The Twin Affair
8.7 / 10.0
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"I never should've let him have you! You belong to me!"
*
I fell in love with my husband's twin brother in high school.
Even though I've been married for five years now, I can't stop thinking about the Twin that got away. The actual love of my life.
But when he unexpectedly returns from Europe after five years, our chemistry is stronger than ever. I can't resist him.
Axel, the bad boy. A single touch from him sets my skin on fire.
"Tell me you've never thought of me all these years. Never even imagined for one second about me,"
I know I married the wrong twin. But worse than that? I can't stop fucking my husband's twin brother under his roof.
The Twin Affair Chapter 1
~Candy~
My husband has not touched me in six months.
No, scratch that, the sadistic bastard loves smacking me around and pounding my head into walls.
But he has not fucked me in such a long time.
No kisses, ass gropes in the kitchen, and not even the trip to his infamous torture room for a night spent in forced bondage where he'd make me endure his sadistic sexual preferences.
This tells me one thing: he has found a mistress or at the very least, someone else occupies his attention.
My husband, Ansel, doesn't love me but he loves taking out his issues on me.
After years of being married to him, I've accepted his fists are the only way to know he has some sort of interest in me. His sexual sadism is the only kind of love I know.
Stockholm syndrome? I don't know. I can't psychoanalyze myself. I can only tell you that six months of sexual celibacy is torture for me.
The sickest part is...I miss him so much. I miss his torments and punishments. One time, he locked me out of the house as rain poured down, drenching me until I caught the cold. Another time, he hit me so hard, blood poured out of my ears.
I endure everything he has put me through (seriously I have no other choice), but the one thing I can't stand is not being fucked.
A woman needs her orgasms.
So tonight, I have made all the necessary preparations to trap his attention. For one night, I want to feel my clit stimulated, I want someone's dick moving inside me and to feel my legs give away as I reach orgasm.
I gave the maids a night off. I just want a night alone with my husband. This is the night I hope to break our sexless streak; I'm gonna seduce him into fucking me again. When I start screaming, I want my voice to echo around the empty house.
I want to be fucked senseless. Even if it means enduring his humiliations for my pleasure.
*
I set the mood in the bedroom to sensual by turning the lights low and playing his favorite soft R'n'B music.
I whip out all his sex toys, all his favorite S & M materials: the floggers, satin paddles, handcuffs, pet plays, nipple suckers and dildos.
Then, I put on a set of his favorite red Victorian Secret bra-and-panties, place an adjustable leather choker around my neck, a ball gag in my mouth and blindfold around my eyes before handcuffing myself to the bed.
I kneel there, legs tucked underneath me like a bait. An irresistible bait.
The bedroom door is left open for him so he can walk in and find me ready for him.
Soon, I hear his car drive in from work. My ears perk up, following the sounds he made as he climbs out of the car, slams the door shut and walks through the front door.
He moves silently, as always, climbing the stairs.
Each step brings him closer to me. To my naked body I've laid out as a treat for him.
He has never been able to resist me like this. He likes me blindfolded, gagged, submissive and helpless. He likes to torment me, to turn my skin red, to make me cry and no matter how much I hate him and the way he treats me, I can't stop myself from longing for orgasm.
The anticipation is killing me. His walk is purposeful, direct. Seconds tick by slowly. A dramatic tension grips me. I have not presented myself like this to him in a long time. There's a fifty-fifty chance he might reject me.
The footsteps stop right outside the bedroom door. I hear him push the door wider.
"Candy," came a voice. Authoritative, reprimanding, dusky.
I moan in response, practically throwing myself at him and begging him to take me.
I can hear his heavy breathing but he doesn't make a move from the door.
Nothing. Silence.
Afraid that he would leave me there, horny and degraded, I lie back on the bed, spreading my legs open to invite him. Fuck me please, I beg. My hairless pussy is wide open for his taking.
Finally, he starts to move toward me. He kneels on the bed; the mattress sinks with his weight. He grips the choker and yanks me forcefully toward him, hurting my neck. He grabs fistfuls of my hair, wrapping it around his fingers, pulling tight.
