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 5
Lila's POV
I decided to start my shift earlier than usual that evening. The idea was simple - finish everything faster so I could get home at a decent hour instead of staying until the middle of the night.
But rush hour in the dorm turned out to be exactly what I didn't want. The hallways were crowded with guys coming back from classes, practice, or just hanging out. Noise bounced off the walls - loud laughter, slamming doors, music from different rooms. It felt overwhelming.
The usual comments followed me as I pushed my cleaning cart. A few catcalls, some teasing whistles, and jokes I tried hard to ignore. It was still new to me, this constant attention on my body in the tight uniform.
I kept my head down and focused on the work. I had already mopped two full floors by myself and taken out all the trash bags without any help. Jax wasn't around tonight, so I had lifted the heavy bags into the bin on my own. My arms ached, but I felt a small sense of pride that I had managed it.
Still, there was plenty left to do. The gym needed cleaning, the lounge had to be tidied, and the restrooms were waiting. I saved the bathrooms for last, hoping fewer people would be around by then.
By 9 p.m. the hallway outside the men's restroom was almost empty. I waited until the last guy walked out, then quickly placed the yellow "Cleaning in Progress" sign on the door. I stepped inside and closed it behind me.
The air felt warm and humid, like someone had just finished a long shower. Steam still lingered near the ceiling. Rows of shower stalls lined one wall, and the smell of soap and clean skin hung in the air.
I started working, wiping down sinks and mopping the tiled floor. But my mind kept drifting. I couldn't help imagining what this place looked like when it was full - guys showering, water running down their bodies, laughter echoing off the walls. The thought was sudden and vivid.
Heat rushed between my legs. I pressed my thighs together, feeling myself get wet again. It was silly and embarrassing, but the fantasy wouldn't leave my head. I tried to focus on scrubbing, but the warm, private atmosphere made everything feel more charged than it should.
After almost an hour, I finally finished. My back hurt, sweat covered my skin, and my uniform clung uncomfortably to my soft curves. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me I had skipped a proper dinner. I grabbed the simple sandwich and bottle of water I had packed earlier and headed outside for some fresh air.
There was a quiet park bench just behind the dorm building. I sat down, unwrapped the sandwich, and took a small bite. The night air felt cool against my sweaty skin. For a moment, everything was peaceful. Just me, the sandwich, and the distant sound of traffic.
Then a calm, smooth voice broke the silence.
"I'm sure that wasn't enough for dinner. Here, I have something for you."
I looked up, startled. Miles stood a few steps away, holding a takeout box. He had an athletic build - broad shoulders, lean muscles from swimming, and striking blue eyes that seemed to see right through me. His short light brown hair was slightly messy, and he carried himself with quiet confidence. I froze, sandwich halfway to my mouth.
He walked closer and gently placed the pasta box on my lap. Then he sat down right next to me on the bench. "Hey, why are you looking at me like that? This is for you. I'm Miles."
I blinked, feeling my cheeks warm. "Oh... yeah. I'm sorry. I'm Lila. Thanks for the food, but this sandwich is enough for me."
Miles smiled softly. "Yes, I know your name. You look really tired. Are you working late again tonight?"
I kept my head down, staring at the box in my lap so I wouldn't have to meet those intense blue eyes. "No, I'll head home right after I finish eating. Why do you want to talk to me? I think I..."
"What do you mean?" he asked gently. "Why can't I talk to a cute girl like you? Come here, I'll massage your shoulders."
Before I could say no, he turned me slightly so my back faced him. His hands settled on my shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tight muscles with surprising skill. I went completely still, clutching the sandwich and pasta box tightly. No one had ever touched me like this - so casually caring. My heart raced.
"Look, your muscles are so stiff," Miles said, his voice low and close to my ear. "I'm going to relax you so you can sleep better tonight."
The warmth of his breath sent another wave of heat through me. I felt myself getting wet again, fast and strong. The simple pressure of his fingers, combined with how near he was, made my body react before I could stop it. My thighs squeezed together on the bench.
"Miles, you don't have to do this," I whispered, nervous. "You can stop. I don't want anyone to see us like this. You'll get teased later."
"I don't care," he replied calmly, continuing the slow, firm massage. "I just want to help you. And can I ask you a question?"
I could only nod, too frozen to speak properly.
"What perfume are you wearing?" he asked softly.
"Perfume?" I repeated, surprised. Then I panicked. I had been sweating for hours. I probably smelled awful. I turned my head quickly to face him. "Excuse me, do I smell?"
Miles smiled, a gentle curve of his lips. He leaned his face closer to mine, eyes warm. "No. I like your scent. And the sweat on your face makes you look sexier."
My breath caught. Those words, spoken so quietly and sincerely, hit me hard. Fresh slickness coated my panties. I felt exposed, shy, and strangely thrilled all at once.
"Quickly finish your dinner and get some rest," he added, giving my shoulders one last gentle squeeze. "Good night, Lila."
Then he stood up and walked away, leaving me sitting there on the bench with the pasta box still warm on my lap.
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8.4
Seraphina died betrayed. She perished in flames-poisoned by Darius, the fated mate she'd foolishly loved. Her childhood sweetheart, who sacrificed her only to save his mistress.
Reborn five years earlier, Seraphina vows: Never again. No more submissions. No more suffering his cruelty. This time, she'll rewrite her destiny - then she meets Kairos.
