WET DESIRES WITH MY KINGS
"You don't know what to do? Rub it, baby," he murmured, his voice sending tingling shock straight to my already aching core.
*****
The Silas brothers, all of them want me, and all of them need me. They take me brutally, wild and possessive, filling every part of me.
Even though it hurts and leaves me sore, I love it and the craziest part? I craved it even more than they do.
Every single day, I want them stretching me, digging into me, and owning me. But I never wanted this. My father forced me to work here to raise money for my sick sister.
I tried to stay focused on the job, but the moment Vlad touched me, I felt something I had never experienced before, not even the pleasure I found on my own fingers could compare.
I lost all control. Then came Rurik, he gave me a kind of ecstasy that nearly drove me mad, making me ready to surrender my virginity to him right then and there.
But then, there is him. Cold and withdrawn, he wants me all to himself. And I love him. He was my first love, the only one I ever planned to give virginity to.
But now I realize I can't choose just one man, I want him to join the Silas brothers and own me alongside them.
Little did I know, he isn't who I thought he was. A one shocking revelation that tore me apart.
WARNING: This book contains raw adults' scenes with mature words and flesh mushing. If this is your genre, hop in with your popcorn....
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Chapter 1
Chapter One
~ MIRA ~
The world was beginning to tilt. I watched through a golden haze as I drained the second glass of champagne Freya had bought. I didn't care about the burn or the way the room hummed, I needed the numbness. I needed something, anything, to patch the broken parts of me. My father was deliberately tearing apart.
I refilled the glass for a third time. I held it up like a trophy, watching the bubbles dance before pressing it to my lips. One small sip to tease myself, then I tilted my head back and let the rest burn its way down.
"Arrgh..." I groaned, a loose, giddy laugh escaping me. "It feels like heaven. Oh my days, I love this!" I didn't care that the other patrons in the upscale bar were shooting me judgmental looks. For the first time in years, I felt light.
"That's enough, Mira. Put the glass down," Freya snapped. She sounded irritated, which was strange considering she was the one who had dragged me here and convinced me that alcohol was the cure for a broken heart.
"Come on, Freya! I'm having fun," I slurred, snorting as I reached for the bottle again. "You were right. The pain... it's going away. I feel different."
I reached for a fourth pour, but a hand snatched the bottle away before I could touch it. It wasn't Freya's manicured hand.
Shocked, I whipped my head around, my vision swimming until Nora's face came into focus. She looked angry. She pulled out a chair and sat down with a heavy thud.
"I didn't invite you here, you hungry cheap lizard!" Freya hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "Who called you? Mira... did you call her?"
I shook my head slowly, staring at the table as it seemed to vibrate.
"You don't need to invite me," Nora shot back, her eyes fixed on Freya. "I don't wait for invitations from evil people like you."
"Girls... please," I managed to mumble, blinking against the spinning room.
Nora and Freya had never liked each other. Nora thought Freya was a dangerous friend in designer clothes, Freya believed Nora was a bitter bad influence dragging me down. I was caught in the middle, loving them both and losing myself in the process.
"Sit and enjoy the view then," Freya sneered, leaning back. "I know a place this luxurious is a shock to your system. It's only thanks to Mira because if she weren't my friend, you'd never know that a bar like this exists." She shook her luxury handbag in Nora's face, a silent reminder of the gap between them.
Freya started to stand, but Nora's hand shot out, clamping onto her arm.
I swallowed hard and ran my fingers through my hair. I hated seeing them fight because of me. And whenever they started, I could never stop them; and to be honest, I hadn't invited Nora. She showed up on her own. She consistently appears whenever I'm out with Freya.
"Sit your damn ass down. I'm not done with you," Nora commanded, pushing Freya back into her seat. Her voice rang with authority that made the air feel thin.
"Nora...." I tried to intervene, but she held up a hand, silencing me instantly.
"Stay out of this, baby girl," Nora said before turning her fire back to Freya. "You and I both know who the real poverty-stricken one is here, you! But for now, enjoy the glitter while it lasts, Freya, because soon you'll be right back where you belong, begging for crumbs."
My jaw dropped. The alcohol couldn't dull my shock. Nora came from an average home. Freya's family was one of the wealthiest in the city. My own father was a driver for Freya's mother, and it was a blessing that someone like her was even my friend. In this circle, I was the one at the bottom of the ladder.
Freya's face turned a dangerous shade of anger. She stood up and shot me a furious look. I sprang to my feet instantly and tried to apologize, but she shoved me back into my seat and walked out.