The pain is sharp. It shoots up my neck and down my spine. I would gasp aloud if I was not gagged. His fingers begin to trace my body slowly.
He doesn't speak as he tortures me: yanking at my hair, curling his powerfully thick hands around my neck to choke the life out of me, pulling at my nipples, ripping my panties into two pieces, and spreading me out on the bed so he can slip his fingers into me.
Something's different with him. I can feel it.
It's in the scent of his cologne, the urgency of his strokes, the curtailed breathing, deep, guttural growls, his silent thrusts. My husband is never silent in bed with me. He likes to bark orders, to demean and call me filthy names like whore, slut, and reminding me that I would be nothing without him.
Tonight, though, he seems quietly focused on just screwing me, on elongating my pleasure. He doesn't slap or insult me.
I feel his giant erection pressing around my vagina. He teases me with the head of his cock, moving in circular motions around my entrance before he actually slipped it in.
I gasp internally. He is bigger than I remembered. Can a man's dick grow several inches tall and thicker in six months?
I don't have time to think up the answer because he is moving inside me like he has never fucked me before. He holds my head around his meaty, well-muscled arms. Too muscled. Definitely bigger than he was this morning.
He wraps that arm around my neck, fucking me.
Pounding. Moving. His hips thrusting. His dick meeting my cervix. I bit down hard on the gag in my mouth.
Tears slip out of my eyes.
When I can't take it anymore, I try to flee, to slip away, but he's too strong. He pins me down tight, tearing me up inside. As we struggle, my blindfold loosens and shifts.
I see his arm holding me first. Wait a minute. A stretch of tattoos covers his arms. Ansel doesn't have any tattoos.
I look up and meet the eyes of the man fucking me.
My jaws nearly drop.
Axel, my husband's identical twin brother!
"Come for me, princess," Axel whispers a command. The forcefulness of his voice, command and the excitement of this moment throws me over the edge. I erupt in orgasm, squirting. A stream of urine gushes out of my vagina into the air.
Axel smirks, slips out of me so he can position himself and open his mouth, taking all of it. It covers his face.
He swallows hard and says:
"Fuck, I can see exactly why my twin brother is obsessed with you!"
Continue Reading
The Twin Affair of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6
Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
9.7
Luna Elena Frost was never chosen, only assigned.
Bound to Alpha Alaric Ashbourne through a cold contractual marriage, she endures three years as a Luna in name only. He never comes home, never defends her, and never looks at her, while his heart belongs to another woman.
At his grandmother's funeral, Alaric publicly dissolves their marriage, humiliating Elena before the entire pack. In that moment, she finally understands the truth. She was never wanted.
But the Moon has not abandoned her.
A forgotten night resurfaces. Her long-silent wolf begins to awaken. And secrets buried within her bloodline start to surface, drawing danger from every direction.
Cast out by the pack that once used her, Elena must flee, survive, and uncover her true power.
Only then does the Alpha realize his mistake.
By the time he turns back in regret, the Luna he rejected may already be gone forever.
7.3
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them.
8.1
Born into luxury, Hermione Watson-Pierce has always felt like merely a pawn in her parents' ruthless game of power. She learned to suppress her emotions, earning herself the title of the "Ice Queen."
Just then, Aiden Mendes bursts into her life-a charming playboy known for his reckless reputation. Aiden chooses to cope with his inner turmoil through a lavish lifestyle, using his charisma and striking looks to keep others at bay.
A looming threat forces them to face a contracted marriage or risk losing their inheritance. When they first meet, Aiden is struck by an unexpected attraction, as if it were love at first sight. Yet, his notorious reputation precedes him, and Hermione makes no effort to hide her disdain.
As their contractual marriage evolves into a battle of wills, Aiden must work to melt Hermione's icy heart, proving that he is more than what meets the eye. But can he persuade her to rise above her prejudices and bravely pursue love?
9.6
In the two years after I married Daniel Carter, my private photos had gone viral nine times, and Daniel had been taken into custody ten times.
Because every time his mistress, Emily Morgan, was unhappy, she would leak my private photos all over the internet.
