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 2
Lila's POV
The hallway was still packed with guys even though it was getting late. I pushed the heavy trash trolley slowly, trying not to make too much noise. My arms already felt sore from earlier, but I kept going.
This part of the job was supposed to be simple - knock on each door, ask the boys to hand over their trash bags, and move on. Easy for most people, maybe. Not for me.
I stopped in front of the first few rooms and knocked softly. "Trash collection," I called out, keeping my voice polite. Some doors opened right away. Others took forever. Every time a guy stepped out, the teasing started again.
"Wow, the fat cleaner's back already?"
"Look at her pushing that thing. Careful, don't break the wheels!"
A couple of them yelled jokes that made my stomach twist. I told myself it was because I was chubby and didn't look like the usual girls around here. They probably thought I was easy to pick on.
I kept my head down, smiled when I had to, and took the bags without saying much. By the time I reached the middle of the hallway, the trolley was already almost full and getting harder to push.
I decided it was better to empty it first before finishing the rest of the rooms. The big trash bin was outside at the back of the dorm, so I turned the trolley around and headed that way.
The wheels squeaked against the floor as I went. My tight uniform kept riding up my thighs with every step, and the cool night air made the wet spots from earlier feel even colder against my skin.
When I finally reached the back area, it was quieter. Just one big metal bin under a dim light. I took a deep breath and tried to lift the first heavy trash bag out of the trolley. My arms shook. No matter how hard I pulled, the bag wouldn't budge high enough. My belly pressed against the trolley, and my thick thighs felt weak under the weight. I was strong in my own way, but this was too much for one person.
Suddenly, a deep voice came from behind me.
"Need a hand?"
Before I could answer, a tall guy stepped up beside me. He had messy dark hair, strong arms covered in tattoos, and a confident way of moving. Without waiting, he grabbed the heavy bag with one smooth motion and tossed it easily into the bin.
The muscles in his arms flexed under the light, and his voice... oh god, his voice was so low and smooth it sent a shiver straight through me.
I couldn't stop staring. My mouth felt dry even though my body was reacting in a completely different way. Heat rushed between my legs. Just from hearing him speak, I was getting wet. I pressed my thighs together without thinking, hoping he wouldn't notice.
He turned to me and waved a hand gently in front of my face, smiling. "Are you okay? I'm Jax. I don't think I've seen you around here before."
I blinked fast, feeling my cheeks burn. "Oh... yeah. I'm new. I'm Lila. The new cleaner."
I reached out to shake his hand. His palm was warm and big, wrapping around mine completely. The simple touch made my pulse jump. When he smiled wider, I felt another rush of wetness in my panties. This was so embarrassing. Why did my body always react like this?
"That means we'll be seeing each other a lot more often," Jax said, his deep voice making the words sound even better. "If you ever have any trouble with the guys or the work, just come find me. My room's on the second floor. You'll see my name on the door."
He started to walk past me toward the dorm entrance, but then he stopped and turned back. His eyes moved slowly over my tight uniform, taking in the way it hugged my round belly and thick curves.
"You look hot in that uniform," he said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then he gave me one last smile and disappeared back inside.
I stood there frozen, heart racing. My face felt like it was on fire. I looked down at myself - the short black dress stretched tight across my soft body, still a little damp from earlier, the white apron clinging to my heavy breasts. Hot? Me?
"Oh shit," I whispered to myself, pressing a hand against my thigh. "Why am I so wet?"
The feeling between my legs was impossible to ignore now. My panties were slick, and every small movement made me more aware of it.
Jax's deep voice kept replaying in my head. The way he lifted that bag so easily. The way he looked at me. No one had ever said I looked hot before - especially not in this ridiculous uniform.
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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.