
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 6
Lila's POV
I walked into the campus administration office right after my morning lecture, heart beating a little faster than usual. The end of the month was coming fast, and the tuition fees had to be paid soon. I stood in front of the counter and explained my situation as calmly as I could.
"I work as a cleaner in the men's dormitory," I said. "Can you deduct the fees directly from my salary? I'll make sure everything is covered."
The lady behind the desk looked at me with kind but worried eyes. She felt bad - I could see it in her face - but there wasn't much she could do. My scholarship had been rejected for reasons no one could explain clearly, and that made everything worse. I had no other options. No family money to fall back on, no extra jobs that paid enough. This cleaning position was all I had. After a long conversation and lots of paperwork, she agreed to set up the deduction, but warned me it might take time to process. I left the office feeling a mix of relief and stress. At least the fees wouldn't pile up immediately, but I still had to keep working hard every night.
From there, I headed straight to the dormitory. The sun was starting to set, and I wanted to get changed and start my shift early again. Before I could even step inside the main entrance, the dorm administrator stopped me in the hallway. He was a middle-aged man with a stern expression and a clipboard in his hand.
"Someone complained that your work isn't being done properly," he said flatly. "There have been a few notes about unclean areas."
I blinked, surprised. "But I followed every instruction. I mopped the floors, took out the trash, and cleaned the common spaces like you told me."
He waved his hand, not really listening. "I don't want any more complaints. Just get to work and make sure everything is spotless tonight."
I nodded quietly and walked past him toward the staff changing room. It stung a little, but I tried not to let it bother me too much. This job was temporary. I just needed to push through.
Changing into the tight black uniform felt routine by now. The short dress hugged my round belly and thick thighs, the white apron sitting snug over my heavy breasts. I had gotten used to the way it clung to every soft curve, even if I still wished it fit better. I grabbed my cleaning cart and headed up to the second floor.
The flirting and teasing from the guys had become part of the background noise. I didn't want to listen anymore. Deep down, I wished I wasn't so chubby - maybe then the comments would stop. But wishing didn't change anything, so I focused on the tasks instead. I had started finding little tricks to make the work easier, like organizing the trash bags by floor and keeping extra supplies on the cart so I didn't have to run back and forth as much.
I was mopping the second-floor hallway when a guy suddenly stepped out of his room. He held out his tumbler with a grin. "Hey sexy girl, can you get me some water?"
I didn't answer. I just took the tumbler from his hand and walked toward the pantry area to fill it. It was easier to stay silent than argue. As I passed the open lounge door, I tried to keep my eyes forward. But then a loud noise came from inside - the sound of excited shouting mixed with game sound effects.
Curiosity got the better of me. I slowed down, glanced inside, and stopped completely.
A guy was sitting at a desk in front of a big computer screen, completely focused on his game. At first, nothing seemed unusual. He wore headphones and his fingers moved quickly on the keyboard. Then, without warning, he reached down, grabbed the bottom of his shirt, and pulled it off in one smooth motion.
My eyes widened. He was incredibly sexy. Toned chest, smooth skin, and a lean but strong build that came from hours of casual activity rather than heavy gym work. Messy light brown hair fell across his forehead, and a small piercing glinted in his ear. He tossed the shirt aside without caring who might see and kept playing, completely relaxed.
I swallowed hard, unable to look away right away. My body reacted instantly. Heat rushed between my legs, and I felt myself getting wet - fast and strong, the way I always did when something turned me on. The sight of his bare upper body, the way his muscles shifted slightly as he leaned forward, the casual confidence in how he sat there half-naked... it was too much. My thighs pressed together under the short uniform, and a fresh wave of slickness made my panties damp.
I knew I shouldn't stand there staring. This was exactly the kind of thing that got me in trouble with my own thoughts. My mind started wandering on its own - imagining what it would feel like if he noticed me watching, if he invited me closer, if more than one guy was in the room doing the same thing. The fantasy flashed through my head quickly, making me even wetter. I bit my lip, trying to push the images away.
The guy - I guessed his name might be Theo from the way he played so intensely - didn't seem to notice me at first. He was too caught up in the game, laughing at something on the screen and muttering to himself. But the longer I stood there, the more aware I became of how exposed I felt in my tight uniform. The fabric was already sticking to my sweaty skin from all the mopping, and now my body was reacting in ways that made me feel shy and excited at the same time.
I forced myself to move. I finished filling the tumbler with water and turned to head back down the hallway. My legs felt a little unsteady, and every step reminded me of the warmth between my thighs. I delivered the water to the guy who had asked for it, then went back to mopping, trying to focus on the wet tiles instead of the image burned into my mind.
But I couldn't stop thinking about it. The way he had casually taken off his shirt, the smooth lines of his chest, the easy way he sat there like being half-naked was no big deal. It was such a simple thing, but for someone like me - who got aroused so easily - it felt dangerous. My dirty little secret fantasy flickered again in the back of my mind: being surrounded by guys who looked like that, all of them paying attention to me, touching my soft body, making me feel wanted despite my curves.
I shook my head and pushed the cart further down the hall. This job was supposed to be about earning money for tuition, not about getting distracted by attractive guys who lived here. Yet in just a few days I had already met Jax with his deep voice, Miles with his gentle hands, and now this shirtless gamer whose confidence made my knees weak.
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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.