I, Claire Parker, never let it slide. I reported every shady business Daniel was involved in and personally sent him behind bars.
That lasted until an unexpected kidnapping. I took a bullet for him, one aimed straight at his heart, and he shielded me beneath his body, taking the brunt of the explosion for me.
After we survived, the man who had always been so cold-blooded knelt before me, his voice hoarse beyond recognition.
"Honey, let's leave the drama behind. I just want a peaceful life with you."
Right in front of me, he ordered his men to send his mistress out of Northhaven and never let her appear before him again.
In the third year after we reconciled, I carried my eight-month pregnant belly and brought him lunch.
But on the way there, I was hit by a car. The hospital issued three critical condition notices, yet they still could not save the baby.
Daniel rushed over, but he did not even spare me a glance. Instead, he pulled the woman who had hit me and her child into his arms, soothing her in a low voice.
"Don't be scared. I'll protect you and the child."
Only then did I realize that the woman who had hit me was the very mistress he had sent away three years ago.
When I demanded an explanation, Daniel brushed it off as if it were nothing. "She didn't do it on purpose. Don't take it out on her and her son. You can have a baby another time."
At that moment, I finally understood. They had gotten back together long ago.
I looked at him and nodded. "Don't worry, this will never happen again."
9.1
Waking up with a cold, scaly hand wrapped around my throat wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was realizing I'd transmigrated into the body of Terra Mason—the most despised woman in the entire Enclave. She drugged high-level beast-men and forced them into life-binding bio-contracts. She locked an aquatic warrior in a dry basement until his organs failed. She treated the most lethal males in the city like broken toys.
Zev, the Level 6 serpent who's currently choking me, would rather blow up his own heart than spend another day as my slave. His affection metric? Negative ninety. His trust? Zero.
Then my system activates: the Kore AI. It gives me exactly 500 credits, a medical nano-gel, and a recipe for neutralizing the radioactive poison in mutant meat. Real food. In this world, that's worth more than gold.
I save Rhys, the dying aquatic male everyone left for dead. I season a slab of purple mutant steak until Sam, a battle-scarred grizzly shifter, groans at the taste—and his trust points finally tick above zero. When my backstabbing ex-best friend tries to steal my males and destroy me, I don't scream or throw a tantrum like the old Terra. I dismantle her with the truth.
But earning their trust means more than grilling meat. A scorpion swarm ambushes us at midnight. Sam throws himself between me and a stinger the size of my arm. As he stands over the corpse, fur receding from his claws, he stares at me and whispers, "You were testing me."
Yes. I was. Because in this world, the weak don't survive. And I refuse to be weak again.
Four beast-men. Four contracts. One system. And a whole lot of steak. Let this dystopian wasteland know—I'm not the monster they remember. I'm worse. I'm the one who's going to feed them until they'd kill for me.
8.4
I worked three double shifts at the garage just to buy a velvet-boxed cake for my wealthy girlfriend, Arleen.
But when I pushed open the VIP room door, I saw her lover kissing her bare leg.
She didn't push him away. Instead, she laughed and swirled her martini.
"I only forgot Finn because I knew he would stay. He is a poor boy from Queens who follows me around like a loyal dog."
Later that night, her lover intentionally crashed a Porsche to scare me, sending a piece of jagged metal into my skull.
Lying in a growing pool of my own blood, I watched Arleen crawl out of the wreckage.
She didn't even look at me. She threw herself at her uninjured lover, screaming for a medic.
"He just got scraped by a piece of plastic. He is faking it. Deal with Jaquez first!"
When I woke up, I wasn't free. Arleen had locked me in a private hospital wing with 24-hour security, planning to isolate me and keep me as her broken, captive toy forever.
My blind, pathetic devotion finally froze into absolute disgust.
I looked at the heart monitor next to my bed and grabbed an IV needle.
I severed the sensor wire to trigger a flatline, slipped out the fire stairs while the nurses panicked, and burned my identity to ashes.
This time, I was going to disappear to London, build my own empire, and watch hers burn.
