables for eighteen months. At Taylor Industries, she's Joy Smith-the frumpy CFO who drowns her curves in shapeless polyester and wearing a wig. At home, she's the forgotten wife of a cheating lawyer who hasn't touched her in so long she's starting to wonder if she's broken. When she finds hot pink lace panties stuffed in her couch cushions...definitely not hers, it's not heartbreak she feels. It's freedom. Grayson Taylor doesn't do relationships anymore. Not after walking in on his actress fiancée with another woman. Now he channels everything into hostile takeovers and board meetings, especially the ones where his overcautious CFO fights him on every goddamn acquisition. Joy Smith is brilliant, infuriating, and funny when he pushes all her buttons. But Honey is tired of being invisible. Tired of never having felt real pleasure. So, when her best friend gives her the details of The Velvet Room-Manhattan's most exclusive masked club-she promises herself just one night. One night to find out if her husband's right, if she really is frigid, or if she's just never been touched by the right hands. She doesn't expect the masked stranger who claims her the second she walks in. Doesn't expect the chemistry that ignites between them, the way he makes her body sing, or the orgasms that leave her shaking. Doesn't expect him to hand her an email address with one command: "Only me. No one else touches you."
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Chapter 7
The waiter seemed to be taking his sweet time noticing Honey's signal, and her empty glass sat mockingly in front of her. Meanwhile, Grayson and his mystery blonde were being seated at a prime table near the window.
"That's it," Honey muttered, rising from her chair. "I'm going to the bar myself."
"Want me to come with you?" Lauren offered.
"No, stay put. I'll be right back."
Honey strode across the restaurant, conscious of her appearance in the black dress that hugged her curves. Without her Joy Smith persona, she moved differently, with more confidence, her natural grace no longer suppressed. At the bar, she leaned forward, catching the bartender's attention.
"One gin and tonic, and two martinis, please."
While waiting, she didn't look towards Grayson's table.
The bartender nodded at Honey's order, quickly mixing the drinks. As she waited, she felt a presence beside her, someone sliding onto the stool at her right. From her peripheral vision, she caught sight of a dark suit and the scent of expensive sandalwood cologne.
The bartender looked up.
"Scotch, neat," came a deep voice she recognized instantly. "And a sparkling water."
Honey kept her gaze fixed on the bartender's hands as he prepared her drinks, willing herself not to turn. Of all the bars in all the restaurants in New York, Grayson Taylor had to pick this one. She shifted slightly, angling her body away from him.
"I'll pay for the drinks now," she told the bartender, pulling out her credit card. No need to charge to their table.
The bartender nodded, but before he could take her card, Grayson's voice cut in.
"Add the lady's drinks to my tab."
Honey stiffened. He hadn't recognized her, had he? No, he couldn't have. Not with her real hair down, no glasses, and in this dress. Still, she wasn't about to accept drinks from him.
"That won't be necessary," she said, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal, still not looking his way.
"I insist," Grayson replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice... the charm he switched on when he wanted something. It was nothing like the clipped businesslike tones he used with Joy Smith at the office.
The bartender glanced between them, caught in the middle of their standoff.
She was not going to create a scene. "Your choice," she finally said, taking the card back and sliding it back into her purse. "Thank you."
As the bartender moved away to finish their drinks, Grayson turned toward her. She could feel his eyes on her profile.
"I don't usually get turned down when I offer to buy a beautiful woman a drink," he said.
Honey almost snorted. Beautiful woman? He wouldn't recognize beauty if it presented financial reports to him every month or glared at him over the boardroom table.
"Maybe you're not as irresistible as you think you are," she replied, finally turning to face him fully.
For a split second, his eyes widened in appreciation as he took her in-the red hair, the form-fitting dress, the confident posture. There was no hint of recognition in his gaze, just pure male interest.
He was hitting on her!
"I'm Grayson," he said, extending his hand.
"I know who you are."
Grayson looked her over again. "Have we met before? Because I'm sorry-"
Honey stared at Grayson, momentarily caught off-guard by his complete lack of recognition. It was almost comical how thoroughly her Joy Smith disguise worked. The man she argued with nearly every day couldn't connect this confident redhead with his frumpy CFO.
"No, we haven't met, but you are Grayson Taylor who is engaged to Morgan Fairchild?" she asked, her voice cool and steady. She glanced toward his table where the blonde waited. "You're here with another woman and you're chatting me up? That's just all class."
A flash of annoyance crossed his face. His jaw tightened slightly.
"Not like it's any of your business," he said, his voice hardening, "but my engagement with Morgan is over." He gestured toward the blonde at his table. "And that is my sister, Emma. I don't cheat."
He took his drinks and credit card from the bar, then stood, towering over her. For a brief moment, their eyes locked.
"Excuse me," he said stiffly, then turned and walked away, leaving her there with her mouth hanging open.