The Untamed Alpha King who loathes the mate bond after his own betrayal. Her second-chance mate - a bond that will kill her if she rejects it.
Now, caught between Kairos' relentless pursuit and Darius' desperate attempts to reclaim her, Seraphina faces an impossible choice:
Drown the world in vengeance... or risk her shattered heart on the mate who could either heal her scars or destroy her completely?
7.1
I was eight months pregnant, waiting on the sofa for my billionaire husband to come home.
But when the heavy oak doors opened, Cayden threw a fake DNA test on the glass table, showing a zero percent probability of paternity.
He accused me of carrying another man's bastard. I cried and begged, swearing I was framed by his childhood friend, Carmella. He didn't listen. Instead, he ordered his massive bodyguards to pin me down while a private doctor forced an abortion pill down my throat.
"The Merritt family does not raise bastards. Get rid of it."
He forced me to sign divorce papers and ordered his men to throw me out into the freezing storm. Before I was dragged away, I desperately told him the truth: I was the anonymous donor who gave him a kidney to save his life three years ago.
He just sneered, saying Carmella had the surgical scar to prove she was the donor, and kicked me out to die.
Lying in the freezing rain, vomiting up the half-dissolved poison to save my baby, I didn't understand how the man I loved could be so completely blind. How could he let that woman steal my kidney, my marriage, and murder his own flesh and blood?
Five years later, I returned to New York not as his pathetic discarded wife, but as a top-tier medical fixer for the global elite.
And my genius five-year-old son has already infiltrated his mansion, ready to tear his empire apart from the inside.
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.
7.1
The night before her wedding to Wall Street billionaire Everette Baird, Deliah Quinn stood happily in her haute couture gown.
Then, her younger sister Arvilla walked in, handed her a drugged glass of champagne, and slammed an ultrasound on the vanity.
"I'm pregnant with Everette's child," Arvilla sneered.
Before Deliah's paralyzed body could react, Arvilla dragged in a canister of industrial gasoline, soaked the bridal suite, tossed a lighter, and locked the heavy oak doors from the outside.
To escape the roaring inferno, Deliah smashed the glass balcony and threw herself into the freezing, violent waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
For five agonizing years, everyone believed the Quinn heiress was dead.
Deliah returned to New York entirely reborn—a top architectural designer and a single mother, having scrubbed her past clean and forgotten the people who destroyed her.
She only wanted a peaceful life with her five-year-old genius son, Leo.
But she had no idea her son was secretly hacking airport security cameras to find himself a wealthy stepdad.
Leo deliberately bumped into a terrifying, cold-blooded tycoon, spilling scalding coffee on his custom suit to get his attention.
When Deliah frantically rushed over to protect her son and apologize, the air in the terminal vanished.
Everette Baird stared at the exact face he had obsessively mourned for five years, his eyes turning pitch black as he crushed his phone in his bare hand.
9.4
I was lying in a sterile hospital room, dying of cancer, with only a fake infertility report to keep me company.
Right before my heart monitor flatlined, a stranger walked in and handed me a medical file.
He told me that my fiancé, Garret, had zero sperm viability. The baby my adoptive sister, Beryl, was carrying wasn't his.
When Beryl got pregnant years ago, my adoptive parents forced me to break my engagement and take the blame for being barren.
I was discarded by Garret, mocked by Beryl's triumphant smiles, and kicked out of the house.
I was left to rot alone in a hospital bed while they lived the perfect life stolen from me.
My entire existence had been a cage built on a single, disgusting lie.
The anger burned away my despair. Why was I the only one who didn't know?
Why did I let them use me as a maid and a shield for their filthy secrets?
As the darkness swallowed me, I prayed for just one more chance.
I opened my eyes to the sound of my adoptive mother yelling my name.
The calendar on the wall read March 15, 2019—the exact day they forced me to give up Garret.
This time, I didn't cry or beg.
"You want Beryl to have Garret? Fine," I told my shocked adoptive parents. "But I want a cash buyout, and we are legally severing this adoption."
Then, I set my sights on Douglass Ward—the stranger from the hospital room.
9.8
When I woke up on the muddy bank of the freezing river, I unlocked a brutal, unfiltered preview of my actual future.
For the past six months, I had been the town's ultimate joke, chasing after a city boy who looked at me like a diseased insect. Everyone thought I jumped into the river because he rejected me.
But the nightmare didn't stop there. In the future I foresaw, my entire family was destroyed. My eldest brother was handcuffed and dragged into a squad car. My second brother died in a pool of blood on the asphalt. My parents passed away from sheer grief and humiliation, and our farm was foreclosed.
Meanwhile, Bart Hawkins—my family's sworn enemy, the boy everyone accused of pushing me, but who actually jumped in to save my life—became a billionaire tech mogul. I ended up starving to death in a damp, moldy basement, completely alone.
I finally understood that I was just a pathetic, tragic side character meant to drag my family into hell. My own sister-in-law, Felicie, had been stealing our food and money, laughing at my misery behind my back.
But right now, my mother was still alive, my brothers were safe, and the farm was ours.
When Felicie walked into my bedroom, playing the devoted sister-in-law with a bowl of clear, meatless broth while a stolen roasted chicken thigh leaked grease through her apron pocket, I didn't play along.
"What's in your pocket, Felicie?"
This time, I was going to tear that horrific future apart with my bare hands.