I turned to Nora, my throat tight, and my fists clenched. Anger burned inside me like a wildfire. My alcohol-blurred gaze locked onto her.
"Why do you do this? Why can't you just leave us alone? I didn't invite you!" I screamed. A few people at the next table whispered, but I didn't care.
Nora stood and placed her hands on my shoulders. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. "I'm trying to save you, Mira. You haven't seen it yet, but you will."
I shoved her back hard. She stumbled, losing her footing on the polished floor and landing painfully.
"Stop saving me! I don't need it, and even if I did, it wouldn't be from you!" I roared, slamming my palm against the table. "She never looks for trouble with you, but you're always there, lurking! What are you even saving me from?"
Nora got up, brushing off her clothes, her eyes blazing with a mix of pity and anger. "I'm trying to help you, Mira. Listen to me for once. You can move in with me if that's what it takes to keep you away from that man before he ruins what's left of you."
She gave me one long, haunting look, then turned and walked out.
I sank into the chair, my breath coming in ragged gasps, anger burning inside my chest as her words echoed in my mind.I grabbed the champagne bottle and took a long sip
That man. She meant my father. My instincts screamed that she knew something, some secret that could be my exit strategy.
Yes, I wanted to be saved. I wanted to escape my father, who was slowly killing my dreams without a thought for how I felt. But I didn't believe Nora could do that, not for me. I knew she cared and was only looking out for me, but her methods were wrong. What I did felt like the only way to make her realize I didn't appreciate her interference.
I grabbed the bottle and took another long sip. The guilt of how I'd treated her twisted in my gut, but I pushed it down with more champagne. When I set the bottle back down on the table, a man was suddenly sitting across from me.
"Who the hell are you?" I snapped, my words thick.
He smiled and reached out his hand politely. "My name is..."
"Go to hell!" I barked, grabbed my worn-out handbag, and hurled it at his chest before stumbling toward the back of the bar. I needed a restroom. I needed to splash cold water on my face.
I staggered toward the restroom, my vision blurring, and my legs wobbling. I pushed open a door, and what I saw left me frozen in the doorway.
I had walked into the wrong room, and the right thing I should have done was to apologize and leave immediately, but my mouth stayed shut, and my feet refused to move. My hand clung to the doorknob, my eyes locked on the perfectly built man inside.
He was a demi-god in the flesh. Tall, maybe six feet, standing in the centre of the restroom. He had his side to the door, and his front faced the closet. His big left hand wrapped around his huge erected veiny cock in his hand, head tilted back, eyes shut as he stroked himself slowly.
I couldn't breathe as I watched him, mesmerized. My mouth parted, a bead of saliva slipping from the side.
"Yeah... fuck," he groaned, stroking his thick huge cock faster now, breath heavy and ragged as if he was about to cum.
My heart jolted with waves of pleasure. The sound of his voice sent a violent jolt of electricity through me. My stomach tightened, and a heat that had nothing to do with the champagne flooded my lower belly. My legs, already weak from the drink, began to tremble uncontrollably.
'Mira, move. He's a stranger. Run.' I told myself, forcing my body to move so I could walk out of the restroom but my knees buckled and I collapsed onto the floor with a thud, snapping him out of his actions.
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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.
7.8
The moment I saw my husband massaging his dead brother's pregnant mistress's feet, I knew my marriage was over.
He moved her into our home under the guise of "family duty," forcing me to watch as he prioritized her comfort over our vows.
The final betrayal came when she stole and deliberately broke my mother's priceless necklace.
When I slapped her for the desecration, my husband struck me across the face to defend her.
He had violated a sacred honor code by putting his hands on the daughter of another Don-an act of war.
I looked him in the eye and swore on my mother's grave that I would bring a bloody revenge upon his entire family.
Then I made one phone call to my father, and the demolition of his empire began.
7.4
I was the wife of Damien Valenti, the most ruthless mafia Don in Chicago.
But to cement his power and marry a rival family's daughter, he exiled me to the slums without a single dime.
"Stay not as my wife, Izzy, but as my whore."
That was his final ultimatum before dumping me out of his black SUV like trash.
Terrified of losing me, my five-year-old son, Angelo, secretly hid in the car to follow me.
Two days later, in a squalid Indiana motel, Angelo caught severe pneumonia.
I had no money and no doctor. In sheer desperation, I sliced my own wrist with broken glass, pressing my bleeding arm to his pale lips, begging him to drink and live.
But my little boy died in my arms.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Damien was sipping vintage champagne with his new bride, casually dismissing the life of his own flesh and blood.
