THE CLEANER'S TRIPLE BET
"You're already soaked, aren't you?" Jax growled, his fingers teasing under the hem of her tight janitor dress. "Three of us... and you're dripping before we even start."
Shy, curvy Lila only took the late-night cleaning job for the money. She never expected to become the prize in a filthy bet between the three hottest guys in the dorm.
Cocky Jax, intense Miles, and playful Theo made a wager: the first one to make the chubby cleaner come wins.
But when they discover how easily she gets wet and how desperately she's fantasized about being shared by multiple men, the bet turns into something much greedier.
Now every shift ends with Lila bent over in her sexy uniform, soft body worshipped and passed between three hard cocks - moaning, shaking, and living out her dirtiest fantasy.
She knows it's wrong. She knows it's risky.
But why stop when three gorgeous men are competing to ruin her every night?
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Chapter 1
Lila's POV
I gripped the handle of the mop bucket tighter as I walked down the long hallway of the boys' dormitory. My heart was already beating fast. The black uniform they gave me was way too tight. The short dress hugged my belly and hips like a second skin, and every step made the fabric stretch across my thick thighs. I could feel eyes on me from every direction.
"Hey, look at the new cleaner!"
"Damn, that uniform is fighting for its life!"
Laughter echoed behind me. Someone whistled loud and sharp. Another guy called out, "Don't you feel cramped in there, fatso? The uniform looks like it's about to burst!"
I kept my head down and focused on the wet floor ahead. Someone had spilled a whole bucket of water earlier, turning the tiles into a slippery mess. The dorm attendant told me to clean it right away because people were complaining about slipping. I had no choice. This job was the only way I could pay my tuition before the deadline.
"Don't slip, chunky! We don't want to see you fall and break the floor!"
More laughter. A few guys even pulled out their phones, pointing them at me while I worked. My cheeks burned hot. I tried to ignore them, but it wasn't easy. The uniform rode up every time I bent over, showing more of my soft thighs than I wanted. I just wanted to finish fast and disappear.
I dipped the mop into the bucket and started pushing it across the wet tiles. The water made loud sloshing sounds that mixed with the mocking voices around me. My arms already felt tired, but I kept moving, spreading the soapy water and wiping away the dirt.
"Hey, fatso! It's wet here!" one guy shouted in a nasty tone, laughing with his friends.
I pretended I didn't hear him and kept mopping. My belly pressed against the tight apron with every movement. Sweat mixed with the water that had splashed on me. I just needed to finish this section and move on. This job wouldn't last forever. I could handle it for a few months.
Finally, the floor looked clean and dry enough. I let out a small sigh of relief and turned to leave. That's when it happened.
I bumped straight into a tall guy holding a water bottle. The bottle slipped from his hand and cold water splashed all over my chest and the front of my uniform. The floor instantly became wet again right where I had just finished cleaning.
"Oops," he said softly, his voice low and teasing. "Not my fault. The floor's wet again. Guess you'll have to clean it one more time."
I looked up at him. He was really tall, with messy dark hair and tattoos peeking out from under his sleeveless shirt. His eyes scanned my soaked uniform slowly, a small smirk on his lips.
"I guess they don't want to see you slip there," he added quietly, almost whispering, "because no one will be strong enough to lift you."
The words stung. I felt my throat tighten, but I didn't say anything back. Instead, I quickly grabbed the mop again and started cleaning the new mess. My uniform clung to my body even more now, cold and uncomfortable. The fabric stuck to my heavy breasts and round belly, making everything feel tighter than before. I could still feel people watching and whispering.
As soon as the floor was dry again, I didn't wait. I picked up my bucket and hurried back toward the small cleaning room at the end of the hallway. My legs felt heavy and my face was still burning with embarrassment.
Inside the quiet room, I finally sat down on the old plastic chair and caught my breath. The door opened a moment later. The dorm attendant - the same strict woman who had hired me - walked in and stopped when she saw me.
"What happened to you?" she asked, eyeing my dripping uniform. "Why are you so wet?"
I looked down at myself. The black dress was now see-through in some spots from the water. "I... bumped into someone. The water bottle spilled."
She shook her head. "Don't you have another size? This uniform is so tight on me, it's uncomfortable to move," I said softly, hoping she might understand.
