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 3
Lila's POV
I stepped into the men's dormitory right after my last class ended. My backpack felt heavy on my shoulder as I headed straight to the small staff room to change. The tight black uniform waited for me on the hook, looking even shorter than I remembered.
I sighed, slipped it on, and smoothed the white apron over my round belly. The fabric stretched snug across my heavy breasts and wide hips, but I told myself it didn't matter. Tonight I just needed to get through my shift without any drama.
Thankfully, the hallway felt different this time. Much quieter. Only a handful of guys wandered around, and most of them barely glanced my way. No loud whistles or nasty comments. I wasn't sure why the energy had changed, but I wasn't complaining. Maybe word had spread that the new cleaner wasn't worth the trouble.
Or maybe they were all busy with something else. Either way, I took the calm as a small gift and started my tasks.
One of my jobs tonight was restocking the gym with fresh towels. I grabbed a tall stack of clean ones from the supply closet and carried them carefully down the corridor. The gym door was propped open, and I could hear the low hum of machines and occasional clinks of weights inside.
A few guys were working out, but they stayed focused on their routines. I liked that. No teasing meant I could just do my work and move on.
I walked over to the tall metal rack where the towels belonged. The top shelf was way above my head. I rose up on my tiptoes and stretched as far as I could, but my fingers only brushed the edge.
My uniform rode up in the back, the short hem sliding higher on my thick thighs. I heard a couple of low whistles from across the room. My cheeks heated up instantly. I didn't want to ask any of them for help - I already knew the kind of jokes that would come with it.
"Come on," I muttered to myself, trying again. I pushed up higher, belly pressing forward, breasts straining against the tight top. Another whistle cut through the air, followed by a quiet laugh. My face burned hotter. I felt exposed and clumsy all at once. Why did everything have to feel so difficult in this uniform?
Suddenly, a familiar deep voice sounded right behind me.
"Give them to me."
Before I could turn, warm hands gently took the stack of towels from my arms. I looked up and there he was - Jax. Tall, tattooed, and moving with that easy confidence I remembered from last night.
He reached up without any effort and placed the towels neatly on the top rack. His sleeveless shirt showed off strong arms and a hint of sweat on his skin from working out.
I lowered my head, embarrassed. "Oh, thank you. You again! You've helped me twice now. Thank you so much."
Jax chuckled softly, the sound rich and low. "No need to thank me. I told you yesterday - if you need help, just come find me."
He surprised me by reaching out and gently lifting my chin with two fingers, forcing me to meet his eyes. My heart jumped. His touch was light but sure, and suddenly every pair of eyes in the gym seemed to be watching us. My face flushed deep red. I wanted to look away, to hide, but his fingers kept me there.
"Don't cover your beautiful face," he said quietly, his voice warm. "You don't need to listen to them."
I swallowed hard. Being this close to him made my pulse race. Then he leaned in even closer, his breath brushing my ear as he whispered, "I know they're thinking the same thing as me. If they get the chance, they'll want to touch you too."
His words sent a rush of heat straight between my legs. I felt myself get wet instantly, my thighs pressing together on their own. The simple whisper, the deep tone of his voice, the way his body heat reached me - it was too much. My knees felt weak. I could smell the clean sweat on his skin mixed with something masculine that made my head spin a little.
Jax pulled back just enough to look at me again, a small smile playing on his lips. "See you later, Lila."
He turned and walked away toward the weights, his back muscles shifting under his shirt. I stood there for a second, staring after him, heart pounding. The sweat glistening on his arms and shoulders made him look incredibly sexy. Strong. Confident. My body reacted even more, a fresh wave of slick warmth making my panties damp. I had to bite my lip to keep from making any sound.
Once he was across the room, I forced myself to move. I finished arranging the lower towels quickly, then slipped out of the gym before anyone could say anything else. My legs felt shaky the whole way back to the cleaning room. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, taking deep breaths.
"Why does this keep happening?" I whispered to myself. One conversation with Jax and I was already soaked. It was ridiculous how easily my body responded to him. His voice alone did things to me that I couldn't control. And the way he touched my chin... the way he whispered in my ear... I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts.
I pulled my phone out of my locker and dialed my mom. She picked up on the second ring.
"Hello, Mom," I said, keeping my voice light. "I think I'll be home late tonight. You shouldn't wait up for me, okay?"
"Have you had dinner yet?" she asked, worry clear in her tone.
"Yes, I'm full. I grabbed something quick before my shift. I'm just taking a short break before I start the next round of cleaning. Don't worry about me."
"I love you, Lila."
"I love you too, Mom."
I hung up and sat down on the old chair for a minute, staring at the wall. The quiet of the room felt nice after the gym. My mind kept drifting back to Jax. The way he had helped me without making fun of me.
The gentle lift of my chin. That whispered confession that he knew other guys wanted to touch me too. It was bold. Flirty. And it made me feel seen in a way that was both scary and exciting.
I glanced down at my uniform. The tight black fabric still clung to every soft curve - my round belly, my full breasts, my thick thighs. Yesterday I felt awkward in it. But tonight, after Jax's words, a tiny part of me wondered if maybe he really meant what he said.
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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.