The grief turned me into a monster. I spent twenty years clawing my way through the underworld to destroy his empire, only to die with a bullet in my chest.
I gave him my absolute devotion, yet he traded our family for political power without a single ounce of hesitation.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in that hellish neon-lit motel room.
Angelo was burning with fever and fighting for air, but he was still breathing.
This time, I wasn't the naive girl who loved Damien Valenti. I was a woman holding two decades of their darkest secrets, and my vendetta had just begun.
7.4
I was only fifteen when my venomous family orchestrated my doom by forcing me into an arranged marriage with mafia heir Javier Velasquez.
On our wedding night, Javier paraded strippers into our suite to show his absolute contempt, turning me into the ultimate joke of the underworld overnight.
But being a joke was a luxury compared to what came next.
Three years later, Javier needed to be a widower to marry into a heavily armed family and secure their backing for a coup.
He didn't grant me the mercy of a bullet.
Instead, he dragged me to an abandoned underground safehouse, locked me in the damp, rotting dark, and told the world I had been assassinated.
For six months, I starved in that dungeon, surviving only on the desperate hope that my family was safe.
Then, on the day of his lavish new wedding, a cruel maid kicked a plate of spoiled food onto my floor and delivered the final, fatal blow.
"Annabel is dead. Pined away and died of a broken heart two weeks ago."
My gentle mother was dead, all because she actually believed his lie about my tragic murder.
Driven by pure agony and an all-consuming hatred, I shattered crates of smuggled chemical solvents and struck a match, letting the roaring inferno turn their bloody wedding into my funeral pyre.
I thought the fire was the end.
But when I opened my eyes, the suffocating smoke vanished, replaced by the biting chill of a Long Island winter.
I was standing in the snow, back on the exact day my descent into hell began.
This time, the terrified girl was dead, and I would use their own ruthless rules to tear their empire apart.
9.3
WARNING!! THIS STORY CONTAINS A LOT OF MATURE THEMES, ELEMENTS OF HARDCORE BDSM, PRAISE KINKS, SLUT-SHAMING KINKS, AND DEGRADATION KINKS. READ WITH CAUTION.
(BOOK ONE OF THE DELUCA KINGS SERIES)
Serena would do anything to uncover the death of her parents, including sleeping with the most dangerous man in New York, Nero DeLuca. And he knows this, so he strings her along so he can see how far she's willing to go.
***
"Get on your knees," Nero said.
"Excuse me-"
"You're my submissive, and you exist for the sole purpose of my pleasure. I don't tolerate defiance. When I say get on your knees, you get on your knees."
"Yes," I replied as I got on my knees, hating how much his commanding tone turned me on.
He put his finger under my chin and lifted it so I could look at him.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good girl. Now get on the bed and show me that beautiful cunt. I want to see what it looks like before I destroy it with my cock. Tonight, the whole of New York will know you belong to me. I'll not take anything less than you screaming my name, and by the time I'm done with you, you'll feel me between your legs for a week."
8.1
**WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT 21+**
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My name doesn't matter. My filthy urges do. I came home from work. The bedroom door was half open. My husband was there, pounding into some woman on our bed, his c**k slamming in and out, deep and rough.
I should have screamed. Instead my p**sy clenched hard. I stood frozen, watching every thrust. My hand slipped under my skirt on its own. Fingers circled my cl*t as he f**ked her right in front of me.
He glanced over. "You like watching my c**k stretch her?" I rubbed faster.
"Don't stop," I whispered. Then I came shaking, eyes locked on him pounding her.
***
69 Dripping Fantasies is sixty-nine raw taboo stories. Wives catching husbands cheating and getting soaked instead of angry. Step-family secrets whispered in quiet. Glory holes that fill fast. Honeymoon wife swaps sparked by one dumb dare. Older rich men taking total control. Professors crossing every forbidden line. Husband's best friends sneaking in. Strangers who follow, then f**k hard. Group nights in dark clubs. Cucks cleaning up every last drop.
***
I'm on my knees. One thick c**k buried deep in my throat, making me gag. The woman behind me squeezes my t*ts until it hurts so good. Her tongue between my ass, teasing, no c**k has filled my p**sy or a*s yet. But I'm trembling, dripping, seconds from squirting everywhere. Two massive black c**ks wait their turn, and her presence makes it filthier... hotter.
I never knew I craved this so badly.
***
No soft romance. Just dirty yeses where no should be. Sixty-nine stories. Sixty-nine surrenders. Read if you're brave. These pages might leave you wet, jealous, horny... or secretly think of your own filthy fantasies when nobody's watching. Reader discretion is strongly advised.