Maui

After I was diagnosed with infertility, my husband insisted on divorcing me, but Makenna stopped him. She said: "You can't lose out on the wedding gifts you spent to marry her; why not sell her and recoup some of your investment?" So, Makenna sold me off into the mountains, where I endured humiliation and was tortured to death. When I opened my eyes again, I found that I had returned to the time before I was trafficked. In this new life, I would no longer tolerate it; instead, I sold Makenna out.

I was the architect of my husband's billion-dollar tech empire, but he repaid me by bringing his mistress to our son's funeral-the very woman whose negligence killed him. To protect her, he had me committed, tortured, and then burned every last memory of our son, systematically erasing our past. Then I discovered he'd secretly divorced me years ago, so I faked my own death and gave the source code to his rival, ready to watch his world burn to the ground.

Arletta Lee was dragged out of rural Pennsylvania to be a sacrificial bride for the comatose billionaire heir, Josue Mcconnell. The moment she stepped into the massive estate, she became the prime target of a vicious, greedy family. Josue's stepmother and half-brother viewed her as cheap trash. They didn't just want her gone; they wanted Josue dead. Kyler broke into her room at night reeking of bourbon, and later sneaked into the medical wing with a lethal synthetic neurotoxin aimed right at Josue's IV line. His jealous cousin even tried to permanently disfigure her face with a thermos of boiling water. "She's just a cheap good-luck charm the old man bought. We can throw her out with the trash whenever we want." They relentlessly bullied her, thinking she was just a helpless, terrified country girl who would quietly take the blame for their murder plot. But what the arrogant Mcconnell family didn't know was that her pathetic, trembling demeanor was entirely manufactured. They thought they had trapped a frightened rabbit in a den of wolves. In reality, Arletta was a brilliant underground surgeon. Using ancient neural acupuncture hidden in a simple wooden hairpin, she flawlessly turned their traps against them, locking Kyler away and winning the ruthless patriarch's absolute protection. As the supposedly brain-dead billionaire finally twitched and locked his fingers in an iron grip around her hand, Arletta smiled coldly. It was time to wake him up and let him tear this rotten family apart.

I spent a year hiding my lethal skills behind the stiff polyester uniform of a hotel butler. To the world, I’m just Betsey Madden, a "charity case" scrubbing floors at The Elysium to solve the mystery of my mother’s suspicious death. On the anniversary of her passing, my manager decided to humiliate me by assigning me to the Penthouse to serve Celestino Franklin, a billionaire known as the "Butcher of Wall Street" who supposedly eats staff for breakfast. When I stepped into the suite, I found the pristine white carpet stained with fresh blood and a wounded man lunging at me from the shadows. I didn't scream; I instinctively dropped into a combat stance I hadn't used since my days as a shadow operative in Vienna, pinning the billionaire before he could even blink. I had to choose between letting him bleed out or revealing that I was far more than a girl who folds napkins for minimum wage. I chose to save him, stitching his gunshot wound with a surgical precision that no ordinary servant should ever possess. As he gripped my wrist, the air turned cold. He didn't smell like a typical CEO; he carried the sharp scent of sandalwood and expensive scotch—the exact, intoxicating aroma of the man from the nightmares I’ve had since the night my mother died. "You have good hands," he rasped, his storm-gray eyes seeing right through my pale foundation and fake exhaustion. "You're wasting them on silver polish." I realized then that my cover wasn't just blown; it was the bait that had finally caught the monster I was looking for. I came to this hotel to find a killer, but I never expected my prime suspect to be the man now demanding I become his personal shadow. The hunt for the truth just turned into a deadly dance with a predator who knows exactly who I am, and I’m not leaving until I find out if he’s my savior or my mother's murderer.

For ten years, I was the secret girlfriend of my billionaire boss, Arthur. When my mother needed an emergency $50,000 surgery to save her life, I went to him, believing he would help. He coldly refused, citing "company policy" and sending me to his executive assistant, Deanne. She deliberately delayed the loan application. My mother died. When I confronted him, I found him with Deanne, who was wearing a dress he'd bought for me. He didn't just side with her-he fired me on the spot. He called me a gold digger and a slut in front of the entire office. I later learned Deanne had spent a decade sabotaging my career and withholding my bonuses, ensuring I'd never have the money to be independent. And Arthur had let her. But they underestimated me. As I walked out of that office for the last time, I made a call to the one man who had silently protected me for years. And when he answered, he didn't just offer me the money. He offered me a new life.