Honey watched him return to his table, stunned by the exchange. The blonde, his sister? Looked up at him with concern as he sat down. Now that Honey looked more carefully, she could see the family resemblance in their profiles. Their coloring was very different.
The bartender slid her drinks across the counter, breaking her trance. "Your drinks, ma'am."
"Thanks," she muttered, gathering them carefully. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she made her way back to her friends.
Lauren and Maggie leaned forward eagerly as she approached.
"What happened?" Lauren whispered, helping Honey distribute the drinks. "You two seemed to be having words."
Honey sank into her chair, still processing the encounter. "I just accused Grayson Taylor of cheating on his fiancée."
"You did what?" Maggie nearly choked on her fresh martini.
"He was flirting with me, Well, I think he was, and I thought... with everything that's happening with Riley..." Honey shook her head. "Turns out his engagement is over, and that's his sister at the table."
"Oh my god," Lauren covered her mouth. "Wait, he's not engaged anymore? When did that happen? The tabloids have been all over their relationship."
"I don't know," Honey admitted, stealing a glance at Grayson's table. He was now deep in conversation with his sister, his expression serious. "But he seemed pretty defensive about it."
"Well, at least now we know why he's not with Morgan tonight," Maggie said. "But he was hitting on you?"
"Maybe he wasn't... I could have read too much into it," Honey began, then stopped herself. That's exactly what he'd been doing. "God, what must he think of me?" Honey dropped her head in her hands, embarrassed.
"Who cares?" Lauren shrugged. "It's not like you'll ever see him again. Well, not as Honey, anyway."
Honey lifted her head and took a large swallow of her drink, feeling oddly unsettled. She'd been so quick to judge him, to assume the worst. After Riley's betrayal, she'd automatically projected those same traits onto Grayson.
"He said 'I don't cheat' like it was a point of honor for him," she mused. "I wonder what happened between him and Morgan."
"Maybe she cheated on him," Maggie suggested. "Would explain his reaction to your accusation."
"Enough about my boss," Honey said, pushing the encounter aside. "Let's talk about something else. Anything else."
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9.0
He drew her before he ever met her.
She dreams of him every night... without knowing who he is.
Nora is a brilliant editor in a prestigious journalism company - confident, successful... and completely unaware of her past. But night after night, she dreams of a mysterious warrior prince in a realm that feels far too real. When Edward, the enigmatic new CEO of her branch, walks into her life, her world starts to unravel. He's the son of the company's owner, and though they've never met, he's been drawing her face for years.
As their connection deepens, strange events begin to blur the line between reality and fantasy. What neither of them knows is that their souls are bound - not just in this life, but in another.
In a parallel world, Leela is a fearless warrior and spy, sworn to protect her people. Jing, the prince of a war-torn kingdom, trusts her with his life... but must never love her. Their bond is dangerous. Forbidden. And yet, undeniable.
Two women. Two men.
Two worlds on the brink of war... and love that defies fate.
When destiny calls across dimensions, will they choose duty - or the one their soul remembers?
7.1
Aria Graves was the perfect Luna.
After seven years of a marriage built on lies, She didn't break when the truth surfaced-she burned. Her revenge was clean and her rejection final.
But fate wasn't done with her.
To protect his own secrets, her father used her mother's life as leverage and forced Aria to take her sister's place, sending her to the Silverfang Pack as a living offering to their ruthless Alpha King, Damien Rothwell.
Cold, commanding, and scarred by war, Damien should have killed her. Instead, he claimed her.
Yet the King is not the only one who wants her.
His half-brother, Ethan Rothwell, once the blind boy Aria taught to read, now returns a man who sees her more clearly than anyone else.
Now Aria stands between two brothers-one bound by duty, the other by love.
In a world where loyalty bleeds and desire burns, she must choose: the Alpha King who could ruin her, or the brother who would burn the world to save her.
8.2
For three years, nineteen-year-old Ella Campbell rotted in a freezing psychiatric isolation room.
Her billionaire family didn't visit her once, only pulling her out today to force her to publicly apologize to Ashlyn, the perfect sister who had framed her.
At Ashlyn's glamorous engagement gala, Ella was treated worse than a stray dog and forced to watch her childhood sweetheart propose to her sister.
When Ella showed no jealousy, her brother Ivan dragged her onto a dark balcony and nearly choked her to death.
Her mother didn't even check if Ella was breathing, merely ordering a makeup artist to paint thick concealer over the dark purple handprints on Ella's neck so the family's stock price wouldn't drop.
Standing under the blinding stage lights in a shapeless gray dress, facing three hundred mocking Wall Street executives, Ella was supposed to be the broken, obedient psycho the Campbells needed.
"I am deeply sorry for the pain I caused."
She was supposed to end the apology there and bow to her abusers, but Ella didn't shed a single tear.
"My only regret is that I didn't insist on waiting for the police to arrive that night. I deeply regret that I didn't demand a full, legal toxicology report to prove to everyone exactly what happened."