The woman crossed her arms. "I already told you we only have one size. If the uniform feels too tight, that means you're the one who needs to diet. Besides, you're already too fat for it anyway."
Her words landed like a slap. I just sighed and looked away. She didn't say anything else before turning and leaving the room, closing the door behind her with a click.
The small room felt even smaller now. I reached into my locker and pulled out my phone. There was a new message from Mom:
"How was your first day at work, sweetie? I made your favorite food to celebrate your first day,"
I smiled a little even though my eyes felt hot. I typed back quickly:
"Everyone's been nice to me, Mom. I can't wait to have dinner together. Wait for me, okay?"
I sent it and put the phone back in the locker. For a moment, I just sat there staring at the small mirror on the wall. My reflection looked tired. The wet uniform clung to every curve - my soft round belly, my wide hips, my thick thighs. The short hem had ridden up again, showing the bottom of my black stockings.
I looked... big. Soft. Nothing like the slim girls I sometimes saw around campus.
But I lifted my chin and took a deep breath. I could do this. It was just a job. A few months of cleaning at night, and I'd have enough money for tuition. I didn't have to love it. I just had to survive it.
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7.6
He hated my gut!
I detested his arrogance!
I was supposed to be his ex-stepmother,but I hated pack politics and returned to the human community after Alpha Holt's death.
I was forced back to heal the wounds of the one that hated me the most, my stepson Adrian.
To the world he was the famous NHL golden boy of hockey and to the Frostfang pack, their feared Alpha.
But the moon goddess had another plan.
On the night he was crowned as Alpha, his father's mark faded from my neck and Adrian's mate bond burnt harshly on my skin. But fate wasn't done yet.
We were expected to team up to fight a common foe when we could barely stand each other.
Was our fate strong enough to overcome physical hatred?
7.4
Cadence, a modern botanist, woke up to a glaring sun and massive, alien purple leaves blocking the sky. She was stranded in a terrifying, primal world.
Before she could process the metallic smell of blood in the air, a white tiger the size of an SUV crushed a giant boar's neck right in front of her. The beast locked its piercing blue eyes on her hiding spot. But instead of tearing her throat out, a blinding flash of silver light erupted, and the monster transformed into a towering, heavily scarred naked man.
He was Harlan, a shifter who immediately claimed her as his mate under tribal law. Dragged back to his primitive village, Cadence faced a brutal reality. Unbonded females were targets, and she was expected to take multiple mates just to survive. The tribal women mocked her fragile frame, calling her useless. To make matters worse, her foreign scent attracted a rogue serpent-shifter who violently ambushed her in the river.
The icy shock of the serpent's attack plunged Cadence into a deadly, burning fever. The tribe's Shaman tried his healing magic, only to shake his head and abandon her.
"She lacks primal fortitude. She will rely entirely on her own weak vitality. I can do nothing."
As Harlan held her shivering body in despair, Cadence felt a deep sense of desperate injustice. Was she really going to die in a filthy stone hut in an unknown universe, killed by a simple cold?
No. She remembered her grandfather's strict survival lessons. Forcing her heavy eyes open, she grabbed her terrified tiger mate's hand. She didn't need their failing magic; she had science.
"I need specific plants to live. I need white willow bark. And a spicy, ginger-like root."
She rasped, preparing to show this savage world the true power of a modern survivor.
7.6
I woke up to the suffocating smell of copper and sulfur, my fingers wrapped around a blood-soaked leather whip.
Hanging from an obsidian cross in front of me was a boy with silver hair and dead, golden eyes.
His pale chest was torn open to the bone.
I recognized those eyes immediately. I had spent three years describing them on my laptop.
He was Kamari Monroe, the tragic, overpowered protagonist of my own web novel.
And I wasn't just a bystander. I was Benedict Guerrero, the sadistic academy headmaster. The ultimate villain.
A reel of images flashed in my mind: my original ending. Kamari, fully awakened, skinning me alive and burning my soul in a furnace for forty-nine days.
My loyal attack dog, Gideon, stepped forward with a basin of glowing green liquid.
"Headmaster, let me wake him up with this bone-rot acid so you can resume."
If that acid hit Kamari, his hatred would become permanent. My gruesome death would be sealed.