My world shattered the moment my husband, Christian, chose the woman who killed our stillborn child over me. He didn't just abandon me in my grief. He threatened to release our intimate videos unless I dropped all charges against her. His cruelty escalated into a living nightmare. He pushed me down the stairs. He forced me to drink a cocktail he knew could kill me. Then, completely blinded by his new lover' s lies, he had me kidnapped and taken to a remote estate. Tied up and gagged, I watched as he took a whip to my back, believing I was just some nameless maid who had wronged his precious new woman. He didn't even recognize his own wife. In that moment, the man I loved was replaced by a monster. As I lay broken and bleeding, I made a vow. I would survive this. I would escape. And I would make him see the truth before I destroyed him completely.

For ten years, Olivia Hayes was my universe. As an astrophysicist, I understood the vastness of space, but she was my sun, the center of my gravity, for whom I even gave up career opportunities. Our wedding day was meant to be the culmination of our decade-long love. But the day before our wedding, searching for a photo album, I stumbled upon a shoebox filled with letters and recent photos confirming her ongoing affair with Liam, her high school ex. My meticulously built life crumbled, revealing I was nothing more than a "safety net," a "formality." The next day, a ghost at my own wedding, I watched as Liam crashed the ceremony, publicly declared his "love" for Olivia, and then shoved me, breaking my leg. Olivia, instead of rushing to my aid, accused me of making a scene and left with Liam, prioritizing his fake panic attack over my real injury. In the hospital, she ignored my calls, then chastised me for needing her, demanding I give her my grandmother's ring for Liam's "peace of mind." She stole it while I was recovering. She then audaciously invited me to a "getting back on track" family BBQ, a cruel public spectacle where Liam played the happy host. There, she threatened to ruin my reputation if I didn't play along. She chased me to my hotel, attempting a desperate seduction, but when Liam called, her true priority became clear. She rushed to his side again, leaving me heartbroken and alone. Olivia, in a twisted display, held a "makeup wedding" where Liam, not me, was the groom. He shoved me again, breaking my leg a second time, and Olivia, with icy fury, had me thrown out. The security guard, though sympathetic, delivered the final blow: a note from me, leaving her with the words: "I loved you. Goodbye." She eventually found me in Chile, begging, but faced with my calm finality and another woman by my side, her illusion shattered. She spiraled into abandonment, ultimately consumed by her own web of deceit, while I found peace under the clear Chilean stars.

Three weeks after Mark informed me his "ideal woman" Sarah was moving in, forcing me out, I returned to our house for one thing: the divorce papers his lawyer drafted. As I fumbled for keys I no longer had, heavy, uneven footsteps sounded behind me, a low, slurred muttering growing closer. I pounded on the door, screaming for Mark and our son, Ethan, but through the peephole, Ethan' s shadow moved, then his voice came, muffled and cold: "Go away. You're scaring Sarah." My blood ran cold as my own son chose a stranger' s comfort over my safety, a drunken attacker' s hand clamped down on my shoulder. I screamed, fought, and tumbled onto the lawn, only to hear Ethan tell Mark on the phone, "Mom is making a scene… she's scaring Sarah!" Mark rushed past me, shivering and disheveled, to comfort Sarah, who stood draped in my robe, her face buried in Ethan' s shoulder. He then rounded on me, disgusted: "Look at you, Ava. Making a scene in the middle of the night. You woke Sarah up. She was terrified." They stood united, demanding I apologize to the woman who replaced me, for the crime of being assaulted on my own doorstep, as I realized my phone was dead, useless to call for help. When Sarah offered me peanut butter cookies, knowing about my life-threatening allergy, and Mark merely stared, impatient, without a flicker of recognition, the quiet truth dawned: he didn't remember, or worse, he didn't care. The man who once promised to always be my protector was gone, replaced by a cold stranger, eager for me to sign away our life so he could care for his new love. In that moment of profound betrayal, something shifted inside me. I signed the papers, then looked at Ethan: "I'm going to need to make a statement to the police. I'll need to use your phone." No longer fighting for a husband who despised me or a son who saw me as an inconvenience, I spoke to the police, then blocked Mark and Ethan' s numbers, cutting the last ties.

