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 8
Grayson sat down at the table, his mood darkened by the encounter at the bar. He handed Emma her drink as he sat down. The redhead had been stunning... those green eyes, that figure, she had oozed sex appeal. He'd been instantly drawn to her, something that hadn't happened in a long time. Mostly, women chased him, not the other way around.
"What happened?" Emma asked, taking a sip of her sparkling water. "You look like someone just insulted our mother."
"Nothing," he muttered, taking a sip of his scotch. The liquid burned pleasantly down his throat but did little to ease his irritation. "Just a misunderstanding."
Emma raised an eyebrow. "A misunderstanding that has you looking ready to throttle someone? Come on, Grayson. Talk to me."
He sighed, setting his glass down. "That woman at the bar accused me of cheating on Morgan. With you."
Emma nearly choked on her water. "With me? Your sister? That's disgusting!"
"She didn't know you were my sister," Grayson clarified, his jaw tightening. "She recognized me, knew I was engaged to Morgan, and jumped to conclusions."
"Was engaged," Emma corrected gently. "Past tense. The tabloids haven't caught up yet."
Grayson ran a hand through his hair. "I told her that. Also told her you were my sister."
"And how did she take it?"
"I didn't stick around to find out." He glanced toward the bar, but the redhead had already returned to her table with friends. From this angle, he could only see her profile, the elegant curve of her neck, the way her fiery hair caught the light.
Emma followed his gaze. "I have to say she is beautiful."
"And quick to judge."
"After what you went through with Morgan, I'm not surprised it bothered you." Emma reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "But it's just a stranger's misconception. You don't know her reasons for jumping to conclusions. Either way, why let it ruin our evening?"
Grayson nodded but couldn't shake his annoyance. The accusation had hit too close to home; the memory of finding Morgan with Tina still cut deep. Being accused of the very thing that had destroyed his engagement felt like salt in an open wound.
"There was something familiar about her," he mused, stealing another glance at the redhead's table. "Like I've met her before. But she said we haven't met."
"Maybe you have? You meet hundreds of people."
"I'd remember her."
Emma smirked. "Because she's gorgeous?"
"Because she had the nerve to call me out like that, she has a mouth on her." Grayson said, though he couldn't deny her beauty was part of it. "Most people are too intimidated."
"Except Joy Smith," Emma pointed out with a small smile. "Your CFO gives you hell regularly, according to your complaints."
Grayson snorted. "Smith is different. That's business." He took another sip of his scotch. "This was... I don't know. Personal."
The waiter arrived with their appetizers, temporarily distracting him from thoughts of the fiery redhead. As Emma chatted about her latest gallery showing, Grayson found his gaze repeatedly drawn to the woman's table. There was something about her laugh, the way she gestured when she spoke...
"You should go talk to her again, if you are that interested," Emma said suddenly.
Grayson snapped his attention back to his sister. "What?"
"The redhead. You keep looking at her. Go apologize or something."
"I have nothing to apologize for."
Emma rolled her eyes. "Fine. Go introduce yourself properly then. She obviously made an impression."
"I'm not looking to date anyone right now," Grayson said firmly. Now what he needed was a good, hard fuck with no strings. He had already reinstated his membership at the club.
"Who said anything about dating? Maybe you just need to get laid."
"Emma!" He glared at his younger sister.
"What?" She shrugged innocently. She didn't bring up Morgan or Tina, that was a no-go area of conversation right now.
Grayson shifted uncomfortably. His sister wasn't wrong, but he wasn't about to admit it to her.
"I'm fine," he insisted.
"You're wound tighter than that watch you wear."
Grayson stiffened. "It's none of your business."
"I'm just worried about you," Emma admitted.
Grayson stared into his scotch. He'd given up his membership to The Velvet Room when things got serious with Morgan, thinking she was the one he could build a future with. Now, with that illusion shattered, there was nothing holding him back.
"Maybe you are right," he conceded.
Emma studied him for a moment. "Just promise me you won't let what Morgan did poison you against all women. Not everyone's like her," she said, stepping into topics he didn't want to talk about.
"I know that," he said, though part of him wasn't so sure anymore.
His gaze drifted once more to the redhead. Despite their brief, contentious interaction, there was something compelling about her, a spark that had been missing from his life lately. Even his life with Morgan.
Maybe it was time to start living again.
Honey took a deep breath, trying to shake off the embarrassment from her encounter with Grayson. "It's been awful, honestly," she said, explaining everything that had been going on before adding, "Riley and I haven't had sex in months, and when we did..." She lowered her voice, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "It was terrible. Like, spectacularly bad."
Maggie winced. "How bad are we talking here?"
"He's..." Honey said, twirling the straw in her drink. "It's all about him. Five minutes of missionary, then he's done and rolling over to sleep while I'm just... there. Unsatisfied. It's like he isn't into me at all." She took another sip of her drink, the alcohol loosening her tongue. "I haven't had an orgasm with him. Not once in three years of marriage."
"Not once?" Lauren's eyes widened. "How have you survived?"
Honey felt her cheeks flush. "I take care of myself. What else can I do? Some nights I'm so frustrated I can barely sleep until I... you know." She made a discreet gesture with her hand. "My vibrator gets more action than my husband ever did."
"Jesus," Maggie muttered. "And he had the nerve to cheat on you?"
"He told me I was frigid," Honey admitted, her voice catching slightly. "That it was my fault I couldn't climax with him. Told me he had never had a problem before. I actually believed him for a while."
"That manipulative bastard," Lauren hissed, her eyes darting around the restaurant before leaning in conspiratorially. "I know about a place you could go to."
"A place?" Honey raised an eyebrow. Was she talking about a sex shop?
Lauren nodded, lowering her voice even further. "It's called The Velvet Room. Very exclusive, very discreet. It's a members-only club where people go to... explore. Everyone wears masks, complete anonymity."
"You mean like a sex club?" Honey whispered, shocked.
"Not exactly," Lauren explained. "I mean, yes, there's sex, only if you want it, but it's more than that. It's about fantasy, desire... finding what you really want without judgment."
Maggie looked skeptical. "How do you even know about this place?"
"I dated a guy who was a member," Lauren shrugged. "He took me once. It was... let's say enlightening."
Honey's mind raced. A place where no one knew who she was, where she could be herself or anyone else, she wanted to be. Where she might finally discover if the problem really was her, as Riley had claimed, or if she was capable of pleasure with the right partner... not just her vibrator and her own fingers.
"I don't know..." she began, though something inside her hummed with curiosity.
"Just think about it," Lauren said, pulling out her phone. "I still have the contact information. They screen everyone extensively. Security is tight. No one would ever know you were there."
Honey looked across the restaurant where Grayson sat with his sister, his profile strong and confident. Then she thought of Riley, probably with his teenage mistress right now, both of them believing Honey was too naive to suspect anything.
"Send me the information," she said suddenly. "No promises, but... I'll think about it."
Lauren smiled, typing something into her phone. "Already done. And Honey? Whatever you decide, just remember... you deserve pleasure. Real pleasure. Not whatever sad excuse for intimacy Riley's been giving you. You don't owe him anything."
"To finding real pleasure," Maggie raised her glass in a toast.
Honey clinked her glass against her friends', a flutter of both fear and excitement stirring in her chest. "To finding real pleasure."
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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."