But if I broke character and apologized, the magical world would sense the shift, and Kamari would just think it was a sicker, more twisted trap.
How was I supposed to survive a death sentence I wrote myself?
I couldn't show weakness. I had to play the monster to survive.
Suppressing my terror, I smashed the acid basin, healed his ruined flesh with agonizing dark magic, and lied straight to his face.
"Someone had to be the monster to push you into the fire."
This time, I will rewrite my own fate.
8.1
Pretty Devil
8.1
Maddy worked at an exclusive underground club, always hidden behind a sleek black mask. One night, a wealthy client approached her with a filthy fantasy , he didn't want to just fuck her. He wanted to be her complete slave.
He took her to his luxury penthouse, while she shoved her soaked pussy onto his face and rode his tongue until she came, then mounted his cock and used him mercilessly, slapping and choking him while denying his orgasm until he begged like a broken whore. Even after she quit the club and started a new corporate job, she kept hooking up with him. One day, she walked into the CEO's office... and froze. Her new boss was the same man.
By day, in his luxurious office, he is the dominant, commanding CEO , barking orders, running the company with iron authority, and no one suspects a thing. By night, he becomes her secret pathetic slave: crawling, getting pegged over his own desk, licking her cum off his floor, and having his cock locked in chastity while she laughs at how easily she owns him.
Pretty Devil is a raw, extremely explicit erotic novel packed with intense femdom, heavy BDSM, humiliation, orgasm denial, pegging, face-sitting, and twisted power exchanges that blur the dangerous line between boss and secret slave.
This book is unapologetically nasty and graphic. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
7.2
I woke up in a lavish bedroom, only to find a man built like a god of war chained to my wall, glaring at me with pure, unadulterated hatred.
A glowing apparition appeared and told me I had died in a car crash and transmigrated into the body of Elara, a tyrant Luna. Worse, the chained man was Ryker, one of my six fated mates whom the original Elara had brutally tortured.
Because of her sadistic crimes-starving them, exiling them, and sending two of them on a suicide mission-my affinity with them was at negative five hundred. The apparition delivered my terrifying death sentence.
"In three days, at the Marking Ceremony, you will be killed by your six mates."
No matter what I did-freeing Ryker, sharing my food, or lifting their brother's exile-they viewed every act of kindness as a sick, twisted trap. They were just waiting for the punchline to my cruel joke, ready to expose me and end my life.
I was just a librarian who organized book clubs and paid my taxes. Why did the Goddess throw me into this doomed vessel to pay for a psychopath's blood debts? How was I supposed to survive when the men destined to love me were actively plotting to rip my throat out?
Cornered by their righteous fury, I realized playing defense wouldn't work. I grabbed a dagger, sliced my own palm over the ceremonial stone, and swore a blood oath to bring their missing brothers home-or initiate a soul-shattering Rejection Ceremony myself.
9.5
I woke up gasping from a nightmare of flames devouring Chandler Finch's estate, my body wrapped in burning curtains as I died alone.
But my eyes opened to silk sheets in his penthouse master bedroom. He was alive beside me, his cedarwood scent real. This was my second chance—I'd been reborn.
His phone buzzed: Eugenia Stewart's "emergency." Her security detail reported her refusing meals, unstable. Chandler bolted without a glance, rushing to her side.
I signed the brutal cohabitation contract binding me to him, but Temperance had planted birth control pills in the trash—a trap to frame me. Chandler found them, exploded in jealous rage, crushing the pills to dust. "No child unless it's mine," he growled, possessive fire in his eyes.
Brett, Eugenia's lapdog, stormed in later, accusing me of manipulation. I fired back: Chandler demanded my womb for his heir. Brett paled, fled to tattle.
Then the storm hit—power outage, locked on the terrace in pouring rain, freezing as Eugenia faked an asthma attack on Chandler's line, stealing his focus again. I hung up, huddled with a stray puppy, nearly dying from hypothermia.
He'd never believed me before—Eugenia's lies always won, dooming me to isolation and fire. Why did her every whimper trump my screams? How could he be so blind?
This time, reborn weeks before the inferno, I wouldn't beg. I'd play his game, shatter Eugenia's web, and make Chandler mine—before the flames returned.