I clutched the heavy trophy, validation for placing first at the International "Le Cordon Bleu" Grand Prix, a win that felt like the culmination of a lifelong dream. It was our fifth anniversary, and I couldn't wait to surprise Olivia with both the trophy and the Sterling Corporation contract-a multi-million dollar deal that would secure our future. But when I pushed through the restaurant doors, the festive buzz hit me first, then the sight of Olivia on a makeshift stage, her hand intertwined with Mark' s, my long-time mentor. Her amplified voice cut through the air: "…and I owe it all to one person… Mark!" The roar of applause, then Mark's lips on hers, a full, lingering kiss, right there in front of everyone. My world tilted. When Olivia finally noticed me, her smile faltered for a mere second, replaced by a cool annoyance. "Ethan," she flatly stated, "You' re back. This isn' t a good time." Mark smirked, wearing my head chef' s jacket, confirming my deepest fears. The contract I' d just secured was scoffed at, called "naive." How could she? The woman I loved, the partner I built everything with, dismissed me as "incompetent," her betrayal a physical blow. The humiliation burned, a hot, sharp thing in my throat. I stood there, reeling, the echoes of their mocking laughter ringing in my ears. But that was the moment everything changed. The pristine pages of the Sterling contract tore with a satisfying rip as I shredded it into pieces, letting them flutter to her feet like fallen snow. I walked out of that restaurant, turning my back on five years of my life, picking up the phone to call the one man who could help me reclaim my future: my father.

The cold steel of a knife slid between my ribs, and the last thing I remember was the shock on my best friend Wendy' s face – not that I was dying, but that she needed the perfect angle for her livestream. She narrated my demise, blaming me for trying to sleep with a trucker, her voice sickly excited as notifications pinged with hateful comments like "Serves her right" and "Stupid slut." I died on the dirty floor of a truck cabin, my blood pooling around me, smeared as a whore, utterly betrayed by the person I trusted most. My last breath was a gasp of disbelief, wondering how I could have been so blind to her jealousy and malice. Then, I gasped again, only this time the air was clean, not thick with diesel and blood, and I was back in my law firm's breakroom, staring at a saccharine-smiling Wendy, who was about to propose the very trip that led to my murder.

I stood on the manicured lawn of a Newport mansion, celebrating my fourth anniversary with my wife, Sabrina, convinced of our love despite her family' s snobbery. Then I heard her mother' s voice, clear as a bell, speaking of Sabrina marrying her ex-boyfriend, Ryan. Her brother, James, sneered that our marriage was "just a front," and Sabrina' s small, demure smile confirmed the horrific truth. My world shattered as Sabrina looked me in the eye, not with regret, but with cold irritation, telling me I didn' t belong and was embarrassing her. "You' re pathetic," James spat, laughing when I calmly stated I owned the very mansion we stood in, the anonymous investor "E.L." they all sought. Sabrina' s fury flashed as she accused me of ridiculous lies, her mother claiming I was jeopardizing a major deal, all while they planned to marry her off to Ryan. The humiliation was suffocating when Ryan shoved me, condescendingly telling me to "stick around" and learn. Tears welled in Sabrina' s eyes, not for me, but for herself, as she whispered she had truly been "saving herself for Ryan." How could she say she loved me just last night, only to betray me like this? Fine. They wanted a show, I' d give them one – a reveal that would obliterate their entire world.

My husband Michael was back, or so he said, but our home was a stage for a hollow play, thick with things he refused to acknowledge. Months ago, I found a secret folder on his laptop: "Sanctuary." Inside, years of emails and poems to his graduate student, Olivia, called her his "kindred spirit," labeling our life together "mundane." I'd also found them at a restaurant. When I confronted them, Olivia dramatically faked an injury, and Michael's sycophant colleague violently shoved me, cracking my head against the wall. Michael, the man I'd helped build, rushed only to Olivia's side while I bled. He later spun it, calling me "melodramatic," and his family blamed me for his affair, demanding I apologize to the mistress. The audacity choked me. This wasn't merely betrayal; it was a complete dismantling of our history, casting me as the villain. Something inside me snapped, not with a bang, but with a cold, quiet click. I took the most damning emails from "Sanctuary"-where he belittled me and confessed his "true love" for her-and anonymously sent them to the university, igniting a war Michael never saw coming.