As the ballroom erupted into suspicious whispers and her paralyzed twin brother finally saw the violent bruises hidden beneath her makeup, Ella's counterattack against the Campbell family officially began.
8.3
I woke up in a bedroom that screamed old money, but the body I occupied felt sluggish and fragile. I was now Chris Olson, a man known as a pathetic failure who spent his marriage groveling at his wife's feet for a single look of approval.
Elizabeth didn't even wait for me to clear my head before she threw the divorce papers on the nightstand. She stood there in her silk robe, eyes cold as ice, demanding I sign them before breakfast so she could finally go public with her "White Moonlight," Greg.
"You're walking away with nothing," she snapped, her voice full of the disgust she'd harbored for years. She reminded me that my family had disowned me and that I'd be on the streets within a week without her charity.
As I sat up, a metallic, garlic-like scent on my breath confirmed a terrifying truth: the Olson family hadn't just disowned me; they had been micro-dosing me with arsenic for years. They wanted me weak and mentally unstable so they could split the inheritance without a fight.
The original Chris would have cried and begged for her to stay, but I just looked at her like she was a target. I realized then that my "loving" family and my "faithful" wife had been watching me die in slow motion, and neither of them had lifted a finger to stop it.
I signed the papers without reading a single line and walked out with nothing but a duffel bag and a rusted sedan. I didn't need her alimony; I had already called her greatest rival, Adelia Cherry, to discuss a merger that would rock the city.
"I'm not here to save this marriage," I told Elizabeth as I moved into the mansion right next door to hers. "I'm here to bury it, along with everyone who thought they could poison me and get away with it."
9.7
No matter how far I ran, no matter how deep I hid, I knew one truth... He would always find me.
Knock. Knock.
I jolted up from my sitting position, with my heart hammering in my chest.
Just as I was saying... He had already found me.
But by the time he broke down the rickety door, I was already standing and facing him with a knife to my wrist.
I'd rather die than return home with him as his mate.
***
TRIGGER WARNING!
This is a dark, taboo romance containing graphic themes, possessive men, hate-fueled sex, psychological intensity, emotional torment, and taboo that will wreck your morals. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Read only if you're ready to fall for monsters.
***
Eve thought she and her mother had successfully escaped her abusive father by getting married to the former Alpha of a pack far away from where they used to live.
But all her hopes and expectations were cut short the moment she realized her new stepbrother, Alpha Saint, who was also the current Alpha of her new pack, was the same man she had a one-night stand with eight months ago, along with his best friend, Beta Kyrie. And on that fateful night, she had stolen very valuable items from these men.
Hated and controlled by her stepbrother, Saint, who saw her as nothing but a thieving whore, Eve decided to find solace in Kyrie, who was already falling madly in love with her. But Saint would rather fight his best friend to the death than let him anywhere close to the woman he was secretly obsessed with from the day he set eyes on her – Eve.
All hell was let loose when Eve turned twenty-one and found out that not only was she mated to the man she loved and desired – Kyrie. She was also mated to her overly possessive stepbrother, whom she dreaded with her life.
Saint burns with obsession. Kyrie aches with desire. And both men aren't willing to share.
How far can she run? And how much blood are they willing to shed, just to stake their individual claim on her?
9.6
I stood in the ballroom of the Pierre Hotel, holding a champagne flute that felt like a fragile anchor against a rising tide of anxiety.
Across the room, the crowd of New York's elite parted as my fiancé, Campbell Brock, stepped onto the stage to announce a historic merger-and a shocking engagement to someone else.
"I am proud to announce my engagement to Kandice Rose," he said, pulling the "real" daughter of the family into his arms while looking right through me as if I were a ghost. I dropped my glass, the crystal shattering at my feet, but the public humiliation was only the beginning. By the next morning, I was a viral meme dubbed the "Meltdown Girl," and the American Ballet Theatre had suspended me from my position as principal dancer for "moral turpitude." My bank accounts were frozen, my reputation was in tatters, and Kandice was on a livestream tearfully claiming I was a jealous foster girl who had tried to seduce Campbell behind her back.
I had spent four years building a life with this man, only to be discarded like a piece of old wallpaper the moment a better business deal came along.
How could the man who promised me a future turn me into a national joke overnight, and why was the world so eager to believe I was the villain in my own tragedy?
When my high school best friend, the notorious billionaire playboy Charlton Bernard, found me drinking tequila in a dive bar, he didn't offer me a shoulder to cry on. He slid a marriage contract across the table and pressed a black titanium credit card into my hand.
"Marry me for a year, Daphne," he said, his eyes burning with a dark, protective intensity that made my heart race. "We'll join their reality show as newlyweds and show the world exactly who the real winner is."
I looked at the card, then at the man who had always been my shadow, and realized that being sensible had only gotten me dumped on a stage.
"Let's go get married."