Twenty-four hours. Half a million dollars. Or his mother dies. Omega Caelen Ryn is out of options: his mother is dying, treatment costs half a million dollars, and loan sharks are closing in with brass knuckles and threats. Then a lawyer appears with an offer from Alpha billionaire CEO Aldric Fenmore: marry him for two years, every debt disappears, and his mother will be saved. The rules are brutal: separate bedrooms, zero feelings, don't fall in love. Their marriage is a transaction. Nothing more. Their first kiss is for the cameras. In public, they play devoted spouses. Behind closed doors, they're strangers. Until Monaco. When Aldric's race car spins out at 200 mph, Caelen realizes the truth-he's fallen in love with his husband. And when Aldric kisses him after his victory, raw and desperate and real, the contract between them shatters completely. They broke every rule. They fell impossibly in love. Aldric's ex returns, the man who destroyed his ability to trust, bringing a ruthless business rival and a plan for revenge. What starts as sabotage escalates into kidnapping, violence, and a premature labor that leaves both their lives hanging by a thread. In the trauma room, as Caelen bleeds out, the doctor delivers words that break Aldric completely: "You have to choose. We can only save one." The husband he loves. Or the child they never planned for. In that impossible moment, every vow they made, every sacrifice they offered, and every fragile dream they built together came down to a single, devastating choice. A contract that was supposed to end. A love that refused to.

⚠️ Trigger Warning: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, consensual sex, dirty talks, and adult themes. Intended for readers 18+ only. Desire doesn't look the same for everyone, and this collection celebrates every intoxicating form it takes. From stolen touches that linger too long, to late-night fantasies that refuse to stay quiet, Naughty Dripping Desires is an unapologetically sensual erotica collection filled with passion, power, and irresistible tension. Each story explores craving, connection, and the delicious loss of control that comes when boundaries blur and bodies answer before minds can catch up. This is an inclusive collection for everyone-curvy queens, chubby goddesses, men loving men, women loving women, and every beautiful way desire shows up. No judgment, just heat... and maybe a few moments where you'll have to fan yourself and pretend you're not smiling like you just got caught reading something very, very naughty. Enter at your own risk. Once you start, stopping won't be easy. So, enjoyyyyyyyyyy.

After I was diagnosed with infertility, my husband insisted on divorcing me, but Makenna stopped him. She said: "You can't lose out on the wedding gifts you spent to marry her; why not sell her and recoup some of your investment?" So, Makenna sold me off into the mountains, where I endured humiliation and was tortured to death. When I opened my eyes again, I found that I had returned to the time before I was trafficked. In this new life, I would no longer tolerate it; instead, I sold Makenna out.

On the giant screen in Times Square, Chloe Davis, radiant in red, slammed the gavel, and "Davis Innovations" exploded in green numbers. I stood in the crowd, a ghost she couldn't see, having spent seven years in her shadow, building her dream, waiting for the promise she' d made: "It will be you and me, Alex." Then, a reporter' s question boomed from the speakers: "Rumors of an engagement?" Chloe' s smile widened, one I knew for magazine covers, never reaching her eyes. "The rumors are true," she said, her voice smooth as glass. "I'm engaged to Ethan Hayes. He's my rock." My world dissolved. I walked away, calling her back later. "Don't be difficult," she said. "I was going to tell you." When I arrived at the sterile penthouse, she walked in with Ethan Hayes. "I made that soup for him," she whispered, pointing to the stove. "His stomach is sensitive. You're a survivor, Alex. You'll be fine without me. But he… he only has me." Then the final blow: "I need you to move out. I'll have a check cut for you. For your… contribution." "What else would it be about?" she asked, genuinely confused when I laughed, crumbling the five-million-dollar check she offered as payment for seven years of my life. She thought everything had a price. As she fielded a call about flower orders, Ethan flashed a flicker of triumph, a cold calculation that revealed the "fragile" boy was a predator who had won. But I finally saw the omega symbol on Ethan's collar – my symbol. The one from the necklace she wore, then gave to him. The rage solidified into something colder. "Keep your money, Chloe," I said, letting the check fall. "But there is something of mine I want back."

The call came at 7:05 PM on our tenth wedding anniversary. My husband, David, was in an accident. At the hospital, he was awake, but a young woman, his assistant Chloe, was holding his hand, acting like his wife. When I walked in, he looked at me, a blank stranger' s stare, then asked, "Who are you?" He laughed when I said I was his wife, then demanded security remove me, while Chloe, smiling, pretended to cry. It wasn't just memory loss; it was a cruel, targeted erasure. I tried proof, the marriage certificate, but he pushed it away as "just a piece of paper." Then Chloe waltzed in with his favorite soup, and he defended her when I confronted her. "She' s the only one who' s been here for me!" he screamed. He snarled that I was "exhausted, haggard," compared to Chloe, who was "kind and gentle." My wedding ring, a symbol of our forever, flew from my hand as he slapped it away, clinking under the bed. "Don' t come back," he said, turning his back on me to comfort Chloe. Later, I learned why: he had been having an affair with Chloe, his mother's 65th birthday ruined by his absence and her answering his phone. My world shattered when Mark Johnson, David's estranged best friend, told me what David said: "The fake amnesia was a stroke of genius, right? A clean break." My husband had faked a brain injury to throw me away. A car hit me, sending me to the hospital, and I knew what I had to do. When Mark came in, I looked at him, my face blank, then asked, "Are you… my husband?"

Watching Angela walk off through the club, Adam couldn't help but notice what a fantastic ass she had. Not just curvy, but the kind of J-Lo bubble butt a man wanted to cup with his hands. The kind of cheeks a man could get a solid grip on as he pounded into her. Shifting a bit uncomfortably in his seat, he turned his attention back to his friends to find they were all staring at him. "What?" "What was with the power play man?" Rick asked, looking at Adam a little askance. "You don't usually pull tricks like that. I would have expected it from Chris but not from you." "Hey," said Chris. "I was perfectly polite to the lady." Rick rolled his eyes. "Mostly." All three of them looked at Adam, even Andrew who normally didn't get involved in the interrogate-your-friends sessions. Since he didn’t like to talk about his own issues, he rarely got involved in trying to talk about others’. The fact that Adam's actions had aroused even Andrew's curiosity meant he'd been less subtle than he’d thought.

Emmett was a loyal footman at the wealthy Patterson estate, desperate to scrub the slum out of his blood. He abandoned his family and gave his absolute devotion to the beautiful young miss, Clara. But when the estate faced bankruptcy, Clara ruthlessly framed him for embezzlement to protect her family's wealth. He was shoved into a police carriage in the freezing rain. Through the window, he saw Clara watching him with fake pity, looking at him like a stray dog being put down. The judge slammed his gavel, sentencing him to a slow, agonizing death. Because he had spent all his wages on tailored uniforms to fit in, his mother died in a cheap coffin from an untreated illness, leaving his siblings to starve. As the thick, coarse rope crushed his windpipe, Emmett was filled with agonizing regret. He didn't understand how the woman who smiled so sweetly could send him to the gallows without a single ounce of hesitation. Opening his eyes again, Emmett found himself back in the servant's quarters, exactly three days before the Patterson family's downfall. This time, he wouldn't be their loyal dog. He was going to be their executioner. He planned to watch Clara sell herself to the savage new heir, Kearney Bernard, just to keep her luxury. But at the welcome dinner, the terrifying new master ignored Clara completely, locked his dark, obsessive eyes on Emmett, and whispered. "You are mine. Nobody touches you."

Sebastian Miller a well known boy in his university, some nickname him a "comic handsome guy" because of his talent that everyone want to have, a good singer, dancing, arts, even in sports, captain in basketball at highschool and he's now a 3rd year college student. Some even says that 'he's probably out of this world' or 'a comic did really exist and Sebastian proved it' but what happen if he encounter a werewolf and a vampire at the same time? not just meet but these two fall in love with him. who would he pick a werewolf Ethan 'Uno' Ferrer? or a vampire Aziel Ezra?, Sebastian Miller life is an indeed comic.

Jimmy Stevenson is trapped in a strange club created by his friends, they will gather every Friday after returning from college to discuss paranormal stories. To be honest, he prefers to practice soccer instead of doing this. But his heart immediately stopped pounding when he offered to summon Bloody Mary, while what appeared was a figure who took his heart instantly. From there, Jimmy who is called "The no-nonsense man", begins to try to attract the spirit's attention and is rejected time and time again with scenarios that are sometimes very stupid and sometimes too scary, sometimes disgusting. But what he realized was that by summoning the spirit, his soul was sucked out and it shortened his lifespan. Fighting the approaching death and his love for the non-human being, he must find a way or a hole so Jimmy can get both; his age and the spirit he loves. This is his journey of love.

Francis Beaumont: Dramatist by Charles Mills Gayley